No Reason, No Recourse

Eritheyl

A drunken yelp can be heard alongside some poignant cursing as a festival goer is unceremoniously
booted from the memorial gardens.

A male dracnari citizen yells, "Could you be ANY less respectful? Take your drunk arse home!"

Drunken grumblings can be heard from the lava gardens alongside rude retorts as festival goers find
another place in which to get their party on.

(travel spam)

Memorial garden.
Prominently displayed on the first archway from the southwest, a sandstone plaque resting here bears
writing. Sat at the end of the winding path, the glittering torso of a statue is nearly swallowed in
ash and soot. Brightening its surroundings, a brilliant white rose lies on the ground. Unusually
sober amongst the festivities, a male citizen of Gaudiguch lingers nearby.
You see a single exit leading southwest.

pr dracnari
Silken robes of pure white cover the light tan linen clothing of this young male dracnari, his eyes
hidden behind the garment's drawn hood. An elongated snout covered in brilliant fuschia scales are
easily visible, however, and cascade across his flesh in innumerable spiky ridges. Though his
disposition is somewhat meeker than his youth suggests it should be, flames still sprout with
excitement when his mouth parts and accentuate his speech with tight curls of brilliant orange.

You incline your head politely to a male dracnari citizen.

A male dracnari citizen exhales and kneels down to wipe up spilled alcohol with a portion of his
robes, grumbling the entire time. He doesn't seem to have noticed your arrival.

You say to a male dracnari citizen, "I hope you can forgive the festival folk. Despite our better
nature most times, it can be difficult to think of - much less treat - a public place in the city as
sacrosanct."

You tug your chin thoughtfully.

A male dracnari citizen exhales as he finishes cleaning what drink had been spilled on the
flagstones and rises back to his feet, looking towards the statue before jerking at your words and
turning, placing a hand over his heart. "Sweet Kalikai, make some noise next time!"

Your eyes twinkle enchantingly.

You smile impishly and say, "Sorry! I usually holler, but I, ah...didn't want to startle you. Funny
how that worked out, huh."

A male dracnari citizen exhales again, more shakily, before nodding and turning back towards the
statue. "Funny. Probably as funny as half the drunkards sloshing their cups around the city not even
knowing why we're holding the festival, innit?"

You look thoughtful and say, "Now that you mention it, I'd wager most everyone is clueless as to its
purpose. I was only told 'because', and I accepted that."

pr statue
Surrounded by pitch black soil, this statue's gleaming gold is slowly being swallowed by the greys
and black of soot and ash from nearby volcanic activity. Entirely lost already, a simple plinth
raises it above the ground in a futile attempt to offer it some solace from the illusory flames that
crackle and burn in reckless abandon. Upon this plinth, a dracnari who is entirely nude reaches
skyward, tail coiled behind their digitigrade legs. From the waist down, soot threatens to consume
the dracnari in the same manner as the flames which appear to blacken their scales. A few heart-felt
messages have been carved into the foot of the plinth, some little more than signatures while others
are shaking, illegible messes.

You read what is written on a smooth sandstone plaque:
As we walk through these shrouds, let us remember those whose lives were lost in the meteorfall of
Klangiary, 556 CE. May the tragedy of your absence inspire us to safeguard our present, and our
future.

You stare in intent contemplation of a smooth sandstone plaque.

A male dracnari citizen crosses his arms over his chest, turning on his heel and huffing out a few
curls of flame in a youthful expression of indignation. "Father used to tell me about the days when
a festival was for a purpose, to bring the city together. Now people just get drunk to get drunk."

A male dracnari citizen's indignation quickly fades, and his voice is tinged with melancholy as he
says, to no one in particular, "...and you're probably right in the middle, aren't you Shib?"

You have emoted: Eritheyl feigns disinterest in the utterance at first. But, after some awkward
leaning to one side and then the other, he asks, "...friend of yours, out and about?"

There is a moment where it would appear a male dracnari citizen is considering whether or not to
string a new round of curses together, his body language tense with clenched knuckles and hunched
shoulders. Instead, after a few moments, the tension fades and he sighs, "My brother."

Comprehension flashes across your face.

You say, "If you'd rather he find himself mysteriously incapacitated for the duration of the
festival, I know a guy."

You whisper, "It's me, I'm the guy."

Quietly, turning towards a shroud and staring it down, a male dracnari citizen says, "...I suppose I
appreciate your offer, but I'd rather he make something of himself. We're all alone now, he can't
just get himself pissed every night and wake up in alleys with strange women and stranger men."

You nod solemnly.

You say, "All things in moderation, even here. Much better for the spirit when you aren't overdoing
it. He in with a bad crowd, or just at a lack for better ways to spend his time?"

Once again, the fire and tension in a male dracnari citizen seems to fade, and he slumps slightly.
His voice is filled with uncertainty as he plainly says, "I...I don't know. He took care of me,
after...after..." His voice dies, and he clenches his fists, looking down at the ground.

You say, "Forgive me if I make bold assumptions, but based on your presence here and your general
disdain of the festivities making their way over, I can only assume you both lost someone - or
multiple someones - when the meteors fell."

His voice sullen, a male dracnari citizen says, "Our parents. The only place we can visit them is
here, under the fourth arch."

You nod solemnly.

A male dracnari citizen spits into the glistening black soil, blossoms of fire accompanying the
projectile of spittle.

His voice still sullen, but fonder and somewhat distant, a male dracnari citizen says, "Our
father...he was a groundskeeper for the Palace, and our mother helped tend to the Masters at the
House of Meditation. We were just kids when it happened..."

You say, "And your brother took care of you, all by his lonesome? That's admirable, even if his path
of late has diverged to something less so."

A male dracnari citizen nods his head, rubbing his shoulder awkwardly. "He's a year older, so he
took charge. Kept us off the street." He suddenly becomes quite animated and exclaims, "So I don't
know why he's suddenly throwing away his whole life at the first opportunity, when we could just!
Just...do something!! Anything! He just tells me to stay at home while he goes out and--" He turns
and lands a solid kick against the base of the statue before beginning to swear and hop up and down,
rubbing his aggravated foot.

You give a concerned look to a male dracnari citizen.

A male dracnari citizen grumbles as he slowly puts his foot back down, looking back towards the
fourth arch in the procession with a grimace contorting his snout.

You have emoted: Eritheyl rummages through his satchel, the clinking and unstoppering of bottles
resounding as he speaks, "There are many perspectives to consider here. Perhaps he is simply working
through his sorrows with abandon. Not the healthiest course, but one that is understandable."
Working deftly, he mashes a paste-like mixture of fragrant herbs across a swath of silk, offering it
meekly. "A poultice, for that foot. It's going to bruise either way, should help with the swelling
at least."

His eyes hidden beneath the hood of his robes, a male dracnari citizen turns and you can
nevertheless feel the suspicion radiating off of him before he carefully reaches out and accepts the
silk, pulling it back and rubbing a thumb over the cloth. "...thank you, stranger. I..." He exhales,
and turns before beginning to take careful steps across the wooden path, taking care to avoid the
dark earth.

Only when he arrives back at the entrance does a male dracnari citizen continue his thought, looking
towards you and quietly finishing, "...I hope you enjoy the festival. Maybe we can find out what it 
is for, eventually. For two years, it had better be damn special."

With an odd smile, you say, "It had better be, indeed. And if I happen to catch wind of your brother
finding his way into trouble in the meantime, I will do my best to ensure he makes it home for you
to give him an earful."

A male dracnari citizen's snout briefly turns up into an amused, soft smile before he rushes off,
limping only slightly to favour his quickly bruising foot.

With a thoughtful look, a dracnari man exits to the southwest.