Adventurers Guild Bringing in the New Year

-=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A06: Adventurer's Guild, Guild Hall *>--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Given the amount of business the Adventurer's Guild has, this giant warehouse should be filled with precious gems and gold. The long halls should be more than their metal construction, the carpets should be lush instead of last week's midnight special. ...except these are adventurers, and adventurers have a reputation for blowing things up.

Guards and mercenaries fill the interior of the huge warehouse, one of the largest in the area. Metal walls divide its interior, crafting halls, rooms, and offices. A large space near the front has been set aside for mingling and then stocked with comfortable chairs. This area is catered by one of the Society of Arcanists' more famous chefs, a small lucht with a predilection for otherworldly cuisine and tentacle soup. Security here is as tight as it is anywhere in Alexandria, though burn marks still grace some walls and there's always the occasional dent or two where someone's head has been shoved.

No matter how many times the Guild has been rebuilt, the statue in the front remains the same: a lone warrior facing off against the tarresque, with the Guild's motto, below: Anything for the right price.

EXTRAS: +view

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Oates Stout human farmboy with genial grin & witty eyes 1m 5h

Remethaer Alexandrian-born Xian. Nervous smile. 3m 4m

Svarshan Be a brightscale! Chomp a demon! 1m 1d

Cesran A tall dark skin man 4m 9m

Mikilos Tall male dawn elf, rosey blonde and handsome. 34s 27m

MikeRowepool I am stinky! 0s 2d

Wilma Female Storm Dwarf (No Beard!), Big Damn Sword 5m 5m

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Out <O>

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Halani has arrived.

The Guild is like any other organization. It's going to throw parties for those that are members. Most mercenaries in the city, or would be heroes, are members and thus are invited to the Guild's party. It's actually spilling out the front door into the outside of it. There are armed mercenaries all over the place, most of whom are drinking.

Oh yes. This is going to go *SO* well.

There is also a lavish feast laid out on a banquet table here for everyone to begin getting food from.

PARTY.

Mikilos doesn't eat. Doesn't drink. Isn't really social. Why the hell is he here? The elf is asking himself that very question, wandering the crowd with a cheap mug of ale in hand to avoid being offered another.

Armed people with free booze and food? Wilma's /so/ there! Bristling with armour and sword, the hefty dwarf has parked herself inbetween the two suppliers, and is two-handing it.

Cesran makes his way in after a long day of studying. He looks around to see who else is here and he's surprised to see Mikilos here. He gives a nod to the elf as he has himself a glass of wine as he is listening to a couple of warrior types tell him about their latest adventure.

The Guild Hall is a tall building. An old ware house the City had converted after adventures had burnt down the last hall. And the hall before that.

And the hall before...

But the doors are roughly humanoid-sized. Humanoid-shaped. Except...

"Iiiiiiiii...drank sixteen doubles for...the prisse of one! Trying to find the courage, to talk to one!" Svarshan stumbles around the corner, an arm around Princess Srassha. She's decked out in her finest, and nods benevolently to those she imagines to be her 'followers.' Silver barding glitters at her side, polished to a fine sheen...and her rider's had been as well. Save...

"I assssked her for a dance! Not a second--" He hoists a tankard in the air. A number of other Sunguards, guards, stumble in with him. And Angorites. And they're...SINGING.

So much good food, so few hands. Oates is somehow managing to keep a turkey drumstick, a roasted ear of corn, and a tankard of soft cider halfway balanced. He's mentally chiding himself for making this more complicated than it needs to be, but hey, free food, and it's great stuff to boot.

"... and I'm quite certain I didn't mean that about your mother-- who I'm quite certain is a perfectly lovely, honorable, and... um, hirsuit dwarven woman." Remethaer is trying to smooth things over with a Khazad-- the rough-and-tumble sort you'd expect to find at a place like the Ox. The dwarf has a frothy stein and a leg of mutton which is encouraging (unless, of course, it's an angry-drunk dwarf and not a happy-drunk dwarf). A fading shiner makes the Xian's right eye discolored and squinty, "It was some fancy gnome! He said that's how dwarves wish people a festive Yule. Sure, it seemed a little long... but I thought, 'hey, these Khazad sure are complex, intelligent, and... -constructive- people. So their language is likely just as complex!'" He smiles hopefully-- one of those 'hey, don't punch me in the face again' smiles. Convinced, it seems, the dwarf grumbles something in Khazdul and tromps off to find a sturdy lass to rub noses with later. "... Gods above save me from my trusting nature," Remy laments.

Mikilos perks up with a smile, peering towards the singing dino-man. Ah yes, how could he forget? Blackmail material. Not that the elf is likely to ever use such tactics, but it's nice to have the option. Being the only one to recall what happened last night can be quite useful.

Sonja has arrived.

Tromping her way in late, Sonja already has an ale in one hand. She ducks under the cross beam and grins to all that are there, raising her tankard to all that are there. She doesn't know the conversations going on, but she orders another honeyed mead for her while she takes in the scenery.

Wilma looks up at the sight of all the bellowing sithmakers, Sunguards, Angorites, and few others, and chokes on her mouthful of... something. There's a bit of a spray, before she wipes her mouth on a sleeve, and clears her throat with a draught of ale, before giving out a cheering yell at the spectical.

Cesran excuses himself from the conversation that he's in as he spots Sonja. He moves over towards her, "Hail Sonja how are you doing? Come to join the celebration? With this many adventurers in one place it's a wonder who's scouring the sewers for a nobleman's missing nose ring or trudging along for days on end only to get slobbered on by the monster's pet Gelatinous Cube."

"Will I live for another day? Heeeeey! Sa! Will. I. Live..." Svarshan reaches over, and fumbles, grabs another tankard. "...for another daaaay?!" The last line sends up cheers. One paladin shoves at another as the group settles in. One of the Sunguards drops into a chair by a table, but by and large the group seems to have formed a sort of...choir. The song they're singing /did/ mention praying. It /did/.

Just like the next verse is about fighting.

Svarshan drops an arm around the sildanyari. "Sssa." And he presses the tankard into the man's hand. "I ssspiked it. Fire now." Pat pat. He lifts his chin in hello to the khazad, and then the tankard, too.

Tavissha has arrived.

Oates is having a grand old time. He sings along with the parts of the songs he knows, and when he doesn't know the words, he takes another bite of food. The ear of corn is finished before the turkey leg, so he tops off his tankard and grabs a seat near the music.

Mikilos blinks, and eyes the tankard suspiciously. He knows Svar, but doesn't really -know- Svar... Eh, screw it, life is about new experiences. The elf takes a swig, and promptly begins a coughing fit.

Sonja snerks at Cesran. "I'm doing fine, Cesran. Just doing my yearly celebration with honeyed mead." She then smiles as she sees a Khazad. "Speaking of which." And she tromps over to Wilma. "Excuse me. I think this might fit your tastes better." and she hands her a VERY large mug with a lid on it. "I call it the Dwarven Pint. Of course, the lid is so no one can poison or spike your mead." The 'mug' could easily hold a gallon of ale.

Rather near the edge of the room, a tall white sith stands picking at a food plate and surveying her surroundings with something akin to fear. So many people! Oh goodness. Spying her singing kinsman, however, she fidgets and starts toward him, and in a fluid movement turns back around and hides back in her corner. And then she goes toward the group -- stutters, halts, stops dead. Looks at her food, and lets out a whimper.

Social interactions are not her strong suit.

Myrana stanes grinning at a temple full of Daeusites, laughing as an old Sunguard tugs at her apron strings. She slaps at his knuckly hand, and then returns to passing out tankards and mugs from atop the platter she carries over one shoulder atop her other hand. Foam slops from the tops of the tankards like soapbubbles.

"Well her friend is looking at me with an evil grin...I think...I think the bloody racket. Might soon. Begin! I mssst have said some-thing...to..." Svarshan thumps Mikilos heartily on the back, and raises his tankard in salute. "TO ALESSSANDRIA! Oates!" And then he staggers a pace, catches himself on Srassha. Who looks, who looks... utterly pained. She shoots a look Tavissha's way as though pleading for sisterly understanding.

Sisterly woe.

LOOK WHAT I MUST ENDURE.

"Sssaa! Oates! Myrana! Tonight! This. Is. ALESSANDRIA!"

Cesran nods, "That's good to hear. Of course." He sees the large mug come out, "You might as well just give her a pony keg." He comments with a shake of his head as he raises his glass as there is a toast to Alexandria.

Tavissha looks surprised when Srassha looks to her, and her tail twines around herself nervously. She, apparently, has not drunk what ever it is Svarshan's drinking! In fact, she's not drinking anything at all. No wonder! But slowly, she picks her way slowly, with lots of "uh, scuse...pardon...sorry um..." toward the people she knows. And when she gets to Svar and Oates and company, she opens her mouth to say hi, but nothing comes out but a tiny squeak.

Wilma is distracted from the amusement that is the Svarshan Show, but... a Sonja. A Sonja bearing.... the nectar of the gods! "A dwarven pint? Well, I'll be givin' you it's of a proper size - an' not havin' a poisonin' of the mead's to the good. Spikin' on the other hand, can be no end of enjoyment." With nary another thought, the stormy dwarf goes to swap out the mug for the pint, and after figuring out the pouring mechanism, pours some down her throat.

• COUGH!* *CHOUGH!* *GASP!* "Erm... wow... has some serious kick to it. Wasn't expecting that." Wipeing his eyes and his nose, Mikilos stands straight again, face red, eyes watering, and tries to breathe normally. And then takes another sip. Let it never be said the elf is not of a warriors spirit.

Remethaer wanders with his hands shoved deep into his duffel coat pockets, careful not to step on toes or bump into anyone. Quite casually (not at all, in fact) he sidles over to Tavissha and leans over to whisper conspiratorily (without looking at the sith), "... are you a sith Yule ghost? I can see you. If you have to relay a message I will do it for you. I need to do a good deed before the year is over."

Oates raises his tankard in acknowledgement of Svar's toast, and takes a drink. Noticing Tav's shyness, he snags an extra tankard of soft cider and offers it to her. "Lively party, isn't it?" he asks with a friendly smile.

Sonja chuckles at Wilma and says in Khazad....."Enjoy your mead, friend." She then heads back to her little corner of the bar, raising her tankard in response to Svarshan's toast.

Svarshan thumps the mage on the shoulders again before peering at his own tankard. He 'generously' pours more of whatever evil substance is in there into the sildanyari's own mug before raising it high again as soon as Myrana comes into sight.

"Sssa. It isss good. Myrana, she make beer out of anything. So I give her...I give her..." Svarshan sways a bit, and then brightens as the other sith'makar makes her way over. "FFfire and Annnnseeestors!" And then it's a rushed string of Draconic, that says hello and how are you and all of those things all at once. He thumps Remethaer on the back, too. "If you need...good deeds. You sshould drink more. Tarien offersss wisdom. In the cups!"

There are numerous gnomes at work. Oh god. Not the gnomes! They appear to be working on the what is said to be 'the finest fireworsk display since Alexandria returned to the mist'.

"Time to let them know we're all here!"

Wilma lifts the pint to Sonja, then higher at the toast, before giving a proper appreciation of the gift - aka, trying to see how much she can drain in one go. Once failing to do so - a truly magnificant gift, she can be heard to say - she wipes her mouth on her other sleeve, then moves towards other, familiar faces. Or so she thinks.

Tavissha finds herself clutching a cider, and looks at Oates with wide blue eyes as she nods. Of course, her attention is caught by Rem, next, and she opens her mouth to say something -- but now Svarshan is rattling off draconic at her. "I-- I-- I am a person!" she manages. "Not a...I don't... g...good deed?" And she starts stammering in draconic: hello and what is happening nice weather you have lovely teeth help me i am being eaten by a sphinx!

Mikilos wipes his nose again, doing far better with his second sip than his first, having some idea of what to expect. Grinning to Svar, the elf nods, eyeing the mug a moment, pondering just what's in there. Arrivals distract the train of thought, and Mikilos raises his mug in greeting to Myranna and Tavissha, blinking at the later.... did his ale just kick in?

Cesran wanders over towards the food table to get a small plate and to put some food on it. He turns as he sees the gnomes setting up their display, "Oh this should be good." He takes a couple steps back and he has a spell ready incase he needs to defend himself against it.

Myrana extracts herself from serving drinks to one table and is on her way to another when--- suddenly, Svarshan! Standing in my way! She feels a song coming on, but quashes it down with a laugh. Unlike most everyone here, she has not indeed been drinking! Oh no! No she has been /volunteering/! She grins at the Sith', and then gives poor sputtering Mikilos a pat on the back that falls way short of being a hearty slap. "Hello Lizard!" She greets. "And everyone! It's so noisy in here I can hardly think!"

"Oh." Remethaer looks sheepish and makes every effort not to cry when Svarshan thumps him on the back. He's mistaking people for ghosts and being bludgeoned again. "Gran always says not to leave your good-deeds-doings to the last minute," he observes through a wince. Rolling his shoulder, he manages a not at Svarshan and takes one of the drinks from Myrana's platter. "It's quite loud... but at least it's not the Ox, right? Nice people get punch in the Ox." He points at his eye.

A jotun gets insulted by a Stormgardian. It isn't long before teh wto of them are being escorted out in force cages by a rather annoyed looking wizard of some power. Clearly, the Guild has taken precautions.

Tavissha peeks back over her shoulder as the brawlers are escorted away, tfffffff66666666655555555555555555555555555555555

Oates chuckles at the general goings-on, and raises his tankard in a toast. "To good food, good drink, good health, and good companions-in-arms," he declares.

Myrana has reconnected.

"It is party. Celebration of new year, Svarshan replies. He sounds happy as he chats away in the Old Tongue, and Srassha...Srassha continues to look pitiful. She looks at Tavissha with sad, soulful eyes. WHAT I MUST ENDURE, that says. And, WOE IS ME.

Presently, Svarshan reaches over and grasps Myrana's arm. "And this is Giver-of-the-Booze," he says, introducing Myrana as though it was some formal, official title. "And owner of the Place-of-Punches," he says happily to Remy. Booze floats on the sith's breath, and he smacks the man on the back a few times, before raising his tankard again as Oates proposes a toast. "Sa!"

Tavissha peeks back over her shoulder as the brawlers are escorted away, burying her nose in her cider for now. That is much easier than speaking to all these people. But oops! There's a toast! She scrambles to take the tankard from her lips and lift it. Drinking? She wasn't drinking anything! Everything is dandy. "To... yes," she stammers.

Tavissha also looks at Myrana in a blank, overwhelmed sort of way. Hi?

Mikilos raises his mug to Remethaer in greeting. "Not all nice people get punched in the Ox! Some do the punching!" the elf shouts over the noise, a small part of which is merely in his head. Another sip, and the elf reaches to poor mis-treated Srassha, offering a conslation scratch behind the earridge.

Sonja quietly watches Tavissha and snickers a bit as she stumbles her way through the toast. However, she lightly (relatively now) punches the shoulder of Mikilos in greeting. She then raises a tankard in greeting......if he's not on the floor.

Once the tankards are lowered, Svarshan sways. Blinks. And gradually returns to introductions: "Giver, every...one. Thissss is. ...thisss is Tavissha of the Not-so-Much-Ssspeaking. And..." he squints at Remy. "I do not. Know thisss one. That one over there...that isss Sildanyari-Head-of-Books. And that iss Oates-of-Hay." Wilma gets introduced as Tankards-on-two-Feet. It is a very proud, khazad name!

"I-- I s...I speak plenty!" Tavissha stammers in protest, clinging to her mug and plate like it might provide a shield.

Oates nods as he's introduced, then takes a few bites out of his drumstick. Better eat it before it cools down too much, after all!

Wilma laughs, as she is introduced, and takes another draught of meat, "Or Wil, if the other's bein' too much to say," she calls out.

Mikilos eyes Svar. Something clearly up. The dino-man stumbles over names, but got 'Sildanyari' right? Something's not legit.

One of the Guild Officials can be heard saying, "NO! TH#RE ARE NO FIREBALLS ALLOWED!"

A goblin in robes looks rather disappointed by this fact.

Svarshan squints back at Tavi. "No." he says, because he's super-eloquent and all of that. And then he hands her a tankard. And then turns and blinks slowly past Mikilos at the booming voice. "Do we get to. Sssmash something?"

Mikilos's plans to add to the display have just been dashed as well.

Tavissha wilts a little at that, and mutters something into her tankard. Stupid parties.

Mikilos still has Lightning Bolt, so is good to go. "Nope. Think the only thing getting smashed is us. TO THE NEW YEAR!" Another toast, and another sip. And a wobble. so much for being the one who remembers the morning.

Wilma turns, and shakes her MegaPint, "An' who's sayin' so! Bit after the fact ain't it? They've already set it up!" Which means, in drunken Wilma-rules, that means they get to set it off. On purpose or 'by accident' -- it's all the same, riiiiight?

Myrana lets out a little yelp as she's hauled over by a well-meaning but fershnikit Svarshan, the drinks on her platter sloshing and her skirts swirling. She laughs at poor Rem's story though, and lowers the platter so that everyone can take a drink if they want and lighten her load. "I'm sure you'd be fine then dear. Nice to meet you all! I-- oh, hon here," she says, and offers the poor White Makar a tankard. "You look like you need this." The last is said...rather brightly.

Cesran shakes his head a little bit, "Ah too bad no indoor fire works." He sips his wine and he starts to eat. He wanders around a bit trying to mingle with the other party goers.

Svarshan raises his tankard in response, and then grimaces. "I thought...we would get to ssssmashh things," to Tavi. And Wilma. This must surely prove how uncivilized most sith'makar are! For SHAME!!! He sounds even morose about it, and looks piteously down at his near-empty tankard. And then at Giver-of-the-Booze. Because it IS an official title, see.

Myrana has partially disconnected.

Myrana pauses, and looks over her shoulder. Then returns her attention front-and-center with a sort of serene calm. It's not her bar! She won't have to pay for repairs! This is wonderful.

"To the new year!" Tavissha hurries to say, though she's off by a few seconds and it's sort of half-heartedly loud. Drat! Missed. She looks down at her empty cider mug and reaches for the offered tankard. "Thank you. I have...finished my cider." Of course, she assumes this is non-alcoholic too. Haha. Hahahaha.

Svarshan holds out his tankard. It is nearly empty. Sadness.

"We can smash...a chair?" Tavissha hazards, hopefully.

Mikilos eyes Tavissha. "Spike is NOT a role model."

Wilma perks slightly. "On the roof then?" Then it'd be outside, and still part of the party, and ".... Myrana! Might I be havin' a refill?" she asks of the Giver of Booze, hefting a very large mug - with a lid on it! - recently called a Dwarven Pint.

Tavissha blinks blankly at Mikilos. "I don't know any models?" The world is confusing.

Cesran raises his gladd again, "To the new year." He looks over towards Tavissha as he hears smash a chair. He looks around for the detective girl war golem and he wonders what disguise she might be in." He laughs a little bit at Mikilos, "You might want to explain to her who Spike is."

Svarshan tilts his head, and then looks over at Wilma. Silent. CHALLENGE.

Sonja holds up her tankard as well. "To the new year." She grins at those words. Thankfully, she's not stupid drunk.....

Mikilos eyes again a moment. This might BE Spike. "War golem, about as crazy as most. Habit of breaking chairs." The elf takes another sip of his spiked tankard, peering into it's depths mourfully as it's near empty. "...didn't figure out what's in it..." he mutters.

Myrana picks the poor empty tankard out of Svarshan's hand. And puts a full one in it. Then offers a wink down (though let's be honest, not -that- far down) at Wilma and says: "Of course dear! Here let's--- well I'll get you started." Slightly at a loss as to how to fill that huge tankard, she pours from a pitcher on her platter.

The booze that Myrana's pouring? It fizzles, and seems to be a rich, chocolatey red colour with a bright white froth. It looks like nothing so much as red velvet cake in booze form.

Remethaer is working on becoming a cleric the way he's nursing his tankard. Or... whatever the Alexandrian-equivalent of that joke might be. "The Arena isn't far. You could borrow padded armor and practice jousting while you're proper drunk," he suggests in that it's-so-mad-they-have-to-know-I'm-joking kind of way.

Tavissha takes a drink, her eyes widening a little as she realizes it is quite alocholic. But she drinks it anyway, coughing a little as she lowers it, a frothy beard and mustache on her blunt reptilian muzzle now. "Ohh. A war golem who likes to break objects?" She blinks. "Iiinteresting! I wonder why she...is like that?"

Cesran hmms, "Best not to wonder too hard about that it's one of the mysteries of the universe, although it does make for a more interesting adventure when she is there in one of the many disguises. She is quite a character." He gives a smile, "I'm Cesran by the way. It's nice to meet you all." He introduces himself to those that don't know him.

"Something about a joke." Mikilos mutters absently, taking a deep sniff from the dregs of the tankard Svar offered. He has a mystery to solve. Namely, what the heck did he just consume?

Tavissha's starting to shift in place, mouth tightening a little. She looks down at her drink, then reminds herself to look at the people talking to her instead -- namely Cesran, right now. "I am-- I am Tavissha. It is...a..." She looks down at her drink again, swallows. Clears her throat. "A...a...p.../pleasure/." Grimace.

There's alcohol from *everywhere*. Really. Khazadi! Blarite! Stormgarrdian! Myrrish! Even some Charnese wines! on the table are the finest of foods. Sith-Makar delcacies, Khazadi mushrooms, breads cooked in a variety of ways and, of course, meat ranging from deer to owlbear.

Wilma calls down a rather sotted blessing upon Myrana's kegs, and takes a deep drink, before sighing with contentment. "Ah, definately hittin' the spot, lass. A blessin', well an' truly!"

Cesran sips his wine and he nods politely to Tavissha, "It's nice to meet you too. Are you new to the city or have I just not had the pleasure to meet you yet?" He smiles, "Sometime we all need a joke and Spike is certainly entertaining."

Oates finishes off the drumstick and the tankard of cider, then reaches for a refill of the cider and snags a handful of finger-foods to go with.

Svarshan leans forward and sniffs, snii...and the reptile's eyes slide half-shut. Like he'd just smelled ambrosia. He smack-pats Tavi a few times on the shoulder in encouragement before raising his tankard in toast to the other Sunguards present and roars, "To the Drrrragon! To Daeus!"

"To fresh owlbear!" another chimes in, and holds up a slice of it, stabbed on the end of a knife. Svarshan grins, and goes to drop down beside Wilma. Thud. "Sssa. You missed. The singing! Do you think we could...get them to go. Another. Round?"

Myrana brightens. "I wonder how long this'll take?" She wonders aloud to herself, looking past Svarshan to the table full of sunguards. Just. Just -full- of Sunguards.

Mikilos blinks, looking from the empty tankard to Svar. Spicy burning flavor, a heady meaty scent, Svar. The elf turns rather green. Is that even safe to drink? ...well, yes, probabaly. If anyone would know, it'd be Svarshan. With a sigh, Mikilos sets the empty tankard aside and looks over the various alternitive. "...any ElvenBlossom? Or a good Frost Wine?"

Sonja raises her tankard as she hears 'To Daeus' from Svarshan. "TO TRUE METAL!" She yells aloud in Khazad in Svarshan's direction. Whether or not he understands it, the feeling is just the same, reciprocating the sentiment.

"TRUE METAL! To the Dragon's clawwwss! To His roar!" Svarshan roars back and hoists the tankard. And sure enough, someone else yells back, "And Althea's good sense!"

At that, Svarshan stills as if stunned, and then starts to laugh, that hissing noise sith'makar make.

Mikilos wanders off into the crowd, seeking something he knows the effects of. And maybe a book of demonology.

Oates cheers along to the various toasts. It's a good evening, and things are going well. Why not enjoy all of it?

Mikilos has disconnected.

Tavissha starts to fidget more, looking at her drink. "N...nnnnew," she manages, before starting to shake her plate-bearing hand as if she wants to flap it. It's not working out: a meatball sails into the crowd. She finally just finds the only way to handle this -- is to drink it all in one go! DOWN THE HATCH!!

She may be not quite possessed of good judgment.

Myrana turns around, slapping Wilma companionably on the shoulder before dissapearing briefly into the crowd to find herself something to eat and dispose of the rest of the pitcher.

Cesran starts to lift his glass and he watches the meatball sail out into the crowd. He sees it hit a halfling in the back of the head and he laughs a little bit, "Nice shot." He finishes off his wine, "Very good wine. What are you drinking?" He asks Tavissha as he watches her down the drink.

Svarshan sways in his seat, and...Mikilos is right. Probably right. He sways again and bumps shoulders with one of the other Sunguards. A few moments later, one of them picks up a tune.

It doesn't take too much to get the Brightscale to join in: "Wheeen I was a lad in a fishing...town! Me old man sssaid to me..." Svarshan sways and mutters the rest into his tankard, his eyes for once, bright. THe song continues swiftly, and spreads: a young man going out a-searching, signing onto a ship... Whatever Giver-of-Booze had served the small group of Sunguards seems to be having a swift effect.

CognitiveFatiguequake has arrived.

"For her hair was wet as seaweed, and her skin was blue and pale, And her eyes, they were a work of art, And I loved that girl with all my heart..." sings Oates, joining in on the song. "But I only loved the upper part; I did not like the tail."

Remethaer laughs quietly, always amazed by the ability of some to let go and throw caution to the wind. He nods and turns, whistling from between his teeth out for a mingle.

Remethaer has disconnected.

Tavissha drops the tankard on the ground and makes a strangled squawking noise. That. That was not the way to handle this booze. She sways, staggers, clutches her throat, and goes down, THUD. Cesran's question is met with crossed eyes and lolling tongue...that rolls back into her mouth as she manages, "Deeeaaaatthhhhhh." And then she starts rattling in draconic: it is revenge for choosing Serriel i am dying everything burns aaaaa deeeemonnnsssssss ksksskssskkkk.

Cesran blinks as he watches Tavissha drop and he looks around as he does understand draconic. "Quick I need a old cleric and a young cleric!" He shouts out as there is little that he can do. He picks up the mug and he sniffs at it, "What was it that she was drinking?"

"...Bbbbuuuut then one day. Ssshe swam away! So I sang to the. Clams and the. Whales! 'Oh how I miss her seaweed hair...'" And that person coming up behind him, narrow-eyed and with a frown on her face? Couldn't...be a...Hearthguard. Could it?? Svarshan doesn't notice. He was singing with Oates and Wilma. Though at the last note, he blinks owlishly at Tavissha. And lurches to his feet.

Wilma headbops along with the chorus as the palidans belt it out, though she's not so far gone as to actually sing. A drunken dwarf, is after all, a happy one. Well, if their name starts with Wilma.

"Hey! You're Wilma, aren't you! I remefmber you from Whitefoot's War. What happened to you? I haven't seen you in ages!" The halfling is jabbing at Wilma with drumstick.

CognitiveFatiguequake has left.

Sonja says, "When the Sunguards and Svarshan begin to sing, Sonja opens her mouth to sing as well. Unfortunately, when she opens her mouth, the loudest and deepest belch comes forth from her throat. It even confuses HER at first, but she lets the belch finish before wiping her mouth and saying 'excuse me'. It wasn't a sour note, thankfully."

Wilma's eyes don't quite focus on the halfling, then points at him...er... it! "... Whitefoot's War! I know you! Er... maybe. Were we fightin' together, maybe? I don't think I saved your life... or maybe I did. Want some?" she asks, offering the Dwarven Pint to the wee person.

Svarshan stumbles over that way. He sort of makes it to Tavissha, and then sits down nearby. "You. Are ssspeaking in tongues," he says solemnly. And pat-smacks her on the shoulders. "Thisss will pass." Pat-smack-smack-pat.

Once the song winds down, Oates launches into another one. "Let me tell you a tale that happened to me, One day when I was down in Yor' by the sea! The sun it was bright and the day, it was warm! Says I 'a quick pint wouldn't do me no harm..."

The booze in question smells spicy. Ungodly spicy. Like, dying of a thousand suns spicy. And Tavissha's eyes have yet to uncross. "My tongue is a solar system," she hisses to Svarshan, in some amount of awe and fear.

Like a magic trick, Myrana is nowhere to be seen when this revelation is shared between the two Makars.

CognitiveFatiguequake has arrived.

Cesran kneels down to try to help Tavissha, "She drank this." He holds out the mug to Svarshan, "It smells like someone dumped the entire spice rack in here." He hmms as he hears her, "Well that's either really good or really bad."

Svarshan nods at this Wisdom of the Booze, and takes a deep, deep whiff of the tankard Cesran holds out. For a moment his eyes unfocus and then he gives a shake of his head. "Ssssa... Ssspecial. Special brew. Shee will be okay." And he eyes Tavissha for a moment after saying that. ..."Water. Perhapsss water." And then he raises his tankard to Oates. Others of the Sunguard 'chorus' have already joined in.

"I was just a lad, then," answers the halfling, "I was hiding under my father's stall when I saw you fighting some zombies. That sword kept spinning! It was funny. Down went the zombies." He eyes Wilma, then takes more alcohol himself. He's always happy for it, this halfling!

Gnomes continue to hurry about in and out, still preparing the fireworks.

Tristian has arrived.

"SPiced Mead it sounds like." She then smiles to Svarshan. "I'm glad she'll be all right. Of course, she may end up with a nasty hangover." She then nods to Svarshan. "By Daeus."

Cesran nods to Svarshan, "Sounds good to me." He gets up to get a glass of water and he soon comes back with a glass of water, "Here you go, I didn't know she was such a light weight. Gotta be careful."

In draconic, again: my tongue has shriveled and will never again taste the fruits of life, murgleborgle eating peas harglewimplebonk. Tavissha at least has the presence of mind to reach for the glass of water -- and miss completely. Maybe she should uncross her eyes.

Wilma laughs heartly - and thankfully without any food spray, before smacking one meaty hand against the halfling's back, "Well, glad I was bein' memorable - an' equally glad for you keepin' put! That was no time for wee ones to be runnin' 'bout underfoot!" Of course, there isn't that much difference now and then, but she's too drunk to care about such piddling things.

"I went to the. Barman, I says, 'Give me a stout!' Says the barman...'Sssorry, all the beer tis sold out!'" Svarshan sways as he sings, making up for lack of training with a male sith's volume. When Cesran comes back with the water, he leans back on his tail. And eyes Tavissha. And reaches out and fixes her hand on the glass of water...just so it doesn't go spraying into Cesran's hair. "Sssa. For being shrriveled. It seems to work. Just fine." And he grins some. See, son. That's a joke son, see??

Cesran holds the glass still so that Tavissha can get a hold of it and he guides the glass to her mouth, "Just take it slow and don't drink too fast you don't want to choke."

Tavissha takes the glass with help and even sits up, and waters her poor dessicated digestive system. "It is shriveled," she insists to Svar. "Shriveled and /dead/. I ... do not think I am used to... Alexandrian alca...alca-hol."

The crowd is continuing to mill about the Hall of the Guild of Explorers. "Hey, you're not that much taller than I am these days, Khazadi!" The halfling laughs at Wilma, though he raises his drink up to her and then sluprs the rest of it down.

"But I am too an adventurer!" A man just got thrown out of the Guild for being a non-member trying to crash the party.

Cesran looks around, "Do you want to move to a chair and sit down?" He asks as he looks around for a spot, "Do you need some more water?"

Oates wraps up his song, then takes a long swig of cider. Singing's thirsty work, y'know! And the cider's plenty good, although a mug of plain water probably wouldn't be amiss, either.

"Hey, as long as I'm still havin' the inches... but good on ya, especially after witnessin' that horrid mess happenin' back then! How are you findin' it? To your likin'?" Wil asks cheerfully, words paused now and then as she makes more inroads into her Pint.

"Can I...sssmash it?" asks Tavissha, as she wobbles to her feet. "We are supposed to smash thingss, like chairss." Apparently she's picking up on Sssvarshan's ssssibilance now.

Svarshan squints at Cesran, and then thumps Tavissha solidly on the back. "SSsshe is a sith'makar!" he insists, and there's a certain pride to it, you know? FIERCE! CLAWSOME! LIZARDY! ...And then he blinks, once, slowly, and looks over at her in surprise. And just grins.

Tavissha blinks owlishly, and then wrinkles her nose a little. And blinks again. And just-- flings up her arms. "SITH'MAKARRRR!" She seems perfectly steady now, and she runs a hand back over her violet-colored spines, clearing her throat, sheepish maybe for the outburst. "...I still would like to smash a chair," she offers delicately.

Cesran stands up and he back up, "I didn't say that she was anything else. Smash a chair? I must have missed that point in the celebration...is it a sith'maker custom?" He looks around for a chair that seems breakable.

Sonja chuckles at Svarshan. "Don't smack her too hard, She might hurl, Sunblade." Then Tavissha yells and the large woman just stares at her with a raised eyebrow. "No brawling please." She then winks to Svarshan. "I don't want to tend to anyone's wounds when the new year hits."

Svarshan clears his throat and looks away. He looks proud. So proud. It's just like Tavi grew wings and started to sparkle with the True Meaning of Daeus. So majestical. "Saa. Chairrss..." unlike Tavissha, his voice still seems slurs. And he looks around for chairs, too. "Saa...brawling. Is good fun." He COMPLETELY misses Sonja's subtext. Or, her very obvious hit-over-the-head subtext.

"Nobody's going to use THIS chair for smashing," declares Oates, holding the chair he's sitting in with one hand and his drink in the other.

Tavissha rubs her cheek thoughtfully, back to looking at the floor again. "I think it is...an Alexandrian Sith custom," she comments. "I have never done it before. It could be fun..." Maybe. She peers at a chair, and then approaches, hefting it in her claws and examining it for weak points. It is, thankfully, the one /beside/ Oates. "Scuse me!" she says, "Is it...okay to smash /this/ chair?"

Sonja leans in, nose to nose, with Svarshan. "Please. No brawling. At least until the new year. Then bring it in with a chair over the head AFTER the new year starts."

Cesran hmms, "I didn't know about that interesting. Why does it stand for that you are going to smash the chair." He stands back as the chair is going to be smashed and he knows better then to be smashing chairs, he'd probably end up hurting himself.

Myrana returns with a big platter of spicy chicken with dill sauce, her black braids swaying down her back and the brass button stays on her corset winking merrily down her front. Her bustled skirts swish behind her and she hums cheerily along with the drunken singing, still mercifully sober. Or perhaps wickedly sober. It is hard to tell with sorceresses.

Having heard about there being some sort of party at the new Adventurers Guild Hall, Tristian managed to find his way here. Granted with his only been here in the city for a good week now. It's been pretty interesting to say the least, but as he comes in, he takes a moment to look around and just sees who all is here, he's not met many people but at least he is here.

Svarshan eyes the chair Oates is sitting on, and then Oates. And then Sonja is nattering at him. Althean, that look says. ALTHEAN!!! He looks at her grumpily.

When someone hears someone say 'smash this chair', a number of men all begin looking around, warily.

"Spike's not here, is she?"

"Not yet."

"Thank the gods."

Tavissha hoists the chair in question, and looks around. "It is... the breaking of the old year," she says, making shit up on the spot as she looks over the smashee. And then she turns and SMASHES IT ON THE GROUND!

Or really just... sort of clatters it a little. It doesn't even splinter. The sith looks disappointed.

Wilma is distracted by the wee one by the sound of clattering. "Hey now! There's not bein' many chairs actually built well here for armoured folk. Smash another chair!" She waves absently at Oates' chair. Not on purpose, really! Just...er.. not the one that might hold up to dwarven armour weight, especially when she trips and falls into it.

Cesran winces a bit as the chair comes smashing down and he frowns a little bit, "Well that was a good first try. Keep going." He suggests as he goes to get another drink of wine.

Svarshan looks at Sonja a moment more, and then, considering, looks towards the other sith'makar. After a moment of what must be slow, painful decision-making, he makes an effort to get up from his butt, onto his feet...and squeezes Sonja's shoulder, muttering something before sort of thump-walking over that way. He's slow. And drunk. This is evident.

Sonja grins to Svarshan, then reaches up to squeeze Svarshan on the shoulder. "I shall join you In the chair breaking when the new year comes in, Svarshan."

Myrana is delighted. Blue eyes sparkling, she munches on some spicy chicken, occasionally casting a glance over at the table of sunguards. Any time now. Or maybe the Svarshan Special Order #3 will take it's time.

"Sssaaa...bringing in. New year." Svarshan reaches down and grasps the leg of the chair that Tavissha had dropped. He squints at her for a while and looks like he's trying to put words together.

He's no good at words. But over there near Tavi, he waves Sonja over, and says, very carefully... (words, again): "Sssa. Together. Our people. ...the Ccchildren of the Flame, we work... Together. We are one tribe, one people, and we have fffound...ssome kinship with the. Children of the Dragon. We will ALL lift thisss chair. And we will all break it with you, Tavi." Pause. Grin. "We break in the. New Year!"

Myrana says, "He is going to break in the new chair."

Karelin has arrived.

The gnomes are almost done with their preperations, truthfully. This is a good thing, especially as there's less than an hour to go until the New Year ticks over!

Tavissha takes the other leg and looks at Svarshan, blinking... and maybe wibbles a little. Kinship? For /this/ sith? It's more likely than you think! She nods quickly and grasps hard. For a moment, she considers tugging on the pull for her bone-vest, claw hovering near it...but she apparently decides against it, sagging a little. Best not to ruin this cool kinship with her smelly unsith occupation.

Cesran nods, "Well just cover your eyes so that no splinters will get into your eyes. That's rather painful." He hmms, "I'll help you break your chair Tavissha, if you want me help I'm not that strong."

Myrana pops another piece of spicy ginger chicken into her mouth. "I wonder what's going on in the Ox right now?" she wonders aloud, being one of the only people at the party without something to drink. "This is the most relaxing evening I've had in a while." And she is talking to herself. Because that's what living with the Oxleys does to you after a few years.

Svarshan grasps one of the chair legs, too. He looks over at Sonja!

"Let's all break the chair!" Tavi suggests with a beam.

Sonja raises an eyebrow at Svarshan. "Svarshan......" She gently asks.

But... but... she can /sit/ in that chair! Wilma would protest, but her Pint calls to her - calls so much that she has to drain it all! And while head is tilted back, well... so goes the rest of her. And that chair behind her? Was /not/ the one built for such as her. But that's okay. It makes a good pillow.

Svarshan sways, and lifts his chin. After a moment, he blinks, and...there's the faint, distant sound of the flap of a wing and he stands up straighter, eyes clear. "Sssa. Let usss break in the New Year together." He coughs. "I will pay for thisss one. Come on, Dragon'sss Child."

Moving along the walls, the dawn elf offers a few nod to those who regard him. Upon finding a place to sit, Tristian sits down and looks around, when a barmaid comes by he orders a drink of elven ale. While sitting, he leans back in his chiar and continues to regard the rest of the group who is here for the party.

Karelin saunters in, wearing his best jacket and polished boots (and other clothing, its okay). He's got a great big hat on, with a wide brim and a multi-coloured plume, and he's got a great big holy symbol of Kor as his belt buckle. His smile is wide, almost disturbingly so, then lifts a hand to call out. "Svarshan! Dar! Best of the year's end to you!"

Cesran helps to lift up the chair witht he others, "I'm ready if you all are." He smiles at Tavi, "Break in the new chair."

Sonja looks to Cesran, then looks to Svarshan. Well, she did make Svarshan promise, but didn't say anything to Cesran, did she?

Tavissha beams, tail flicking back and forth (and smacking a hapless halfling across the face -- oop!), and helps lift the chair with Svarshan and Cesran in the center of everything. "To the new year...?" she toasts...sort of.

Oates has reconnected.

Svarshan looks at Sonja a while, and then lifts his jaw. "I am a ssssith'makar. Fooorr yeaarrrsss I tried to be. Human. Being what I ammm not and dissshonoring my. Blood. Was the. Misstake of my life," he says firmly, and then looks to Karelin for a moment. He holds the warrior's gaze a moment and then a slow smile starts there. He lifts his chin again, then turns to Tavi and Cesran, and helps lift the chair overhead. As he lifts the chair a sort of relief comes over his features, and, "Asss tribe! We do this. Together! Ancessstors and dragon! Svaakruu ra iriikuvi ai!"

Oates has partially disconnected.

Azog has arrived.

"Svaakruu ra iriikuvi ai!" Tavissha echoes, though she seems a little embarrassed about it, and with a yell, she brings the chair downward, intending to smash it with her meager strength added to... well, added to Svarshan's really, since Cesran is probably in the same boat. BY THE POWER OF THREE!

Karelin grins broadly, feather bobbing as he ambles through the crowd towards... chair smashing! IN THE NAME OF ST. SPIKE, CHAIRBANE! He doesn't yell, though. He just looks on at Svarshan, almost smugly, in approval. Yes, give in to your baser instincts. "Oh, it's that kind of party, is it!" It's not a question.

Myrana laughs, cheering along with the other obseving folk of the party. Seeing Karelin she gives the tall man a cheery wink and offers him some of the spicy chicken she has on a plate.

There's some horror from the onlookers at the destruction of chairs. Some are laughing. Spike's antics are well known. Others are just just enjoying the destruction.

Hey. They're adventurers.

Azog arrives late to the Adventurers' Guild, pausing by the entrance to see what sort of revelry is going on.

"DRAGON!" the chair splinters. It erupts in a flash of light and quick-flame and Svarshan staggers back. He drops an arm about Tavi and Cesran, seeming drunk on the Giver-of-Ale's drinks all over again, but for a different reason. And grins at Karelin, "Sssaa..." Then he sobers, on looking at the warrior. Karelin. Karelin knows the story. And his mistake. And how far it went, that look says. He stares for a moment and then lifts his chin. He will not do that again, THAT says, and there is a strength, there. To the room at large: "The Children of Ffflame...lived. In danger. And bloodssshed. We survived because we are one--" he struggles with the words. "--people. Jussst as we break in the new year together--we ssstand. As One. Let it. Be ssso. Let it be, in yearsss to come."

Sonja picks up one chair, quite ruefully......and crushes it between her hands. Might as well join the festivities. Of course, she also makes a small mental note to give money to the barkeep for new chairs.

Tavissha beams as the chair smashes, tail flicking -- but Svarshan's speech makes her sort of hunch over again. Her claws twine together nervously, and the young sith starts sort of inching away, toward the door instead.

Karelin plucks up some chicken from Myrana. "Thank you!" A pause, as he grins. "Have you finally killed and cooked up the Oxleys? Is that responsible for your good mood?" He takes a good bite, chewing happily. "It's damned good, though." Then he looks for a chair, raises it up in one hand, and looks at Svarshan. He nods once, curtly, then smashes the chair to flinders. "Filthy place. that." He doesn't elaborate.

"Ten minutes," says a gnome, holding a hand up.

Sssa. Filthy." Svarshan agrees though he looks slightly distracted as the other sith starts to leave. Old instincts kicking in. Old instincts that probably demand he see another tribesmember not get hurt. Deep breath, and then a grin at Myrana. "Ssso did you?"

Cesran grins as the chair smashes and splitters into pieces, "Well that was fun. He chuckles as he brushes the wood from his hand and he looks over towards Tavissha, "Are you hungry at all? Would you like to get something to eat?"

"Oh...n-no," Tavissha stammers to Cesran. "I should be going. It is...late... but thank you." With a wary glance toward Svar, she waves at Cesran and then ducks away into the crowd, intent on the door in which Azog is standing. The big sith pulls up short and looks up at him, mouth working on an 'excuse me' but not quite managing it. "Ah...um..."

As the chair smashing begins, Trist just blinks for a moment, "What the...." he trails off as he continues watching the rest of the people, some idling chatting with others they know, some moving towards the door to possibly leave. As he gets his drink he stands up and nods his head and pays for the drink, and begins walking around for a moment moving closer to teh others.

Azog steps out of the doorway to let Tavissha out. He looks around at the goings on, and and seems to be hesitant about joining in the affray.

Thankful to not lose any more chairs, the Guild members begin ushering peopel to go outside to get a better view of the fireworks that are about to be unleashed over the city.

Oates wanders outside with the others, glad for a bit of fresh air.

Cesran heads out with the others too watch the fireworks.

Azog, having just come inside, wanders back out again? He seems lost.

Suddenly, Tavissha is free!! ... And being swept outside with the crowd. "Wha--!!" she yelps.

Karelin let's himself be ushered, still chewing on the Oxley Fried Chicken.

Wilma remains napping on her broken chair. Next year, oh yes. Next year...

Svarshan gives himself a shake, and heads towards the fireworks. He keeps looking over his shoulder, though.

"Oh! Hahaha, nono." Myrana laughs and shakes her head. "No, they're up to... up to whatever horrific things they do on the new-year's eve. I'm just happy to be in the one building they can't really get into without some serious flexibility. That and Svar here--" she tosses an arm over the 'Makar's shoulders and glances over at the table full of Sunguards, keeping an eye on things apparrantly. "Has helped me create a fantastic stout." She brightens. "Would you like some?"

Sonja hands Svarshan a chair, then picks one up herself......wielding it like a weapon. Look out dueling banjos, it's the dueling chairs!

Karelin's head comes around. "Stout? Stout. Yes." He stops being ushered. Beer. Good beer. He is the rock around which the river of revelers flows.

Tavissha shuffles, lost-like, in the middle of the crowd. The rather tall sith hunches over in hopes the other or his mount might not see her. She's bad at it.

Announcement: MikeRowepool shouts, "Up over the city explodes a mammoth fireworks display. Green and gold colors predominantly, with starbursts breaking out into multi colored fields thereafter. They rocket it into the air with increasing intensity and loud 'pops' and 'booms' to mark the new year."

Svarshan grins as Myrana mentions the stout, though he...also looks to the side as though embarrassed. And then clears his throat and heads in with the crowd. Grins briefly at Sonja, too. Srassha paces behind him, her eyes bright--curious.

Myrana sets the chicken down long enough to pour some of the rich, startlingly dark -red- stout into Karelin's stien. It has an uncanny resemblance to red velvet cake, with a stark white foam head and a chocolatey, spicy smell.

Sonja can't help but grin at the 'brightscale' either. But then she trots her way out and cheers for the fireworks as they go off. Her spirit hasn't dwindled at all.

Cesran stares up at the sky and he ooohs and ahhs softly, "Amazing." He smiles brightly as he enjoys the fireworks display.

Wilma has disconnected.

Tavissha looks up at the fireworks, taking a deep breath. Well... the new year has come! A new year for being a better sith.

Myrana goes OOC.

Myrana has left.

                 _
                 ' .   ::crackle::
                   |       ___
         ...._     |    ,-'   '
              `'-  '  ,'
              ,..  ++'-
            ,'     ++------------'
          _/   --+-+b'''-._
          /     ,|   \     `-.
              ,/      \       ' .
     :::      '        `".
  :::::::::  /
 ::::::::::::
:::::::::::::
 :::::::::::
  .::::::::   ::sparkle::

Azog looks up at the fireworks, watching solemnly.

And what was Halani up to, all this time? Well. She has her own new year traditions. Which didn't involve spending it in a noisy crowd. She's on a rooftop nearby, huddled in a blanket to ward away the chill, gazing up at the sky... so imagine her indignation when suddenly that sky fills with fireworks and that noisy crowd spills outside! The nerve!

Karelin whacks Svarshan on the shoulder. "This stout is /amazing/." He stands there, looking up at the fireworks with a mouth shaped like an 'o'. And a little moustache from the stout's creamy head.

"...ssstrait from the Irons," Svarshan replies underneath his breath. And watches quietly as the fireworks explode. He stills for a while. Just. Watches. ...they don't have things like this in Am'shere.

Announcement: MikeRowepool shouts, "As the fireworks continue to build up in intensity, they seem to have something specific in mind for the finale. Finally, a great red... it would *have* to be the phoenix symbol of Alexandria briefly illuminates the skyline of the city. A bit of jubilant Alexandrian patriotism erupts, with cheers throughout the city at the display."

Tavissha smiles a little at the symbol. "Yaaaay...!" she whispers under her breath, curling her fists together.

Sonja can't exactly make any sort of sound for the last symbol made. However, she does nudge Svarshan, then gives him a fistbump out of respect.

Cesran woohoos and cheers for the fireworks. He just likes fireworks and doesn't care about the symbol of Alexandrian.

Svarshan grins back, and looks up at the fireworks again. It's...different. After a while, he flinches, and reaches up to scratch Srassha's jaw. Maybe not all different is good, sa?

Tavissha goes OOC.

Tavissha has left.

Walking outside, still drinking his ale, Tristian looks up into the nights sky and as he does he finally smiles. Hearing the cheers of the people of the city, and those around them. Smirking a bit as he drinks at his ale, he looks around as the lights from the fireworks cascade down around them and teh city.

As the firewroks display is beginning to dinwdle, the numerous sated and drunk adventurers present are bginning to stagger off to get some much needed rest. It's thinning here, bit by bit.

Sonja trundles off to do just that. Fistbumps Svarshan again. "Sleep well, Svarshan. May you be blessed by the sun of the new year."

Oates stretches out. Quite a lively party, even if all he did after a while was sit back and watch it go on around him.

Cesran claps as the fireworks die down and he smiles brightly as he whistles. "Well that was a great party."

Sonja goes OOC.

Sonja has left.

Azog has disconnected.

Karelin watches the crowd disperse, watches the sky. He's content, beer in hand. It's damned good beer, too.

=========================== IC: Rumors and Gossip ============================

Message: 7/14 Posted Author

Exploring the Depths of Partying! Tue Jan 01 Cesran ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As one year passed into the annals of history and a new year arrived the Explorer's Guild sponsored a party of all of the adventurers that get every dirty job in the city done. Be all accounts it was a wild party, there were a couple of brawls and even some sort of Alexandrian Sith'maker chair breaking ritual. One notable chair smasher was strangely absent and her presence was missed. The booze was flowing and very exotic liquor was being served. While most could handle their alcohol no doubt the clerics will be making hangover cures in the morning. To cap the entire event off as the night of the old year turned into the dawn of a new year the skies were alive with bright colors and loud booms. An extremely patriotic display of fireworks could be seen for miles around the city. By all accounts the city is looking up for this next year.

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