Six Sides: The Isle of Caged Dreams
The air was electric as the rhythmic beating of drums reverberated throughout the city brimming with individuals from every part of the island. The unlucky castaways who came to Corruca with a thirst for adventure, but instead found themselves up shit creek without a paddle could easily be picked out of the crowd as they gawked in amusement that these people who were confined to this prison-like stretch of land could actually find a reason to celebrate. In reality Carnivale wasn't a celebration and anyone who lived here for a year or so would figure that out sooner or later, because sometimes getting drunk off your ass and waking up too sore to walk was a welcomed change from the average day around here. The fishermen sat around throwing back pint after pint toasting to minor things that wouldn't even get a mention in their everyday lives and recounting tales everyone knew never happened, but still had some entertainment value nonetheless; Prudish women who normally wouldn't give men a second glance are now running about barefoot and barely clothed seeking some bedside fun dancing in the street in an attempt to flaunt their merchandise and even proposing activities that would make your Gram's old heart give out.
In the crowd one person stood out among the general populace in the sense he was actually sober and even for the moderate humidity wore a red fur coat. The iron sword tied loosely to the belt around his waist swayed back and forth as he casually strolled through the city ignoring the livelihood as the initial awe wore off after his second or third attendance. He ran a hand through his white hair which happened to be about two or three shades brighter than his complexion which stood out among the heavily tanned and brazened fishers who worked all day long in the sun. As the man came to a cross-roads, literally, he contemplated on what his next course of action should be. The Weathered Hull stood across from him, but the last thing he wanted was to enter the establishment, especially during Carnivale, seeing as the Red Moons used the tavern as their base of operations and they were known for being complete and utter jack-offs while in the other two directions he saw a massive crowd of people huddling around something, a fight between two drunks more than likely, and absolutely nothing but more crowds in the other.
"Dammit, I'll never find Pencrest at this rate.", Grem thought to himself, "Maybe he actually found a way off of this rock." It was an amusing thought, because no one leaves Corruca, it's where the unfortunate are sent to die. Letting out a sigh he glanced around before deciding which way he would go, the tavern was an absolute no and if he was going to be wading through crowds he might as well wade through one with some entertainment. "Off to watch idiots beat each other senseless, I guess.", with that simple decision he took a right making his way towards the rowdy crowd.