Drunk and Disoerderly
The sun is high in the sky above Sprohm, not a cloud can be seen and it's fairly warm for so early in the year. It's only the first month of spring, but already buds and sprouts can be seen sticking out of the soil or on branches. If it weren't for the ruckus coming from down near the town square, it'd be a perfect day no doubt! Unfortunately, a band of hoodlums and miscreants are causing no small amount of trouble, and the usually orderly and safe streets of Sprohm are currently being challenged by this band of ne'er-do-wells.
They're standing in the central plaza of the square, usually a spot reserved for traders and stalls to hold a market and barter. No merchants are here now though, and the few people walking through the area keep getting harassed and pushed around by the group of delinquents. They're a mottley band of bullies, a few humes and bangaa, as well as moogle and a viera. They're all wearing bright red socks for some reason, and they have an emblem - a red background with a whit-lined sock on it - stitched onto one or more parts of their other clothes. It would appear these ruffians are the alleged members of Clan Rumblesocks, and the cause of recent unrest in the city.
The plaza they're in have four streets leading to it, one from each direction (north, south, east and west), as ell as some staircases that lead up to the upper elevations of the city - Sprohm is built on a mountain after all, so it's not strange that some of the houses are further up or down. The plaza itself is rathe runremarkable, just a large, flat area with a big fountain in the dead-center of it. There are some benches and lampposts, though the latter are turned off at the moment seeing as how it's high noon. Currently, the gang of Socks are clustered together in their group near the fountain, busying themselves with hurling slander and insults at an elderly couple making their way up one of the staircases.
Good thing the leaves haven't come in yet, otherwise it'd be almost as dark as dusk down in the Nubswood! With the thick growing of trees and bushes, branches and other vegetation, it's a miracle there's even grass growing down on the ground, since you'd think all the sunlight was stolen by the tall trees and their canopies. For now though, the sunlight can filter in through the branches and slowly awakening undergrowth, making small beams and cones of light shine down. It's peaceful, very peaceful, with the songs of small birds and the gentle rustling of the breeze. It's mid-afternoon, and while the sun hasn't set yet, dusk is approaching and dinner-time is just around the corner, well for most anyway.
In a small clearing up ahead however, no dinner is being made by the people who've set up camp there. A small den of outlaws has been established in this strangely tree-free clearing, which is almost uncannily and unrealistically circular in shape. Small tents, a campfire and some wooden logs to sit on, this is the sight and level of the encampment. Standing around the place are a number of mean, grizzled and shady-looking men. They all have weapons hanging by their sides and they're all busy snarling and speaking in gutteral voices to one anothe. Among the brigands is a strange sight though - a lone Nu Mou, in an extravagant outfit. He's sitting in the very center of the camp, surrounded by his friends who form a circular perimeter around him.
One of the bandits, a particularly scarred and tough-looking hume, is sitting opposite the Nu Mou, and the two are seemingly deep in a heated debate or conversation. With the other men standing around though, it seems unlikely that anyone could sneak up or into the glen without being noticed...
The cold wind howls through the pass, mimicking the howling of wolves. While most of Ivalice has been freed from the grip and clutches of winter, Lutia Pass is still covered in a thin blanket of snow, and the warm winds never seem to find their way to this mountain pass. It's dusk, or rather, a bit after sundown. A slithering, snaking trail leads up the side of one of the mountains, heading up to what looks like a series of small caves. In actuality, these are not caves at all, but rather barrows, burial mounds where people of old buried their dead. However, it's not these small, hill-like things that are concerning, but rather the strange, dark figures who seem to be moving about just around and outside of them.
From the base of the trail, it's too far and tood ark to see who or what these people are doing, or who they are even. The wind is strong too, making it colder and harder to walk - and flying is almost out of the questions. Trudging through the shallow snow, wings occassionally flapping and tail whipping in frustration, is a young gria-girl and two of her companions. The little dragon-lady has a firery look in her eyes and a scowl on her face, a very deep scowl. Her attire is... Not quite suited for the climate, though she is wearing a borrowed scarf around her neck, much of her body is still rather exposed to the elements.
"Waaagh! So cold! So windy! What's with this place!?" She complains in a loud outburst that can be heard over the howling wind. "I'd give up my savings for a chocobo-feather jacket right now! Or even one of those stupid cat-eared cowls... Ahh! My horns! They're starting to turn into icciles! Jeez!" A plaintive moan leaves herlips as she puffs her cheeks in frustration.
Looking ahead, it's still quite a distance to the barrows, and still quite far until they'll reach the mysterious figures there... Something that makes the Gria sigh.