Post by Declan Tribal on Apr 25, 2010 18:12:31 GMT
Burmecia. The Realm of Eternal Rain.
For years, this small nation has been covered by a thick sheet of constant rain. No-one knows how or why it came to be. Some say it was a curse for defying the gods. Some say it was a ward for protecting her citizens. Others say it was a byproduct of the mist. Regardless, Burmecia has had it's fair shares of trials, tribulations and hardships, from battling the elements to splintering factions with their brethren, the Cleyrans. Though both have suffered near-genocide twenty years ago, their numbers have risen back up drastically – in spite of the occasional crude joke or two about their reproductive capacity.
Since their home city was laid to waste by the Black Mage army, the Burmecians and Cleyrans have worked effortlessly to restore their homes to their former glory; Though the Cleyran tree has been destroyed, it's remaining citizens have resorted to building a temporary settlement around it's charred stump. The memory of those atrocities will be burnt into the annals of their history for decades to come, but what doesn't kill them makes them stronger, as the Nezumi have learnt to forgo their grudges against Alexandria and rebuild their livelihoods, living each day to it's fullest.
Today was another one of those days.
The chorus of the rain hammering down over the rooftops and streets in Burmecia echoed out everywhere as usual. The odd citizen or two rush to avoid getting completely drenched in the downpour as it belts down onto the cobblestone streets. One middle-aged Burmecian in particular heads in the direction of a local tavern – the Dancing Chocobo in particular.
The strong smell of alcohol and sounds of loud, rowdy chatter greeted him as he opened the door to step inside. Various kinds of customers stop in here from time-to-time, from off-duty Burmecian militia and dragoons to drunken braggarts and one-night-stands. One customer stood out from all the others; A young Burmecian with shoulder-length brown hair named Declan sat at the bar, nursing a shot glass of whiskey in his hand. He stared into his drink for a while before pursing his lips to the glass rim and knocking his head back, the brown liquid flowed down his throat with a slight burning sensation. Letting out a sharp sigh, he slammed the glass back down on the bar.
“Hey barkeep,” he asked the bartender. “Any chance of getting another stiff drink around here?”
The bartender, Ernie, turned around as he was cleaning a pint glass. He was a paunchy nezumi in his late 30s, sporting short, unkempt hair. “Yer a little young to be drinkin', ain't ya? You over 18 yet?”
“Hey, I thought the drinking age was 21,” Declan responded. “Besides, you've served me a few times before, you know I drink responsibly.”
Ernie sighed to himself and sets the pint glass down on the bar. He gets busy setting some ice in Declan's shot glass and pours more whiskey over those rocks. “You're gonna get into a heap of trouble one day, kid,” he said as he served the young nezumi begrudgingly. “Also, you still owe me for last month's tab, so I gotta start crackin' down a bit.”
Declan stared in his glass again as he swirled the drink around in it's container. “Yeah... Well, things aren't going right for me, lately.” He took a sip and felt the strong alcohol go down his throat. “First my uncle disappears, then I lose my job... and now my landlord's gonna kick me out on the street any day now. Some luck, huh?”
“Well, a sob story like that ain't gonna pay the bills now, are they?” Ernie stopped for a moment to serve another customer, filling a pint glass full of ale before he passed it over.
“Maybe so,” Declan just muttered, cradling the shot glass in his hand as he swirled the cold liquid around inside. “The truth is, I've been saving up for a trip for a while now – cross continent exploration. But every time I save up a bit, I just lose it again, one way or another.”
Oh gee, I wonder why, the bartender thought as he rolled his eyes. “You ever thought about joining the army, or being one of them dragon knights? Best way you can go see the world for free, if ya ask me.”
“That's not the point! I don't wanna travel for free if it means being held on a leash all the time. Besides, I don't think I'm cut out for the army.”
“Is that so?” Ernie just raised his eyebrow as he reached for another dirty glass to wipe clean. “Well, if ya feel that strongly about it... Why don't you try taking a job on one of them farms outside these walls, then?”
Declan just stared in his glass as Ernie continued to talk, just barely making out his reflection in the brown, semi-transparent drink. “Farm work, huh? Doesn't sound too bad...”
“Yeah, those guys out there are always looking for an extra hand or two. Pay rate ain't bad, either. Just... be careful, though - I hear one of 'em's a real psychopath who hates us kind walking on their land. No-one goes in, or out of there alive, ya hear?”
Declan pursed the shot glass to his lips and knocked his head back as he took one final swig of his whiskey, before setting the empty glass down on the table.
“Y'know what Ernie, you're right – I'm gonna go out there first thing tomorrow and find myself some work in the fields. And maybe then, I could afford that trip at last...”
Before Ernie could get a chance at formulating a response, the young nezumi hopped down from his seat and threw the hood of his jacket over his head, only for the bartender to call out to him. “H-hey, where do you think you're going?! You haven't paid for your-”
“Oh, just put it on my tab, I'll pay you back later,” Declan calls back as he heads towards the door, opening it and stepping out into the blustering rain. Ernie did nothing but clench his teeth and cursed him under his breath, resuming serving the thirsty customers. The middle-aged Burmecian that stepped in earlier took a seat at the bar, letting out a gruff as he sat down.
“Hey Ernie, a pint over here if you will!” he called out. The bartender didn't have time to openly complain about Declan freeloading from him again, as he was quick to filling another pint glass with frothy booze, before passing it over to the willing customer. “So I've noticed you've been having problems with that kid, lately. Any idea on who he is or anything?”
“Yeah,” the bartender replied. “Said his name was Declan Tribal, or something like that.”
“Tribal?!” The nezumi's eyes widened as he heard that name. “You don't supposed he's related to that Zidane guy, or anything?”
“Do you see a monkey tail or a flock-of-seagulls haircut on him?”
“...no?”
“Well then, I guess he isn't.”
The middle-aged nezumi growled softly in annoyance. “Thanks Ernie. You mind saying that one more time without the sarcasm?”
So, what does any of this mean? Does this hold any significance to anyone or anything here? And will we see more in the future? Tune in and find out!
For years, this small nation has been covered by a thick sheet of constant rain. No-one knows how or why it came to be. Some say it was a curse for defying the gods. Some say it was a ward for protecting her citizens. Others say it was a byproduct of the mist. Regardless, Burmecia has had it's fair shares of trials, tribulations and hardships, from battling the elements to splintering factions with their brethren, the Cleyrans. Though both have suffered near-genocide twenty years ago, their numbers have risen back up drastically – in spite of the occasional crude joke or two about their reproductive capacity.
Since their home city was laid to waste by the Black Mage army, the Burmecians and Cleyrans have worked effortlessly to restore their homes to their former glory; Though the Cleyran tree has been destroyed, it's remaining citizens have resorted to building a temporary settlement around it's charred stump. The memory of those atrocities will be burnt into the annals of their history for decades to come, but what doesn't kill them makes them stronger, as the Nezumi have learnt to forgo their grudges against Alexandria and rebuild their livelihoods, living each day to it's fullest.
Today was another one of those days.
The chorus of the rain hammering down over the rooftops and streets in Burmecia echoed out everywhere as usual. The odd citizen or two rush to avoid getting completely drenched in the downpour as it belts down onto the cobblestone streets. One middle-aged Burmecian in particular heads in the direction of a local tavern – the Dancing Chocobo in particular.
The strong smell of alcohol and sounds of loud, rowdy chatter greeted him as he opened the door to step inside. Various kinds of customers stop in here from time-to-time, from off-duty Burmecian militia and dragoons to drunken braggarts and one-night-stands. One customer stood out from all the others; A young Burmecian with shoulder-length brown hair named Declan sat at the bar, nursing a shot glass of whiskey in his hand. He stared into his drink for a while before pursing his lips to the glass rim and knocking his head back, the brown liquid flowed down his throat with a slight burning sensation. Letting out a sharp sigh, he slammed the glass back down on the bar.
“Hey barkeep,” he asked the bartender. “Any chance of getting another stiff drink around here?”
The bartender, Ernie, turned around as he was cleaning a pint glass. He was a paunchy nezumi in his late 30s, sporting short, unkempt hair. “Yer a little young to be drinkin', ain't ya? You over 18 yet?”
“Hey, I thought the drinking age was 21,” Declan responded. “Besides, you've served me a few times before, you know I drink responsibly.”
Ernie sighed to himself and sets the pint glass down on the bar. He gets busy setting some ice in Declan's shot glass and pours more whiskey over those rocks. “You're gonna get into a heap of trouble one day, kid,” he said as he served the young nezumi begrudgingly. “Also, you still owe me for last month's tab, so I gotta start crackin' down a bit.”
Declan stared in his glass again as he swirled the drink around in it's container. “Yeah... Well, things aren't going right for me, lately.” He took a sip and felt the strong alcohol go down his throat. “First my uncle disappears, then I lose my job... and now my landlord's gonna kick me out on the street any day now. Some luck, huh?”
“Well, a sob story like that ain't gonna pay the bills now, are they?” Ernie stopped for a moment to serve another customer, filling a pint glass full of ale before he passed it over.
“Maybe so,” Declan just muttered, cradling the shot glass in his hand as he swirled the cold liquid around inside. “The truth is, I've been saving up for a trip for a while now – cross continent exploration. But every time I save up a bit, I just lose it again, one way or another.”
Oh gee, I wonder why, the bartender thought as he rolled his eyes. “You ever thought about joining the army, or being one of them dragon knights? Best way you can go see the world for free, if ya ask me.”
“That's not the point! I don't wanna travel for free if it means being held on a leash all the time. Besides, I don't think I'm cut out for the army.”
“Is that so?” Ernie just raised his eyebrow as he reached for another dirty glass to wipe clean. “Well, if ya feel that strongly about it... Why don't you try taking a job on one of them farms outside these walls, then?”
Declan just stared in his glass as Ernie continued to talk, just barely making out his reflection in the brown, semi-transparent drink. “Farm work, huh? Doesn't sound too bad...”
“Yeah, those guys out there are always looking for an extra hand or two. Pay rate ain't bad, either. Just... be careful, though - I hear one of 'em's a real psychopath who hates us kind walking on their land. No-one goes in, or out of there alive, ya hear?”
Declan pursed the shot glass to his lips and knocked his head back as he took one final swig of his whiskey, before setting the empty glass down on the table.
“Y'know what Ernie, you're right – I'm gonna go out there first thing tomorrow and find myself some work in the fields. And maybe then, I could afford that trip at last...”
Before Ernie could get a chance at formulating a response, the young nezumi hopped down from his seat and threw the hood of his jacket over his head, only for the bartender to call out to him. “H-hey, where do you think you're going?! You haven't paid for your-”
“Oh, just put it on my tab, I'll pay you back later,” Declan calls back as he heads towards the door, opening it and stepping out into the blustering rain. Ernie did nothing but clench his teeth and cursed him under his breath, resuming serving the thirsty customers. The middle-aged Burmecian that stepped in earlier took a seat at the bar, letting out a gruff as he sat down.
“Hey Ernie, a pint over here if you will!” he called out. The bartender didn't have time to openly complain about Declan freeloading from him again, as he was quick to filling another pint glass with frothy booze, before passing it over to the willing customer. “So I've noticed you've been having problems with that kid, lately. Any idea on who he is or anything?”
“Yeah,” the bartender replied. “Said his name was Declan Tribal, or something like that.”
“Tribal?!” The nezumi's eyes widened as he heard that name. “You don't supposed he's related to that Zidane guy, or anything?”
“Do you see a monkey tail or a flock-of-seagulls haircut on him?”
“...no?”
“Well then, I guess he isn't.”
The middle-aged nezumi growled softly in annoyance. “Thanks Ernie. You mind saying that one more time without the sarcasm?”
So, what does any of this mean? Does this hold any significance to anyone or anything here? And will we see more in the future? Tune in and find out!