<div style="padding: 3px; background-color: #FFFFFF; border: 1px solid #d8d8d8; font-size: 1em;"><div style="text-transform: uppercase; border-bottom: 1px solid #CCCCCC; margin-bottom: 3px; font-size: 0.8em; font-weight: bold; display: block;"><span onclick="if (this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display != '') {  this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = ''; this.innerHTML = '&lt;b&gt;Spoiler: &lt;/b&gt;&lt;a href=\'#\' onClick=\'return false;\'&gt;hide&lt;/a&gt;'; } else { this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = 'none'; this.innerHTML = '&lt;b&gt;Spoiler: &lt;/b&gt;&lt;a href=\'#\' onClick=\'return false;\'&gt;show&lt;/a&gt;'; }"><b>Spoiler: </b><a href="#" onclick="return false;">show</a></span></div><div class="quotecontent"><div style="display: none;">Aaaaaand we're off! Most of you will be receiving PMs shortly with some character-specific information that correponds with this first post. In the meantime, here's some nice, meaty story to chew on. Enjoy!</div></div></div><br/><br/>7th Celeste, AP 500:<br/><br/>It's a fine evening for a festival. The air is warm and clear, and the late summer sun has just dipped below the horizon, bathing the streets of Prometa in vibrant orange twilight. As shopkeepers hang their lanterns in preparation for the evening crowd, people from all over the city flock to Portal Square to join a revelry already in progress, which is about to greet its guests of honor in a few short minutes...<br/><br/>As the center of the merchant district, and the city as a whole, Portal Square is never a slow or quiet place. Even its slowest pace would be considered bustling for anywhere but the heart of a gate city. On Crossing Night, it's a bedlam: a wall-to wall (and in some places,<span style="font-style: italic">up</span>the walls) sea of people of all shapes, sizes and cultures, drawn together from the furthest reaches of the globe for this once-in-a-lifetime celebration. In any other city, a gathering of this magnitude would be an irresistible target for pickpockets, con men, or even some particularly brazen predators, but Prometa's criminal element has yet to raise is ugly head in the midst of the festivities. And who would dare, with the city's finest presiding?<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">&lt;&lt;The City's Finest: Alyssa and Dagnyr&gt;&gt;</span><br/><br/>The base of the portal dais is one of the few clear spaces in the entire square. Separated from the milling crowd by a rough circle of planks and barrels, the black-and-blue clad officers of the Prometan City Watch stand conversing in groups of two and three, occasionally joined by the white and gold raiment of an Aurain paladin. One trio in particular stands out above the rest, quite literally, thanks to its tallest member: Dagnyr Thuror, a seven-foot tall, mithral clad hyena towering over his two partners. Standing by the massive gnoll's side, the already petite Alyssa Niberos looks positively minuscule. Even the plate-clad Sergeant Yuki Ananda standing before him looks tiny compared to his bulk... not that she needs a height advantage to command anyone's attention.<br/><br/>"Fifteen minutes 'til showtime," Yuki announces, snapping her silver-embossed  pocket watch shut and tucking it deep into a hip pouch. The raven-haired watchwoman takes a step back to keep both Dagnyr and Alyssa in her field of vision, narrowing her eyes at the duo. "Alright you  two, you know the plan. When the Academy Bell chimes eight, the Lord Governor will take the dais to officially begin the Crossing ceremony. When that happens, I want this crowd absolutely<span style="font-style: italic">quiet</span>. No jeering, no catcalls, no vendors hawking, and no drunken singing-<span style="font-style: italic">nothing.</span>"<br/><br/>"Adjutant Niberos, you'll be handling the merchants in the southeast corner..." Yuki turns and points to the far end of the square, near a bustling vendor whose stand reads<span style="font-weight: bold">THE WANDERING GRILL,</span>then to a bright green tent several to the west. "Thuror, you're with her, covering the eastern ale tents. See if you can 'cleanse' a few of messier drunks before the Lord Governor's speech starts. Alright you two- MOVE OUT!" Without waiting for Alyssa or Dagnyr to respond, Yuki silently pivots and marches to the next group of deputies awaiting instructions.<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">&lt;&lt;A Bustling Vendor: Larynn and Kaelen&gt;&gt;</span><br/><br/>A festival is always good for business, and today is no exception. Gold flows freely along the outer edge of the square, as revellers swarm around open storefronts or pack themselves into brightly colored tents to haggle over prices with some of the merchant district's finest salesman. Even the relatively humble stalls of Larynn and Kaelen, wedged together between two larger vendors, have been drawing a steady stream of customers, lured by the rich scent of herbs and roasting meat.<br/><br/>Larynn's booth is doing particularly well, now that evening is falling and the dinner crowds have gathered. At the moment, the Wandering Grill is besieged by a troupe of drunken vanara in gaudy costumes, determined to be as loud as mortally possible. In between screeches and hoots, the ape-men wave their coin purses about and bellow orders randomly:<br/><br/>"Two kebabs here! Two for Tula!"<br/>"THREE kebabs for Jalal, and I want 'em before Tula's!"<br/>"Amrita for Bansi! You've got amrita, yeah?"<br/>"Hey, sweet-meats, are YOU on the menu?"<br/><br/>... and so on.<br/><br/>In Kaelen's neighboring stall, a broad-shouldered hobgoblin peruses the bins of apothecary reagents slowly, seemingly oblivious of the noise less than ten feet to his right. Muttering something to himself in Goblin, he picks up a sheaf of yarrow and examines it thoughtfully for a moment before tossing it back into the pile and grumbling loudly. After repeating the act with a few more herbs, he appears to settle on a bundle of fresh wormwoood and tosses it to Kaelen. "You have good herbs, shopkeeper- fresh, and potent. Have they been blessed for<span style="font-style: italic">Chiva</span>?"<br/><br/>Any immediate answer is drowned out as the vanara troupe bursts into an excited whoop, and a smaller group peels off in a knuckle-gallop toward a cheering crowd gather at one of the ale tents.<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">&lt;&lt;The Ale Tents : Mina and Celaire&gt;&gt;</span><br/><br/>Prometans love to drink. It only takes a quick stroll south to the city's tavern district to confirm that fact for oneself, and a sip of one of the local brews to understand why: outside of the dwarven mineholds, Prometan ales are some of the best in Brilan. With the Crossing Night Festival in full swing, the tavern district has crept its way into the south side of Portal Square, replicating itself in miniature with multi-story tents proudly displaying a variety of dwarven and halfling names. Maybe, just maybe, a certain dwarven master is in one of those tents...<br/><br/>Mina hasn't found the man she's looking for yet, but she has learned another important fact about Prometan drinkers: as much as they love to drink, they love drinking games<span style="font-style: italic">even more.</span>As her fellow pubgoers are currently demonstrating...<br/><br/>"VIERERBOCH!" The coal-haired dwarf sitting across from Mina bellows his new count as he slams an empty gallon tankard onto the counter, joining three others from earlier rounds. As the ale tent's crowd erupts into applause, the dwarf leans forward with a cross-eyed grin and gestures to his opponents: Mina with four of her own empty tankards, and a green-clad drow currently downing his fourth.<br/><br/>"Two-forty in!" the halfling bartender announces in his best barker's voice. "Twenty to raise now, twenty gilders to raise, one-twenty to quit!"<br/><br/>The drow finishes his tankard, and winks at Mina. "Raise," he declares... and promptly passes out, face-first, onto the ale soaked table. A blonde human in a longcoat watching from the bar nearly falls down laughing.<br/><br/>"Raise, he says! HA!" Pulling himself back upright with some effort, the man throws his arm around his nearest neighbor, a sturdy-looking elven woman, and gives her a friendly slap on the back. The unexpected jostle earns a silent snarl from the back on Celaire Llandros's mind as Angel stirs for a moment, but doesn't rise to the challenge. It's the first time Celaire's alter ego has shown itself since her arrival in Prometa, and maybe the last... provided she can keep herself out of trouble until the<span style="font-style: italic">real</span>angels arrive, that is. She doesn't have long to wait- the Academy Bell just chimed its third quarter a minute ago, and robed figures atop the dais are stirring...