The fountain took the form of a stone knight, spouting freshly-flowing water into a large basin which was gawked at by others. It was a stark difference from the Copper Gate; even in the height of dusk, the streets were occupied as if it was midday.
Street performers did their tricks, some of magic, some showcasing their control over wild beasts to do their tricks for them. Some merchants kept their shops open, selling out of the back of their carriages.
"Exotic fruits here! Get your Dragonbul and Velvanon here!" A fruit merchant exclaimed, holding up a bulbous, pink fruit along with another, slimmer one of a spiky texture.
'"The City That Lives Beneath The Stars"--it's a fitting name. It's at night that Velmusia might be at its most liveliest,' he pondered.
It was almost hard at times to tell it was night when visiting the thriving market area, as gemstones embedded into every building supplied a soft, orange light at the arrival of dusk.
"Hey, Bas! You look beat. How about I help you relax?" The offer came from a promiscuous woman with curly, red hair, who stood in front of an establishment of velvet carpets and colorful brick–a brothel.
"No thanks, I'm good," Bastian declined, finding that one kind of hunger was more important than the other.
It wasn't hard to find the establishment he looked for, as the heavy smell of booze and loudness of boisterous patrons acted almost like a beacon for him. The building was sat between two others, built of darkened wood.
'Finally,' he thought.
Using both hands to push open the swinging doors, he walked into the tavern, immediately finding his nose stuffed by the overbearing aroma of mead and meat. The entire air was different inside; noticeably more humid.
At this time of night, most tables were completely full, occupied by adventurers still dressed in armor and carrying their gear, with cheeks flushed and mugs full.
"Bastian! Hey, Bastian! Over here!"
The familiar voice enthusiastically calling out to him made him swerve his gaze as he found a bandana-wearing man waving his hand in the air to catch his attention.
By the looks of it, the youthful adventurer that waited for him already had his fair share of mead, as his cheeks were red and his body nearly fell from his chair as he waved.
"Gaston," Bastian said as a smile formed on his lips, walking over to the table his friend was at.
It was towards the back of the thriving tavern, at a table nearest to the wall–the same place they always sat together.
"Two more of the same–! Buuegh–!" Gaston held up two fingers to call for a replenishment of drinks, belching amidst his words.
Though it wasn't much longer until the hazel-haired man felt the warmth of booze caressing his body after a couple mugs down the hatch. The ambience and boisterous environment of the tavern made it impossible not to partake in drinks, perhaps a few too many, with adventurers singing and yelling, speaking of their tales and comparing their achievements within the Tower of Yggdrasil.
"Phwaaah…" Bastian exhaled as he slammed another mug down, wiping his mouth of the fuzz.
Gaston gulped down a hefty serving of the amber liquid before placing his mug down, spilling some of the drink sloppily as he swayed, looking across the table at his companion, "So, whazzis about a new jo–beeeugh!"
The question couldn't even be fully said without another belch leaving the man's lips. Just like that, the bandana-wearing man of fiery hair slumped against the table, murmuring to himself.
Fortunately, though he was tipsy himself, he was stable enough to know it was time to stop and help out Gaston, who was far too gone–a normal occurrence with their tavern visits.
It was one his own unique skills, he felt; being able to quickly sober up, taking a quick sip from a glass of water before leaving the coins to cover the racked-up tab. As always, Gaston had made it cost a pretty silver.
"C'mon, Gas. Let's get you back home," Bastian said, hoisting his friend to his feet as he slung his arm over his shoulder.
"Ah, man, Bas…Yer ma best friend, man…The best…" Gaston slurred, not doing much to help move as he stayed as dead weight.
"Yeah, yeah, just move your feet, wouldja?" Bastian asked.
Somehow, the streets were emptier than they were at that time of night; it was quiet, with the only sound being the scraping of his own boots against the cobblestone and the light snores of his friend that slipped in-and-out of slumber.
"...Huh?" Bastian let out quietly as a moisture befell his cheek.
As he looked up, droplets of water descended at an infrequent rate before slowly beginning to shower down with a light rain.
"Rain? Better get moving," he mumbled to himself, adjusting the arm of his companion around his shoulders as he continued along.
Along the now rain-slick cobblestone, he walked, going uphill with his exhausted body. It didn't occur to him until then just how tired he was, though it was understandable when considering all he had done that day.
"Hey, Bas…" Gaston murmured, not opening his eyes as he stayed slump.
"Just keep sleeping," Bastian responded, continuing to look forward as rain continued descending, causing his hazel hair to dampen.
Gaston was quiet for a moment before speaking again, "You should do it…go higher, I mean…I know you're scared of it, but…I remember it used to be your dream."
"--" Bastian didn't reply, continuing to walk for them both.
"Try it again…go to the church…I know you'll get a Blessing this time…I know…" Gaston said, breathing heavily between his words.
As Bastian looked to the side at his slumped companion, the bandana-wearing man had already slipped back into sleep. Though they were the words of one far from sober, he couldn't help but think about what he was told.
"A Blessing, huh?" Bastian mumbled to himself.
Bearing that thought in mind, the home of the intoxicated adventurer was found as Bastian carried his friend up the small steps that led up to the front door. It was a humble cottage of pale, stone bricks, drenched in the rain.
"C'mon. Let's get you inside," Bastian said quietly as he patted his friend's pockets, reaching his hand in as he retrieved the key to the cottage.
The end of the key neared the lock, about to slide in before–
"You're out late."
"Couple a' drunkens. Reckon they've got some coin."
Two, distinct voices spoke from behind him; tones that held anything but friendliness, reeking of hostility.
Without even yet turning around, he already knew what he was dealing with as he slowly knelt down, setting his snoring friend down against the steps gently.
As he stood back up, he faced the strangers, confirming his suspicions: a group of men of varying ages, in tattered, dirtied clothes and looks of greed in their eyes. At the forefront seemed to be the leader of the grouping of thugs–a man with a square jaw and long, black hair in a ponytail, tall and built like a wall of bricks with knuckles that looked enlarged from continuous use.
"Hate to break it to you, guys, but I don't have any money," Bastian said, standing in front of the cobblestone cottage, between his unconscious companion and the thugs.
The thieving member of the group with scarred arms and messy, pale hair waved a curved knife around with a twisted smile, "We'll see that for ourselves! Empty those pockets!"
"That's not happening, sorry," Bastian let out a perturbed sigh.
It was clear there was no talking his way out of the thug's plans. With that much being certain, he tightened his gloves as he looked side-to-side, counting the opponents around him and taking note of their weapons.
'Five in total. The small one with the bob-cut keeps reaching under that coat—he probably has a knife. Burly fella is wearing steel knuckles, could be a problem. Lanky guy with the underbite has that shortsword, but he's trembling like a mouse—I'll start with him,' he analyzed.