Liad Racecourse - Five Miles Outside Vel Anir
"Okay, honestly, this is great." Arn pitched to his comrades as he and the others walked towards one of the twenty stables on the racing grounds.
The Liad Racecourse was...well, not exactly famed anymore, but once had been the preeminent home of all chariot racing in Vel Anir. At one point the sport had been incredibly popular with nearly every level of society. Gripping both peasant and noble alike. As time had gone on, public interest had shifted into other sports like Anirball and others, but the Liad Racecourse had remained.
Putting on a few shows every year to middling crowds.
So why, all of a sudden, was the near abandoned racecourse now teeming with life and activity? Because the Guard had decided to partake.
Though Arn had absolutely no idea whose decision it was, why they had made it, or even what considerations had gone into it he was not one to question. Two weeks ago he had been sitting on the Cortosi front, sweating in his leather armor and worried that another sortie from the Free-Cities would be making its way across the river. Now? Now he was slated for a day of racing, and although he had no idea what he was doing, he was more than happy to be here.
"I mean, there's no way we win." Arn said as they approached the stable they had been assigned. "But at least no ones going to try to kill us today."
He said cheerily, not noticing that more than a few of the stables were teeming with Dreadlords. Men and women not exactly known for their...easygoing nature during competitions.
"Ah, there you lot are."
A man said from inside the Stable as the Guards approached. He was an older looking man, Arn would have pegged him around his fathers age. He was their consultant apparently. A former racer meant to guide them on how to best perform today, something the Farmboy was more than a little thankful for. "Aye, Sir, sorry for the delay. We're just off from the front."
Arn explained with a smile, and the man nodded as he stepped up to shake the Farmboys hand.
"No need to apologize, I was just fixing some of the bearings. You can call me Polt." The man offered, Arn immediately replying with his own name. "Any of you know anything about racing?"
Polt asked, letting his gaze drift over the group. "Not really...My 'Pa had a cart, and we had a horse on the farm but he wasn't fit for racing really."
Their consultant chuckled. "Ah well, least you know how to tend horses then."
He said before looking at the others expectantly.
"Okay, honestly, this is great." Arn pitched to his comrades as he and the others walked towards one of the twenty stables on the racing grounds.
The Liad Racecourse was...well, not exactly famed anymore, but once had been the preeminent home of all chariot racing in Vel Anir. At one point the sport had been incredibly popular with nearly every level of society. Gripping both peasant and noble alike. As time had gone on, public interest had shifted into other sports like Anirball and others, but the Liad Racecourse had remained.
Putting on a few shows every year to middling crowds.
So why, all of a sudden, was the near abandoned racecourse now teeming with life and activity? Because the Guard had decided to partake.
Though Arn had absolutely no idea whose decision it was, why they had made it, or even what considerations had gone into it he was not one to question. Two weeks ago he had been sitting on the Cortosi front, sweating in his leather armor and worried that another sortie from the Free-Cities would be making its way across the river. Now? Now he was slated for a day of racing, and although he had no idea what he was doing, he was more than happy to be here.
"I mean, there's no way we win." Arn said as they approached the stable they had been assigned. "But at least no ones going to try to kill us today."
He said cheerily, not noticing that more than a few of the stables were teeming with Dreadlords. Men and women not exactly known for their...easygoing nature during competitions.
"Ah, there you lot are."
A man said from inside the Stable as the Guards approached. He was an older looking man, Arn would have pegged him around his fathers age. He was their consultant apparently. A former racer meant to guide them on how to best perform today, something the Farmboy was more than a little thankful for. "Aye, Sir, sorry for the delay. We're just off from the front."
Arn explained with a smile, and the man nodded as he stepped up to shake the Farmboys hand.
"No need to apologize, I was just fixing some of the bearings. You can call me Polt." The man offered, Arn immediately replying with his own name. "Any of you know anything about racing?"
Polt asked, letting his gaze drift over the group. "Not really...My 'Pa had a cart, and we had a horse on the farm but he wasn't fit for racing really."
Their consultant chuckled. "Ah well, least you know how to tend horses then."
He said before looking at the others expectantly.
