"Zherros, what the hell?"
Dangling from a rope tens of meters in the air was not what Django had envisioned as a "safe descent," and yet Zherros had started to lower him with a smile on his face.
"Just don' look down, you big baby." Zherros chided, continuing to lower the rope, letting Django fall ever closer to the ground.
They had circled around to the back side of Django's tower, which was shielded from the view of most guards, and had staged their escape at just the right moment to dodge the remaining patrols. Not that they had much to worry about, most guards weren't even doing their patrols, but rather partying.
'Perks of sneaking out during a national holiday.' Django thought thankfully. But he wasn't so thankful for how Zherros had decided to "help" Django get down.
Zherros had tied up Django in a makeshift harness of rope, and had fashioned an almost-pulley out of a stone archway, allowing him to lower Django with less effort and more precision. Not that Django felt any better about it. Besides feeling like he could fall at any moment, splattering into a bloody mess in the paved streets, this was not a good look for... anyone, really. He looked like a baby in a carrier, or maybe a tied up ham. Regardless, not a good look.
Having donned the crow mask before leaving, he looked even more ridiculous than if his face was showing. How on earth could he even begin to explain this if he was caught? It didn't help that the mysterious book he had stashed in his pocket had surprisingly sharp corners, and felt like they were going to poke through Django's pants and give his thigh a nasty paper cut.
Luckily, the ground was soon beneath his feet, and he could let out a sigh of relief. Starting to grapple with the ropes that surrounded his body, he occasionally looked up to see Zherros making his way down the exterior of the castle. He was making much quicker work of the stone facade than Django.
Taking the time to look around, Django could see that they were conveniently placed in an area with little foot traffic, right next to the less-visited shops and taverns. Lights in the buildings were on, and a few even had patrons, but there was no one who could see his descent due to the strange angle he had went down.
'Well, I'll be damned. That was perfect.' Not that Django was expecting it to fail horrifically, but he had expected some trouble at least. He had to give credit to Zherros.
Who was getting very close to the ground at this point.
When Zherros finally landed on the ground, Django had finished unravelling himself from the makeshift harness and was waiting awkwardly, rope in a pile off to the side, shifting from foot to foot as Zherros brushed off his shoulders.
"So... now what?"
Noises from the street indicated that the festival was in full swing already, and Django could even see some children running around, with face paint, vibrant clothes, and even some masks of their own. Django spotted foxes, eagles, bears, dragons, and all sorts of other animals plastered on their faces. Django was doubly glad for the mask Zherros gave him now, and felt a little less out of place wearing a bird mask. Which, while definitely beautiful in terms of craftmanship, probably looked creepy in a dark alleyway...
'Well, we'll be in the main streets soon anyway. So it probably won't look too creepy. I hope.'
Ah, well. Django was used to creeping people out, so it was no big deal. Even if looking like a creepy cultist was a new low for him.
Zherros snapped Django out of his pondering by grabbing his sleeve and beginning to drag him towards the bustling streets ahead.
"What now? we party, of course! That's kinda the whole point. Lot's of stuff goin' on tonight, and you got yourself the perfect tour guide!"
Django chuckled, letting the thoughts of creepy cultist outfits leave his mind. Zherros was right, it was time to have some fun!
---
The city was alive with lights and music. Vendors were jam packed into every square inch of open road, selling food, costumes, bits and pieces, hosting small games, performing little shows, and all manner of other things. Children waved small sparklers in the air, leaving trails of wispy smoke in everyone's noses.
Every building with a shop already inside it was almost entirely full, from the taverns (who had been preparing probably an entire month for this one night) to the most niche of shops, who despite getting barely any customers year round had barely any space to spare inside.
Django couldn't even comprehend what all was going on. His eyes were full of lights reflected from lanterns, ears full of shouting from the market and the passerby, and nose dominated by a myriad of sources from around the streets. His only anchor was Zherros' hand, which pulled him steadily through the crowd.
Django couldn't see where Zherros was dragging him, but he had a few guesses.
The pair had a great deal of fun that night. They saw almost everything the city had to offer:
A magician performing slight of hand, as well as some basic spells, to the delight of children all around him. Django found himself jealous of the sorcerer, magic seemed so cool. He imagined himself a powerful wizard, firing spells left and right...
An assortment of food and drink, many of which Django had never tasted. The new items filled his tongue with all sorts of sensations; nuanced spice, intoxicating sweetness, savory meats, unlike anything held in the royal kitchens.
A puppeteer performing a show about the first king of Miklagard: A young man with a head full of scruffy hair that covered his eyes, only letting slivers of a set of grey eyes be shown. He was a demigod, blessed by Helceye, god of the mist. According to the puppeteer, he and his cohort of other powerful figures once established peace after a war amongst the minor gods...
The final place the pair visited would be the one Django remembered the most, even years later.
A humble fortune teller's tent.