Even with the cobblestones of Argent Avenue and the foliage of Aria Park still wet from the morning’s light rain, dozens of Kintargans have gathered along the facade of the opera house to protest the city’s new lord-mayor, Paracount Barzillai Thrune.
The city’s new leader was appointed by Her Infernal Majestrix, Queen Abrogail II, in the wake of the previous lord-mayor’s sudden flight from the city — an event that still has local rumormongers whispering furiously. In a scant seven days, Paracount Thrune has instituted martial law, a curfew, and seven outlandish and polarizing proclamations.
These actions and more have called many of Kintargo’s dissatisfied citizens here on this overcast morn. There’s been no sign yet of Barzillai Thrune himself, and the opera house’s doors remain tightly closed—as they have since the man chose the landmark as his new home—but judging by the growing sound of the protesters, he surely can’t ignore the scene on the streets below much longer.
A good dozen of Dottari are standing guard at the entrance, together with a well-armed and battlescarred woman commanding them. From a Balcony, a hooded figure is motionlessly watching the protestors gather.
Boros is careful to keep his boot-length, undyed wool cloak drawn closed as he moves through the sparse crowd in Aria Park. While others there may be similarly dressed, he very much doubts it's for the same reason however; beneath his cloak, carefully padded to muffle the creak of harness and occasional rasp of metal on metal, is a suit proscribed armor. The sheathed blades, equally forbidden by recent proclimation, seem almost an afterthought in comparison.
Even with his care, occasional glimpses of his equippage are still visible, though fortunately not to any of the watching dottari, and the rare witness among the gathering protestors seems to have no inclination to call attention to what they see.
Boros takes time to return any greeting offered to him, and even responds to a few comments about the weather or the impending protest, but it is clear that his attention is focused beyond the bounds of the park itself. An astute observer can also note his considering looks at the dottari assembling outside of the Kintargo Opera House to the north.
The only time Boros actually pauses for more than a moment in his ceaseless prowling of the park's confines is when he passes what even his limited experience can tell is a fashionably arrayed young human woman with a clear, captivating voice currently raised in song, much to the delight of a small gathering at the south-eastern side of the footbridge spanning the park's lake. Spying a small mat strewn with coins as her feet, he carefully extracts a silver coin with an odd octagonal shape from a pouch at his waist, inadvertently giving the young woman a clear look at his armor in the process, and adds it to her collection before continuing his circuit of the park.
When Boros directs his attention to people outside the park itself, it is clear to an observer that he seems to be looking for someone specific, with clearly-increasing annoyance when he fails to find whom he is seeking. Eventually, however, a middle-aged human male approaches from the crowd and murmurs something in his ear before leaving the park to the east. Whatever Boros heard, it is clearly not to his liking, if the sour expression on his face is any indication.
"'Just wait an hour,' he says. 'We'll get you to the next spot in an hour.' Yeah, and I heard the same damn thing an hour back, and an hour before that again. I don't know what in the Hells these civilians think wearing armor is like," he mutters angrily, trying but failing to keep his words entirely to himself. "But it's no joy to be walking about, for hours at a stretch, in full kit in this blasted humidity, and not even be able to catch a passing breeze to ease the sweat a touch, for fear of the guard seeing what they shouldn't."
He shakes head and lets out an aggrieved laugh that draws a few looks. "Torag save me from the fumbling of amateurs, because it'll get me killed if it keeps up. Probably because I collapse from the heat after a three-hour slow roast in my armor, and flash the guards just the excuse they need to haul me in and give me the chop," he continues with a darkly humorous twist to his smile.
With another shake of his head at the situation and his inability to arrange it in a fashion more to his preference, Boros continues his prowl of Aria Park and the rising number of protestors and onlookers that fill it this day.
There was definitely something brewing - something in the air. Time to throw him out! Miranda thought cheerfully. With this many people already gathered surely plenty more would come. And Barzillai would be forced to give in and get the Hell out of here. Hih! She quietly snickered to herself as she walked into the plaza proper to look for a nice high spot. If there would truly be a crowd she didn't fancy having the view blocked just because most of them were twice her height! And what other interesting things could her bright red eyes spot?
Today she was wearing some of her nicest clothes since they had the most pockets. And many pockets were useful - it would hopefully distract any Dottarii long enough for her to think of something. They were compromise of a dull purple cotton dress, earthly brown breeches bottomed off with a pair of soft boots. She also wore a thin cloak, fitted with even more pockets, and a satchel containing a handful of tomatoes. Despite certain preconceptions of the fruit they were not for throwing. Why would anyone do that? They are so delicious now! To empathize her thoughts she picked one up and sunk her sharp teeth into it. Besides, should the need arise, she had packed some garlic too for throwing purposes. It was her hope that Barzillai and his lackeys would see the amusing side of that - but somehow it felt doubtful.
A woman of slightly above-average height moves through Aria Park, humming gently to herself. The most striking feature, from a distance, is the pearly parasol that she holds over her shoulder. It languidly twirls as the lightly tanned hand holding it over her shoulder slowly rotates it. A bangle of brass with emerald beads dangles noisily from the same arm.
The pearl color readily draws the attention from her parasol to her shirt, a soft, billowy thing that is held firmly in place by a corset of green satin, at least until it blooms out at the end of either arm and a few inches below her waist.
The emerald, in turn, draws the eyes down to her leather pants, of much the same color, which are smooth and tight, eventually tucking into black leather boots that rise to mid-calf. Each bit of metallic accent is of a decidedly silver variety (other than the brass and emerald bangle). When eyes return to normal level (had they craned down for a more full view), they find more of the same tanned skills that her hands offered, though her shoulders, and soft face, are dappled with freckles. Dark, slightly wavy hair outlines her overall rounded face, while silver teardrop ear-rings bring out the light gray of her eyes. Quick, but well-practiced, application of make-up, a dark shade of red on her lips and dark mascara and eyeliner round out the cosmopolitan look.
She seems intent to move into and slowly through the slowly gathering crowd, as the others, she takes a moment to smile (or frown) and talk to others as they speak with her. Everytime she looks towards the Opera House, she looks somehow... disappointed, whether it's vague hints of a grimace, or a quiet sigh.
Several of her mannerisms that give the illusion of calm are actually caused more by nervousness. She's doing a good job of hiding it, but her eyes lingering on the guards, the slowly spinning parasol, and the steady rise and fall of the toes of her shoes when she's 'standing still' give away how out of place and worried she feels.
Lily is doing a rather bad job of hiding the buckler that's attached to her right arm, though the parasol over her left shoulder draws more of the attention of those who wouldn't scrutinize the appearance. Likewise, the clothing doesn't settle as if against flesh, but instead against something less flexible.
The young Aulamaxa woman was a bit taller then some, but not by much. What stuck out about her however was her refinement and beauty, even through her efforts to seem less memorable. Juliette's hair was a dark black, and it glistened in the sun, it's length was only long enough to touch her shoulders. She wore the clothing of an entertainer, which seemed appropriate for her, though perhaps too simple. She carries with her, what appears to be a walking stick , though she looks too young and well bodied to need one.
There were very few times when Juliette decided not to wear her fineries, this was one of those times, for she knew that there was a protest today and that she would be taking part in it. Juliette knew that this event might result in punishment depending on how things went, and it was important to her that her family, and most importantly the matron of her house, not suffer the consequences for her actions.
However, that wouldn't stop Juliette from partaking in the protest. Kintargo was being crippled by the new "Lord Mayor" Barzillai Thrune, but Juliette's biggest complaint was the man's blatant disregard for the Opera house, which had been closed since the man arrived.
"This man, Barzillai Thrune brings upon our town, a curse. He has taken our theater and made it perverse. Yet somehow he believes that he can tell us what to do. While he runs our city as if it was a zoo. If we all stand by and do nothing, it will all be over soon. The end will come by the name of Thrune. However, I will not lie down and let him have his way. And so I say. HELL NO! THRUNE MUST GO!" It was clear from Juliette's voice, if not her words why she was here - this was a protest, and she had every intention of being a part of the protest. Yet her voice carried a tune as she sang, almost as if she were reciting the lines from an Opera, appropriate since the closing of the Opera house had appalled her so.
Varuzhan's head turned from left to right, his white pupilless eyes surveying the scene. He frowned. To his thinking, the crowd looked pitifully sparse. "Is this all the anger you Kintargans can muster?" he whispered to Nissim, incredulous at the tiny group milling about. "I thought this was a protest, not a picnic."
The dark-skinned hooded figure slowed down, not wanting to go into the heart of Aria Park under these circumstances. The methodical thunk of his oakwood staff slowed to match his pace. Ordinarily, Varuzhan wouldn't even be outdoors at this hour. By nature, he was active during twilight hours - early morning if he had to wait for a store to open. His bedtime was soon approaching. But when Nissim had told him that he was planning on "observing" the gathering protest, Varuzhan felt compelled to come, to keep a watchful eye on the young boy. Now, as he approached the waiting Dottari, Varuzhan's heart quickened. A surge of adrenaline swept aside all thoughts of sleep.
Varuzhan raised the hood of his cloak over his head to further hide his identity. Tucked beneath that cloak was a pair of black, feathered wings. Those wings yearned to fly over the park. But, as part of his exile, one of Varuzhan's wings had been shattered, leaving him with only the most rudimentary flying abilities. And beneath those wings was a steel breastplate, specially fitted to accommodate his wings. Though the use of armor was proscribed, Varuzhan did not trust this day to go smoothly. He was ready to flee, and if necessary to fight, at the first sign of trouble. Looking up with concern, he peered at the ominous hooded man on the balcony, hoping to make out some recognizable feature.
It's shaping up to be a very strange day.
If someone had told Nissim a month ago that today he would on his way to a public protest in front of the shuttered Opera House with a strix companion, he would have laughed at them. But here he was doing exactly that.
He had only met Varuzhan, the strix, the previous day. He had come to the shop looking for a few more unusual and hard to obtain ingredients for use with his own clients a couple of weeks earlier. Nissim had figured that he must be a parlor herbalist or have a very small shop since buying retail then selling on to customers isn't a sound way to run a business. He didn't find out much at the time though because the strix and his father had fell to arguing over proper usage of some of the ingredients, and Varuzhan had left quickly and in a foul mood. What he had to say interested Nissim though. There was, in theory he thought, some sound reasons why the strix would argue what he did, and it made Nissim curious. Besides, Nissim wanted to float his idea of an Apothecaries guild to the strix to see what he would say.
It took him a several days to track him down. He was over in Red Roofs, the Devil's Nursery, so Nissim had to ask around quite a bit before he found a lead. He had visited, to Varuzhan's surprise, and they had talked about herbalism and medicines for some time. It was pleasant actually, even though Varuzhan had seemed cold to the idea of an association of apothecaries in the city.
One of the subjects that they spent some time on was the new ban on mint and garlic. Both are basic ingredients in numerous compounds and elixirs. In some cases substitutions could be made, but in others it was not possible. Following the proclamations would be very harmful for both patients and businesses. Not following them would be dangerous. Nissim has suggested that Varuzhan should come with him to the protest at the Opera House because it would be better to know which way the wind was blowing with proclamations than not. They were obviously ridiculous, and perhaps a public outcry would result in some of them being rescinded. Varuzhan agreed and the next morning Nissim and the strix met before going to the protest.
As they walked there, conversation had been sparse. Aside from medicines, what did they really have in common to converse about? Besides Veruzhan did seem prickly and not inclined to small talk. That suited Nissim fine, he wasn't much for chatting for the sake of it either.
As Lily isolates herself by doing quite the opposite, making her way into the crowd, she keeps her ears busy, listening to snippets of what is going on, listening for the loudest cries.. and the softest, that she can only hear from nearby.
Were it not for how thin the crowd was now, Lily would likely have not seen the man with his contact, but as the men were talking, one drew much more of her attention than the other. It was odd, his dress was like hers; meant to conceal his desire for protection. But unlike her, he was also armed, and simultaneously, he seemed willing to draw attention to the former.
Lily was uncertain of what in particular to think on that front... but it wasn't really her concern, at least not yet. The darkly dressed halfling with the nice boots hadn't quite done anything to draw her attention yet, either.
The attractive young woman with the stick stood out quite a lot as she raised her voice above the crowd, decrying Thrune... lyrically. She couldn't help but smile, as the first clear sentiment that she agreed with rose through the crowd... but she didn't join in. This was perhaps the worst place to be open about your distaste for Thrune specifically, with so many guards about. No, it was best to keep her head down, and learn what the general sentiment of the crowd happened to be. Still, she felt as though she recognized the woman...
Her eyes moved back to the building, studying the obvious Kintargan architecture that much of the city bore proudly, once more gaining a small smile as her mind wandered to recent memories. She managed to spot the hooded figure... but opted to pay him no mind, despite the curiosity of his appearance and position.
They skirted the outside of the park, around a tree that used to show the seven new proclamations. Perhaps moments before, some protester had ripped the poster down, the evidence still hanging limply in the still air: a vellum strip, torn and ragged, nailed to the tree.
Not that Aldous needed the poster. He had a sharp mind and a good memory, and the proclamations were all easy enough to remember. Whether they were farcical (no mint?), repressive (proclamation the fifth, or the grain drain, as a bemused colleague had called it), or even foreboding (proclamation the fourth, giving the state the sole right to arms and weapons), Aldous's mind could picture those proclamations - and the poster the words were scrawled upon - in crisp detail, for there were countless others nailed to trees and buildings all around town.
The barrister hedged a bit each time his friend, Kaylee Criselli, of Criselli's Fine Tomes, grabbed his hand and tried to drag them into the center of the protest. Kaylee: friend, radical, bookseller. Along with her father they had introduced Aldous to the world of alternate Chelish histories, of radical political thought, and of, perhaps most importantly, a small group of Kintargo's intellectual dissidents. Dissidents who the more he got to know them, the more Aldous realized were not enemies or evil people. They were just people, concerned with their families and their money and their rights, just like any people anywhere.
Or they were mostly people, anyways. Finally relenting, Kaylee drug Aldous into the protest, past a strix, a real gods-damned strix!, and then around a slip munching a tomato she'd brought to throw. They stopped near a woman with a fine voice, sing-chanting in a cadence that reminded Aldous of a night at the opera with his sisters a few months back - an opera which, despite the subtle satirical jabs at House Thrune and the Asmodeans, his family had quite enjoyed.
With alarm, the barrister realized they were right the center of the protest. Looking up to the balcony of the opera house, Aldous took in the cloaked figure there - a hooded and still figure no doubt taking note of who was below. Grabbing the now chanting Kaylee, Aldous pulled her back towards the sidelines. "C'mon! You put your father in danger!"
One last look to the balcony, to take in all the details of who could be under that cloak. If these past four years as barrister of Ness, Ness, and Jhaltero had taught Aldous anything, it was that in the details hid the devil.
During the late morning, more and more people start streaming into the square in front of the Opera House. Citizens from all classes, all lines of work, all races, and, maybe most important, all political inclinations are gathering. In fact, the area in front of the Opera House is getting crowded.
Little groups start to form, when friends or people of like mind meet up, and start shouting at the Opera, the Dottari, and each other. As if to smile on the gathered crowds, the clouds open up and the late morning sun starts to warm the protesters. The trees, while mostly still green, began their process of becoming more colorful a few days ago, and some of the park vendors who meant to stay away from the protest contemplate if it's worth the potential profit to head near the mass of people. So far, everything seems calm, the Dottari stand motionless, and their female captain makes certain, through her presence alone, that people stay away from the Entrance.
The crowd gathering in the market square consists of Kintargo partisans (who despise Cheliax’s tightening grip on their city and demand local rule); economic conservatives (who feel the squeeze as Thrune enacts new taxes and business policies); advocates of democracy (whose bitterest complaint is Thrune’s appointment instead of legal election); anarchists (who hope the protest turns into a good riot); and Chelish loyalists (who support Thrune’s actions to curb the city’s dissentious streak).
With the protest picking up steam as the ranks of dissidents(and supporters) fill up, there is a number of things you could do that come to mind:
Pilfer: Criminal-minded characters can use the large gathering to line their pockets, lifting purses or goods from the street vendors by succeeding at a Sleight of Hand check.
Rabble Rouse: Persuasive characters may want to better organize the protest by attempting a Diplomacy or Perform check.
Search for a Contact: Some people might have come to the protest in search of a mysterious contact said to be wearing a black leather glove on his right hand and no glove at all on the left. Attempt an Perception check to find them.
Silence Undesirable Elements: With five distinct factions among the protesters, the message delivered is a jumbled mess. Characters can try to silence or outshout elements of the crowd they disagree with. To silence a group, a PC must succeed at a Bluff or Intimidate check.
Watch the Crowd: One can simply choose to watch the crowd for anything unusual. Attempt a Perception or Sense Motive check.
When Nissim and Varuzhan arrived at the square, they found a small but growing crowd of people milling about. Not much was obviously happening, but Nissim could feel an intensity, a hot spot, compared to any of the other places they had walked through on the way.
\"Is this all the anger you Kintargans can muster?" he whispered to Nissim, incredulous at the tiny group milling about. "I thought this was a protest, not a picnic."
To Varuzhan's comment Nissim replied "Don't judge just yet. Kintargo may be the place all these people call home, but they are not tribal Kintargans except in a metaphorical sense. There is no common purpose to their resentment and anger. Without a leader to focus it, they wait and see, each what the others will do or say."
"Let us find a place along the edge where we can watch what happens and hear what people are saying."
Nissim finds a spot not too far from where a pretty, black haired young woman is singing.
She may attract comments and get people to talking, or arguing. As good a place as any right now to choose as a focal point in the crowd.
Nissim's parents had not been very enthusiastic when he had mentioned his intention to attend the protest rally. He had assured them that he was only there to watch and see what happened. Nissim insisted that they needed to know what was happening in the city. Hearsay and gossip came in plenty through the shop door, but he argued that things were changing so rapidly and radically that those kind of information networks would not be reliable. One day's news might be rendered meaningless by the next day's. They couldn't wait for things to come to them and remain behind.
His parents didn't argue against his points, but they were more aware than him of how a business could be assassinated. If Nissim were to be seen and identified as sympathetic to anti-Thrune politics, the new government could act, within the law and almost invisibly, to destroy them. Inspections followed by fines, followed by regulations that required permits, followed by inspections and more fines or arrests, followed by new regulations... That kind of endless circle of attention from authorities would destroy them if it were put into motion.
NIssim did eventually convince them that it would be valuable for him to attend. He assured them he would be careful, and they knew he was not of the temperament to get caught up in the excitement of the moment and do something regrettable. He agreed to take along an extract that would allow him to disguise his appearance if need be. He also agreed to try to find a cheap portrait of Abrogail for the shop. There were hardly any to be found in the city now as they were selling faster than they could be made. It was a chore nobody else in the family wanted, so Nissim would try to find one on his way home.
Of course Nissim mentioned nothing at all about the strix during these conversations.
And yes, there is a meaning to these rolls. Now shoo, and don't come here again if a spoiler is not addressed to you.
To Varuzhan's comment Nissim replied "Don't judge just yet. Kintargo may be the place all these people call home, but they are not tribal Kintargans except in a metaphorical sense. There is no common purpose to their resentment and anger. Without a leader to focus it, they wait and see, each what the others will do or say."
Varuzhan keeps apace with Nissim as he worked closer toward the singing woman, noting that the crowd was filling in behind them. "Indeed, there are many reasons to despise the schemes and abuses of House Thrune. But they are skilled at dividing their enemies to fight amongst themselves." Varuzhan thought back for a moment to his own personal battle with the Thrunes, and how he had defied his own leaders to battle Chelaxian encroachment on their lands. Maybe it had been a mistake, the way he had handled their mission of sabotage, acting with only a few like-minded rebels without gaining popular support. It had only caused the strix to fight themselves, strengthening Cheliax.
"Still, it looks like this disordered protest has still captured enough attention. If you look up, the ominous-looking man on the balcony is Archmage Thule, one of Paracount Barzillai's advisors." And a threat should this protest erupt into violence, thinks Varuzhan. He focuses his mind, trying to recall what he knew about the archmage. . But it seems he either does not recall it, or has forgotten. "If he is watching, you can be sure Brazillai is staying informed."
Varuzhan called on the spirits of his ancestors to aid him. In an abundance of caution, he invoked minor magics to ensure that he and Nissim could still communicate, should they get separated.
Varuzhan then listens to the crowd for rumors about what was happening these days, including the deranged proclamations that he greatly despised.
Nissim takes a moment to clean his spectacles before going back to watching the crowd. There was another reason why he wanted to stay away from the mix of the crowd. It hadn't been hard for him to notice that Varuzhan was violating at least a couple of proclamations. Although he had taken care to hide it, NIssim had noticed his armor. Whether the staff would count as a weapon normally he didn't know for sure. But an angry or zealous dottari would probably decide it did. It doesn't help things that Varuzhan is strix, making him more likely to be noticed already.
Nissim had followed his promise to try to be as anonymous as possible. His clothing was unremarkable, favoring black and grey. Nothing flashy, but in good repair. He had worn a cloak for it's hood although he favored long overcoats personally. He had brought along his kit of infusions, stored in a bandolier that wasn't obvious due to the cloak. But he had lied about bring a infusion for disguises. Nissim's main worry was not that he might be recognized in the crowd. He doubted that would happen since nobody else he knew planned to be there. He was instead prepared to use his infusions for self-defense and escape in case things turned sour. Disguises would not help much if he was detained. Lugo was with him, currently asleep in his spare belt pouch.
Aside from the singing woman, he saw few people in the crowd that stood out in particular. One did catch his eye though. It was the parasol that he noticed first, an unusual item in an unusual color. But he was positive he had seen the woman who held it before at the shop. She was not the type of woman one forgets. She was walking about through the crowd almost as if she were touring it. She was mixed in with the growing mass of people, but somehow above rather than of it.
As for the shrouded figure in the window of the Opera House, he had noticed the person quickly, but did not look for long. He found the sight of the figure disquieting beyond what its mere appearance would warrant.
As the morning gradually but inexorably gives way to noon, Boros finds himself taking a rest under a tree laden with chattering small-folk, with some occasionally joining or leaving the tree's current occupiers by way of a knotted rope. The hours of constant, fruitless movement through the park, combined with the increasingly-unpleasant weight of his armor, to say nothing of the chafing, have combined to put a truly foul edge to his shortened temper. Only the continued examination of the dottari at the doors of the appropriated Opera House, revealing to his trained eye their defensive stance in the face of the swelling crowd, gives him any measure of calm.
While he enjoys the cool shade offered by the boughs of the tree at his back, Boros carefully reaches under his cloak and withdraws a battered metal canteen with a dull finish, which he weighs briefly in an attempt to estimate the amount of fluid remaining within. Apparently satisfied by what he learns, he removes the cap and takes a long drink from the canteen's contents before replacing the cap on the open spout. Patience momentarily refreshed by the combination of shade and cool sweet tea, Boros fixes eyes and ears both to the words and actions of those around him, looking and listening for anything of interest or use as he replaces the canteen on his harness, unknowingly offering another inadvertent glimpse of his armor in the process.
While examining the crowd, he finds a few people who seem to merit a closer look for reasons that he can't explain. Among them is the bard he saw earlier, and he's rather impressed with the brazenly anti-Thrune nature of her song-like chants, though he knows that she'll likely be a priority target for capture or death if those watching guards ever go on the offensive.
Another citizen that draws his attention is one of the small-folk, a young female eating a tomato with a c!ear expression of enjoyment, who quite clearly has a bit of something extra in her lineage if the color of her eyes and the discomforting sharpness of her teeth are any indication. She appears to be scouting around for a vantage point with some height, and he isn't surprised when her considering gaze turns to the tree behind him.
His considering gaze is then drawn to an exceptionally pretty half-elven lass with a parasol over one shoulder, which he finds himself envying her possession of. His brow furrows with a thoughtful frown as he tries to figure out what it is about her, beyond her magnificent appearance, that has caught his eye.
.
As he ponders the puzzle unintentionally offered by the lady with the parasol, he finds that his gaze has completed its circuit of his immediate surroundings and come back to the bard and her audience of like-minded fellow citizens. He isn't surprised to find that audience having grown larger during his inspection of the crowd. But what stands out most is the person carrying a staff and draped in a cloak much like his own... save for the fact that something is causing the back of that person's cloak to faintly ripple and twitch sporadically, as if something alive was attempting to escape the confining material covering it. The similarly-accoutred human male who appears to be an associate of the staff-wielder is bland enough to be virtually invisible in the crowd by comparison.
Miranda heads towards the tree filled with halflings. It seemed like a good spot to watch things from. And hopefully see where that rhyming came from - she did love a good rhyming!
"Hell no! Thrune must go. Heh. Hell. *snicker*"
On her to the tree she passed one of the tall folks that seemed to eye her tomato with hungry eyes. Or something. Maybe there was some other malady afflicting him? He doesn't *really* look starving. But they never do since they are so big. Hmh. Seeing it as a potential investment of *something to hide behind later* she wordlessly offer the tall man a tomato with a big grin then heads on towards the tree.
At the tree she points to her satchel and then the rope. "Hey! Mind if I come up? I brought some snacks!" Then, from whatever vantage point she ended up with, she started to look at the gathering crowd.
There is something sharp strapped to her leg underneath her dress - and not just her pointy-ended tail!
Lily listens to the bit of information as it comes to her, but doesn't quite have a place for it. Certainly, there are two sides to the same coin. The people of Kintargo are looking for support for 'themselves'. One man might look for a tavern to rabblerouse in, while another simply looks for a quiet place to drink... and both leading to unfortunate, but perhaps preventable, circumstances on both sides.
She huffs to herself, and then smiles softly as the crowd seems to take up the chant against Thrune. That spoke volumes of the sentiment.
Still, she was getting many mixed messages. She personally found herself most aligned with the Kintargo Partisans... though the Economic Conservatives and Advocates of Democracy had reasonable perspectives.
The Chelish Loyalists didn't seem... awful. But then there were the random folk spread throughout the crowd that were simply being rude and awful to everyone involved, and making this so much worse than it needed to be.
Lily kept to the middle of the crowd, though - as implied by Boros - she seemed to be separate from the crowd, rather than a part of it. She didn't mingle or meander for long with anyone. She seemed to not belong. When she finally did speak, her voice was a subtle counterpoint to the overall sound of the crowd, making it less difficult to hear and understand her, even as she didn't choose to speak over them.
She personally sought out one of the Chelish loyalists for just that, catching only the end of their conversation. Since she didn't particularly agree with them, but they weren't spouting nonsense, they seemed the perfect person to gather information from that wasn't strictly going to repeat her opinions back to her.
"Given the state of Kintargo as it is now, what makes you believe that House Thrune should move to enact martial law, and bring about these ridiculous proclamations? No Garlic or Mint? A grain of rice being more valuable to the city spilled than sold? If these are the ideas of Chelaxian Law, what more are we to suspect, next? The proscription of fine clothing?" She shook her head. "I cannot imagine how a foreigner who believes in these things should have any say in our government. That isn't to say that the man is wrong in all ways, or even that we should buck the yoke. Tell me, what is it that Thrune and Cheliax have done for you?"
Although the smart thing may have been to be quiet and let someone else take charge, Juliette had made a promise to her dead father last night that she would not stand idly by. And so her voice grew louder, in order to drown out the voices of the Cheliax Loyalists.
"We must act now, we cannot accept these proclamations. No mint, no garlic - these rules are abominations. No arms, no armor? Might as well stay home in the parlor! This man seeks to destroy our lives. Next thing you know, he'll outlaw jives. He's already taken away the Opera house. What's next, not being able to wear a fancy blouse? This man is Kintargo's Bane! And so I say again!" She paused to give the crowd time to join in with her this time.
"Hell no! Thrune must go!"
Even more people arrive, making the whole area in front of the Opera house crowded with people. The clouds are all but gone, and the sun is shining brightly now. With 5 different ideological groups present, there's some quarreling, even a few bouts of fisticuffs, but the guards seem disinclined to act on those, holding their position.
A figure briefly appears behind one of the windows, and a few people within the crowd claim the person is Barzillai himself, leading to shouts, whistles and general noisy-ness before he disappears again.
As the singing young woman starts up a second verse, getting the crowd that built up near her to join in, the nearby chelish loyalists seem less than pleased.
One of them, after eyeing her suspiciously, walks right up towards the young woman:"You, I know you, I've seen you before. Your father would be ashamed to know what you are doing here! Eldonna will hear of your escapades, anarchic scum!", then spits at her and turns around to walk off, only to run directly into a jab from a burly man among the crowd that had gathered around Juliette. Quickly followed by an uppercut("Thats no way to treat a lady"), the guy stays down, and is quickly picked up by his friends.
The chelish supporters are a lot less vocal, but some among them give Juliette stares that leave no doubt regarding their enmity towards her.
Watching the people near you, you notice there seems to be some sort of unusual subcurrent in the crowd’s movement, as if there were an organizing force among the people. A number of similar-clad people seem to take up positions in the crowd, and may be giving each other signs.(you are not entirely sure if it's just your imagination)
As the first hour of the protest draws to a close(surely it's that many people that Barzillai MUST acknowledge them, given time), the sunny, cloudless sky suddenly turns overcast, with heavy clouds blocking out the sun above Kintargo. The hooded person on the balcony retreats inside the Opera House, just as semi-frozen rain starts falling(Sleet), limiting visibility severely, dropping the temperature significantly, and starting to cover the streets with a slick icy surface.
The weather seems to leave the spirit of the protestors unbroken, some even feel more confident in their beliefs than before.(regardless of their ideology).
Pilfer: Criminal-minded characters can use the large gathering to line their pockets, lifting purses or goods from the street vendors by succeeding at a Sleight of Hand check.
Rabble Rouse: Persuasive characters may want to better organize the protest by attempting a Diplomacy or Perform check.
Search for a Contact: Some people might have come to the protest in search of a mysterious contact said to be wearing a black leather glove on his right hand and no glove at all on the left. Attempt an Perception check to find them.
Silence Undesirable Elements: With five distinct factions among the protesters, the message delivered is a jumbled mess. Characters can try to silence or outshout elements of the crowd they disagree with. To silence a group, a PC must succeed at a Bluff or Intimidate check.
Watch the Crowd: One can simply choose to watch the crowd for anything unusual. Attempt a Perception or Sense Motive check.
Lily tilts her head back and forth. That was certainly food for thought. There had been a lot of arson since Thrune had come to town... and the Nursery thing. Was that new? She'd heard nothing about it. She seems slightly disheartened by the man's response, though it comes in time with his information regarding the return of the slasher. "Thank you for that. You've been very helpful." she says, offering him a small smile, before returning to her slow, steady movements through the crowd. She still didn't care for the mint or garlic laws... especially given how difficult it was to make dishes without garlic. And Hannah's predilection towards mint tea.
Then she heard the crunch and whoompf of a man hitting concrete nearby, she spun, eyes widened by the first sign of violence within the crowd. She slowly picked her way across the pavement that was readily growing slick with ice. She had been sure it was going to be a lovely day, too... at this rate, she'd need to head home early, just to avoid getting sick.
Once more, her voice stayed counterpoint to the crowd, calm, smooth, and gentle. Words like honey. "Calm, calm. What we do with broken bones, we can do just as easily with raised voice. We need not show ourselves to be precisely the sort of people who need martial law. Certainly he deserved an escort out of the rally, but injury will only prove to him that his way is right, because you could not show him that he was wrong through words. Shelyn teaches us to come first with a rose, and end a conflict before it may begin. I fault you not for your passion, but I believe that little harm was done, right, Miss..?" Lily asks, stopping near to the woman who had been singing, but not quite reaching her, between crowd and ice, the going was... difficult.
Varuzhan was listening carefully to the Asmodeans, hoping to get some inside information on the local politics. Instead, he simply heard a tired rumor. "Have you heard the nonsense people spout about the Old Livery being haunted?" he mentions to Nissim. "It's not all that far from my shop in the Devil's Nursery, you know. Truly there are places where the barriers between the material world and the spirit are weak, but an old stable? Feh. Not likely." Varuzhan shakes his head in disbelief.
Varuzhan then looks up, amused by the sudden appearance of clouds -- and sleet! "This gets better and better - obviously Brazillai and his lackeys want to rain on our parade. Little does he know that he's helping some of us stay cool!" Varuzhan had been getting mighty warm in his armor, after all. Out of curiosity, he tries to understand the precise cause of the sleet. .
But most of all, Varuzhan seems to enjoy the ruckus between the blonde-haired signer (Juliette) and the Chelish supporters. "See, now this is more like what I was expecting from a crowd of crass humans. A Thrune supporter spitting at the fair lady bold enough to stand up to their corruption. If he wants to see scum, he should look in the mirror. If I saw a loyalist try something like that, I'd have knocked him out cold too." Varuzhan states this last bit quite loudly. As the crowds have swelled, the spirit of the protest is infectious. Varuzhan's bitterness toward House Thrune is emerging, and he seems intent on daring the nearby Chelish loyalists to test him at his word.
Boros accepts the proffered tomato with a bemused smile at the unexpected gift, then watches the small-folk lass make her way up the tree and into a perch of her own.
"My thanks for the meal, miss," he manages to get out before distance and the noise of the crowd drown out his words. With another smile, he takes a deep bite out of the tomato, slurping a bit to keep the juice off of his chin. Boros takes a brief moment to savor the taste, and notes in passing that his temper, while still a bit rough-edged, seems to be settling as the food hits his stomach.
After a bit of thought, he digs out his canteen once more, and with a bit of one-handed fumbling, manages to get it opened. He then returns his attention to the crowd while alternating between sips of tea and bites of tomato, until both are quite done. After stashing his empty canteen, Boros takes a moment to lick his fingers clean of any remaining juice before wiping them dry on his cloak.
During his meal, his sharp gaze made note of what appeared to be organized activity among some of the protestors. While the similar outfits they wore weren't suspicious in and of themselves, the fact that those so dressed were almost ceaselessly exchanging looks among themselves and what appeared, through the press of the crowd, to be signals of some sort was.
The only thing that momentarily draws his attention away from these individuals is the distinct sound of a body hitting the ground nearby, audible even over the crowd's noise to his trained ear, and he turns his head toward the sound just in time to catch the aftermath of what must have been a real corker of a punch from one of the songstress' fans laying out one of the Chelish supporters. It doesn't take long to discern the reason for the blow, and he shakes his head with a smirk as he turns back to studying those suspicious types he'd seen. "Talk s+~%, get hit," he murmurs half to himself; the Common translation of an old--but still pertinent--lesson from his childhood in Alkenstar City's rough Smokeside district. Those members of the crowd close enough to hear his words nod in agreement, some of them smiling at the loudmouth's treatment.
With the intriguing mystery of this apparent group grabbing most of Boros' attention, he spares barely a glance for the other protestors he'd made prior note of, and the sudden arrival of sleet out of the clouds which had reappeared with surprising speed and virtually no warning further drives all thought of them from the front of his mind.
While the drop in visibility is annoying, especially in light of his efforts to follow the actions of what appears to be a group working in concert to some unknown purpose, Boros retains his position under the tree, as its boughs, and the unfortunate small folk perched upon them, provide him with an excellent shelter from the inclement weather. The value of that shelter only grows as some of the crowd moves further under the sheltering boughs as well, their movement hopefully encouraging a few of the targets of his interest to draw closer as they fill the gaps left behind.
While paying attention the crowd might have been useful, chatting about it was more fun. So Miranda had a pleasant time chatting in the tree about most things between heaven and earth (and down to hell as well; but that isn't part of the figure of speech!). At least until an uninvited drop of sleet landed squarely on her head and sent shivers down her spine all the way to the tip of her toes.
"Ahhooouch!" she protested and looked to the sky. It was so nice just now?
"Bloody damnation! Couldn't he at least have outlawed rain? I bet this is his fault anyhow!" Miranda announced to her fellow tree-folk and shuffled closer to the trunk of the tree. For a little while she considered climbing down and trying to shelter underneath the tree instead (or perhaps collect her 'debt' and hide under that tall man? He *did* say thanks so he basically acknowledged it!) but she was still eager to see what would happen. And while 'seeing' much of anything didn't seem all that possible at the moment - it surely wouldn't be better from the ground. So instead she hurdled up closer to the others in the tree and tried to start some speculation as to what manner of foul play could have conjured this!
So someone had seen through her simple disguise, it wasn't good that Eldonna might hear about her actions, but Juliette couldn't change what had already happened, and she wasn't going to stop now. "Serves you right!" she does however yell at the man as he gets decked by the burly man.
However, then Juliette turns to Lily who seems to be trying to defuse the situation. "If things could be handled with words, there would be no need for swords." Juliette paused to point out the guards to the woman. "Yet Thrune has outlawed our right to arms and he stockpiles them. He will not listen to our words and I doubt his lackeys will either." However, Juliette had little desire to bring harm to any of the guards - they were simply doing their duty, it was Thrune who needed to be stopped.
Having stopped singing, Juliette will watch the crowd that had gathered around her.
"Have you heard the nonsense people spout about the Old Livery being haunted?" he mentions to Nissim. "It's not all that far from my shop in the Devil's Nursery, you know. Truly there are places where the barriers between the material world and the spirit are weak, but an old stable? Feh. Not likely." Varuzhan shakes his head in disbelief.
Nissim hasn't heard much at all about the Old Livery, so he just shrugs slightly and shakes his head when Varuzhan brings it up. Then, as the sleet suddenly comes, he flips up his hood to shield his head, and especially to keep water off his glasses.
Varuzhan then looks up, amused by the sudden appearance of clouds -- and sleet! "This gets better and better - obviously Brazillai and his lackeys want to rain on our parade. Little does he know that he's helping some of us stay cool!"
Yes, this is not a mundane quirk of the weather. That is for sure. But how exactly is it being created?
But most of all, Varuzhan seems to enjoy the ruckus between the blonde-haired signer (Juliette) and the Chelish supporters. "See, now this is more like what I was expecting from a crowd of crass humans. A Thrune supporter spitting at the fair lady bold enough to stand up to their corruption. If he wants to see scum, he should look in the mirror. If I saw a loyalist try something like that, I'd have knocked him out cold too." Varuzhan states this last bit quite loudly. As the crowds have swelled, the spirit of the protest is infectious. Varuzhan's bitterness toward House Thrune is emerging, and he seems intent on daring the nearby Chelish loyalists to test him at his word.
Nissim is both surprised and disturbed by Varuzhan's reaction to the incident. He had no idea that the strix harbored such bitterness against Thrune, much less that he would begin acting on it. This wasn't according to his plan, and any slippage from observing toward participating seemed dangerous. Nissim admired the young singer as well. She was certainly brave and spunky, but maybe she had to lose than he did. Or maybe she didn't realize how much she could lose.
Vauzhan, I'm going to go check on something. I'll be back in a few minutes. Nissim walks across the square to the 'halfling tree" he had spotted on the other side earlier. It wouldn't hurt to check what was happening on the other side, and halflings were often good for gossip. Besides, he hadn't practiced the language in quite a while now.
The Chelish Loyalists near Juliette had already been rather silent, meekly protesting against the violence and how this would have repercussions, when a nearby Strix, Varuzhan, all but openly challenges them as well, with some other guys falling in line behind the burly man who struck the blow.
Faced with such opposition, and scared of the strix("Is it true that they eat people?" - "I'm not certain...maybe?"), they decide to vacate the area, dispersing a bit, with a few bringing their unconscious friend home, and others finding spots elsewhere in the park.
While the loyalists leave the vincinity, another woman, Lily, approaches, and tries to talk the group down, into non-violent behaiviour. Feeling slightly ashamed at having used violence not because he NEEDED to, but because he WANTED to punch the guy square in the face, the burly man hangs his head, and some others murmur agreement as they seem to calm down again where before they had been shouting challenges after the leaving loyalists.
As Juliette stops singing, then offers a counterpoint to the newly arrived woman, she looks around, and realizes she's the center of attention for her inmediate surroundings. Those who had not been singing along before had started watching when the loyalist had been decked, looking if the Dottari would act(they did not), and back at the scene. They followed her singing before, and were now looking for new guidance from their ad-hoc leader.
Meanwhile, not wanting to take part in Varuzhan's attempt to antagonize the Chellian Surporters, Nissim starts to head on over towards a tree full of halflings he had spotted.
Boros attempts to keep track of the people he had seen before, but the sleet and crowds not only block vision, the frozen rain also darkens a good number of cloaks into such a dark gray they seem blackish. It's a lot harder to distinguish them, and Boros shortly focuses on one person, who is clearly giving hand signals...only to find out the one he was watching intently was not part of the group he had seen earlier.
An idea that occurs to him is that with so many people pressing into the cover of the trees, it would be very hard for them to move freely near them...but they may well make use of the more exposed areas where people were not packed as densely. Maybe leaving the almost-dry spot beneath the halfling tree would be in order to try and find out about these group-people by getting closer to them.
Miranda, sitting in a tree, sandwiched between the halfling twins and a cousin of them, muses about the nature of the sleet storm that had come into being so suddenly.
Despite the sleet storm and a significant drop in ambient temperature, the people do not seem to become fewer. Many stand steadfast in their places, and for each one that heads back home, someone else join the protest, feeling an urge to come here when this weird weather trickery ruined a perfectly wonderful, sunny day for them.
As Boros' surveillance continues, he catches sight out of the corner of his eye the approach of one of two noteworthy people he'd spotted near the bard on the other side of the fountain. Now able to identify this one as a human male, and definitely not the one of the pair whose cloak was twitching, he breaks off watching the crowd to observe the man's actions as he draws closer to the tree through the press of crowd.
His hopes of gaining any useful information are dashed, however, when man addresses the small folk in the tree in what seems to be their own language, based on the fact that several of them respond in the same tongue. With a soft grunt of annoyance at the firm quashing of his efforts to eavesdrop shamelessly, Boros returns to his interrupted crowd-watching.
Between the weather, the crowd, and the distraction, he finds his efforts less than fruitful, and so begins to push through the crowd around the tree to get closer to one of his potential subjects. The shift from the relatively clear area under the tree's boughs to falling sleet is of no bother to him, focused as Boros is on his self-assigned mission.
While the hours of enforced idleness had worn on his temper, not to mention utterly soured his opinion on the professionalism is his erstwhile employers, having something to do now had drawn Boros into that happy state he associated with being the soldier that he knew he was destined to be, and all inconveniences fell away when confronted with the warm glow of purpose. Anyone catching sight of his face might be startled to find on it a bright smile that seems to defy the weather and the potential danger of the protest both.
For all of his happiness, however, Boros isn't completely oblivious to the weather's touch; the way in which parts of the park, the cobblestones in particular, have developed possibly treacherous footing encourages him to mind his step and avoid rushing. One good tumble would definitely make his proscribed armor and weapons visible to all and sundry, the last thing he wants after having avoided unwelcome attention thus far.
Varuzhan is pleased that he and some of the other folks scared off the Chelish loyalists, but less pleased that he also scared off Nissim. Using the magical connection he's maintained, he offers a whispered note as Nissim leaves. "Okay, I don't blame you for wanting some distance after my outburst. But I'm still watching your back. If we lose each other, I'll meet you back at your shop."
He then takes note of the seemingly familiar half-elven woman who was chiding the other protesters for having resorted to such violence, and talking to the singer. Quite attractive, for a human half-breed, he thinks to himself, noting her flowing tresses and easy grace. Where have I seen her before . . . He rubs his head for a moment before it dawns on him. Ah, of course! The woman who came into my shop asking for culinary herbs! What a strange character. Don't see too many of that type running around the Devil's Nursery. He recalled that the half-elf had asked for some exotic flavors to add to her food. Varuzhan certainly could offer some unusual herbs, but didn't have much advice in terms of flavor. He remembered suggesting a few items that were good for general health--digestion, good skin, and the like, and sending her on her way.
Varuzhan attempted to make good on his promise to keep a watchful eye over his companion, Nissim, making sure that he didn't get caught up in any unusual activity. . Though it was a little hard to do so with the sleet and the crowds separating them.
Perception check to notice the cutpurse.
Nissim notices the man lift his purse.
"Oh, the man on the balcony?" Miranda echoes and shines up. "You are right of course! And his dammed wicked magics!"
But maybe there was some way to benefit from this all... Of course, there always were! With a small smile she thanked the halflings in the tree for their company and bid them farewell for now. Then she slipped down the slippery tree-trunk, noting that her secondary-umbrella-backup seemed to have left, and started to make her way trough the crowd towards the 'front lines'. The Dottari certainly can't be all too happy about their master raining on them - so maybe they had something interesting to say? When she came closer to them she gently rubbed her plain copper ring and the edges of 'Miranda' seemed to fade away just little.
Between the weather, the crowd, and the distraction, he finds his efforts less than fruitful, and so begins to push through the crowd around the tree to get closer to one of his potential subjects. The shift from the relatively clear area under the tree's boughs to falling sleet is of no bother to him, focused as Boros is on his self-assigned mission.
"Ah, but if we first show our thorns we may never get the chance to use our words. So the question is 'what is preferred?', a voice made silent or a voice heard?"[b] she asked, trying to mimic the woman's patterns. [B]"We have yet to see whether he will listen. I don't suspect he will, given his family's list for power, but I don't believe 'Hell no, Thrune must go.'is the ideal form of recourse, if you're seeking an exchange of ideas with the man." she says, before her smile breaks through once more. "Catchy though it may be, and even if I do support the sentiment. My name is Lily Sable, a pleasure. Would that we weren't meeting amidst such terrible weather."
"So, what do you think? A peaceful first attempt, or blood in the streets?" she asks, as she conjures water to dilute the blood further, to hopefully wash it away before it's frozen in place. She was truly thankful for her inborn resistance to the weather in that moment, as the discomfort, but not the cold, of soggy clothing began to permeate her body.
After her little song and speech, she returned to idly listening to the crowd, as well as her new neighbor, no longer simply mingling.
Nissim is bumped as he moves through the crowd, then notices a slight tug just after. Ralizing that his purse has been cut, he turns to take in anything he can about the thief before he loses sight. Then he begins to follow, not rapidly enough to catch up, just to keep the person in sight.
He contacts Varuzhan through the Message spell. My purse has been cut. I'm following the thief, can you come up in front of the person and cut them off if I guide you to them? They are small, either young, or a halfling or gnome.
"If Thrune was willing to talk, don't you think he'd come out and explain himself? Instead he stays locked up in our Opera house." Juliette did seem a little more reasonable now, however she didn't quite seem willing to back down.
"Look, Lily, you seem like a nice girl, and I don't want to see a bloodbath here today." The bard pauses to look around at those who've gathered near her. "None of us do, but this is our home, ours - Not Thrune's. He is an invader who thinks he can just waltz in here and take charge. He's an outsider who doesn't even care to attempt to be part of this city, he only wants to be it's tyrant. And I for one will not follow a tyrant. That being said, Juliette didn't know where to go from here - she'd already been found out and any further action might end badly for her matron. Additionally, she didn't care to fight the guards, they were simply doing their jobs.
"Go home to your families. This isn't over, but it seems that everyone willing to listen already has. I don't want any of you caught up in violence because of me, we're all neighbors - and this is our town, regardless of what Thrune may say. But he's not listening and I don't want to see anymore blood spilled today."
Lily smiles in response to Juliette's small speech. She made a point that was more than fair. Thrune was the one who had came here, with laws and regulations, and a complete lack of communication or decorum. It wasn't fair to expect people to come with a silk glove when they've already been slapped by a gauntlet.
Varuzhan is amused as Nissim messages him for assistance. "Figures, we get separated for a few minutes and you get yourself in trouble. Alright, how many paces ahead of you is this thief? And what's the little guy wearing?" Varuzhan attempts to triangulate his path so that he'll hopefully cut off the fellow who snatched Nissim's purse! If things got more complicated, he had some ideas about how to stop the thief's escape.
At Juliette and Lily's part of the plaza, the crowd that had built up around Juliette disperses reluctantly. It is doubtful all of them would go home...they did, after all, come to protest here, and the protest was still going strong. But their impromptu leaders made them feel as if they did something wrong, in openly opposing the Chelish Supporters.
Others, however stay nearby, not wanting to miss whatever else happens, or what the two woman would do themselves.
The burly man who decked the one who spit at Juliette attempts to explain himself, taking off his hat, nervously moving it around in his hands while he addreses the two of you:"I...me Mum always teached me to be good to them girls. Treat them right, ya know? It's not right what he did, nah. One's not to spit at a girl or hit her or yank her hair, because you ladies be fragile. It just made me angry when he did that, after you sang so pretty. I'm sorry if you didn't want me to hit him but I only meant to do whats right, ya know?"
Working in tandem, you do manage to track the culprit, and Varuzhan circles around to find a small person trying to evade both him and Nissim.
Casting Command on his quarry, the person turns around and approaches Varuzhan, allowing Nissam to catch up from behind. From up close, you both can see that it's a human girl, about 12 years old, with dishevelled red hair and dirt stains on her face, walking through the crowd barefooted despite the sleet and icy ground. A street urchin, and her eyes panic as she realises the Strix made her come to him with magic:"What...oh no-"
After some more time has passed, and as you all go about your business, the sleet storm stops as suddenly as it had started, leaving a cover of ice on the cold ground. A rainbow appears in the sky, and the balcony doors get thrown open, with a herald stepping outside:
The herald seems to wait for the crowds to kneel for his master, but only a few among the protesters actually do, and of those, many get up again upon seeing most remained standing. Eventually, he vanishes from the balcony in frustration about a minute after his initial appearance.
Spying a number of his prospects come together, confirming his suspicions that they are working in concert, Boros moves carefully through the crowd toward the small gathering. Catching a glint of metal under a cloak puts him on his guard, but he doesn't stop his slow approach. He relies on the density of the crowd, the falling sleet, and his attempt to maintain a slow, casual air--aided by his making small-talk with some of the protestors in passing and the fact that he doesn't do more than glance at the group in the process of directing his gaze to something other than them--to cover his efforts to get closer.
Boros isn't sure whether or not he's been made by the group when the foul weather stops as suddenly--and clearly, as deliberately-as it had started. Though he hadn't noted the heralds arrival, upon hearing the announcement, he snorts derisively and ignores the direction given to the crowd. "Ya' silly bastard," he can't stop himself from calling out to the herald over the noise of the crowd. "What o' those here as ain't citizens, but are jus' visitin' yer fair city? Ya' give any thought as to what they'll be doin' with yer order?" he continues in his accented Common, demonstrating his own lack of said citizen status to discerning ears. The thought that Boros might be drawing unwelcome attention from guards and mysterious group alike doesn't even pass through his mind as his mouth opens.
Boros then looks at the crowd around him, shakes his head slowly, and continues, "And honestly, I'm jus' a bit doubtful as to the amount o' love the grand ol' whatsit'll be finding here and now, citizens or no. Might have a bit more luck with all o' them damn street mongrels he's been hoardin'."
Lily shakes her head. "Being passionate, especially about the defense of others, is no crime. My only problem was the escalation. You have strength and passion, and can use it to do a lot of good, but violence should not be the first choice unless violence has already been thrust upon you." Lily says, offering the big, but humble, man a smile.
* * *
"Surely he's joking..." Lily asks, rhetorically as the man finishes asking them to kneel. Then the obvious response from the crowd, followed by the incredibly awkward response of one man somewhere within the din, makes her shake her head slowly, before shielding her eyes from the sun and rainbow, to try to get a better look above. Once the herald stays for a few moments. "Oh dear... he wasn't."
As the little thief is compelled to approach Varuzhan, he frowns as he recognizes her as a little girl. Damn it, that just makes everything a whole lot more complicated, he thinks. He is worried that the crowd may not take kindly to a strix giving the girl a paddling with his staff, or picking her up off the floor. So much easier if it were just some halfling. Because the crowd would likely side with her, the little girl actually had the upper hand in this situation. The key would be to make sure she didn't realize that.
Varuzhan leans in menacingly toward the girl, staring at her intently while the command issued through Varuzhan's spiritual ancestors compelled the thief toward him. His staff remains dangerously close to the girl as he speaks. He seems ready to back up his words with action if need be. "You have something that belongs to the man behind you. I . . . suggest . . . you give it back to him now."
Varuzhan hoped Nissim would be able to intervene as well. He wans't sure how convinced the girl would be by his idle threats.
* * *
As the sleet stops and the herald makes his announcement, Varuzhan can't help but laugh. "Bend a knee? I'd sooner kneel before a devil-spawn whore!" He was encouraged that few others around him were inclined to kneel.
When Nissim gets close enough to get a good look at the thief, he sighs inwardly.
One always expects mustache twirling villain, but usually this is the truth of it.
Nissim says to the girl in a calm voice: You've seen now that we have magic that can prevent you from running or slipping away, so don't think about it. Listen to what I have to say instead. That purse in your hand is mine and I want it back. But you don't have to see any trouble from this. I want to to reach in and count out five gold coins. Keep those for yourself, and hand the purse back to me. Then you can go on your way. That's a good deal. You should take it.
The girl recoils in fear when the hooded Strix brings his face close, clearly expecting to be punched or hit with the stick. When Nissim calmly speaks to her a moment later, her eyes go wide!
Did he say...Gold? Gold Coins? A trap? Is it? But i could buy shoes, real, new shoes! Even if it's a trap...
She nods hastily, then holds out the pouch she cut from you, taking one coin after the other, biting on each to assure it's not just some illusion of kinds:"Certainly, Mister...will do, Sir, thank you very much", then counting out the coins before pocketing them, standing there with your pouch held out towards you, her other hand holding on to where she put the coins in her torn clothing, and trying to keep as much distance from Varuzhan as possible.
As he takes his purse back from the girl, Nissim says to her: "I want you to remember what I'm telling you. With a Thrune mayor, cutting purses is very dangerous now. If the dottari catch you, your age won't protect you anymore. And your punishment will be much, much worse than the crime. It's time for you to find a new line of work. If you know the city streets well, come to the Siverto Apothecary two days from now if you think you could make deliveries."