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. It’s been ten days since the city’s previous lord-mayor, Jilia Bainilus, fled KIntargo on a ship bound for Arcadia to avoid prosecution, as some have said, and only a week since several of the city’s other prominent citizens have disappeared and several buildings and estates were burned to the ground in what the locals are calling “The Night of Ashes”.
In the scant seven days, since his appointment, 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.
Carlissa Solstine--the runt of the litter of her particular branch of the minor (almost forgotten) noble family--feels that she's never gotten her due respect from her relations. Wiry and missing the longer hair and some of the feminine curves of many young ladies, the teenager nonetheless does her best to make a difference in her home city of Kintargo. She attends the protest in the company of a fairly recent acquaintance, the young tiefling Dante. Her mentor, a more experienced urban ranger named Grezwella (also a tiefling), introduced her to Dante a few weeks back, saying that he was savvy, street smart, and talented with a blade. When the Night of Ashes struck, Grezwella disappeared and Carli fears for her safety. She met Dante again in a tavern near the edge of the Devil's Nursery and struck up a conversation with him. The tiefling rogue mentioned that Strea Vestori, prominent leader of the city's tiefling population and its Cloven Hoof Society, had also vanished on the Night of Ashes, and the two teens agreed to meet and attend the Aria Park Protest together for mutual gain and protection.
Carlissa blends in well with the crowd, decked out in dark clothes and a charcoal-colored hooded cloak. She could be a young man for all the other protesters might know; even her face is rather grim and thin-lipped for a female. Hidden beneath the cloak, however, is a fine suit of form-fitting studded leather armor--of Tanessen make, rather to Carli's embarrassment, as that family seems to have willingly aligned with the city's new lord-mayor and mad oppressor, Barzillai Thrune. Still, the armor is pretty sweet and was a gift from her parents...and the Tanessens have a reputation for making the best armor and weren't as blatantly wicked as, say, the Sarinis.
Carli is also well-armed, with a sheathed rapier on her left hip, a silver light mace and sap strapped on her right, and a dagger in her right boot. She'd become accustomed to also having a light crossbow slung across one shoulder but had left that weapon at home, not wanting the bulkier weapon to make her stand out more than was necessary. Besides, who brought a crossbow to a peaceful protest, right?
At Aria Park, she exchanged a few words with Dante. "I plan on working my way through the crowd, trying to eavesdrop and maybe overhear some rumors about what's happening in the city. I'll try to stay within view of you if you want to search for or ask around about Strea. I can probably help you with that once I've heard a juicy rumor or two that I can report back to my family."
Almost as an afterthought, the thin teen offers an apologetic smile and adds, "Oh yeah--if you see my siblings Jayson or Jolena...don't tell them you've seen me. Technically, I was forbidden to come here this morning...."
If there was a place for an apostate Asmodean to be out in the open, a protest against the Thrune government wouldn't be the worst place in the world for said Asmodean to be.
What better place for a dissident to be than among other dissidents?
For the moment, he simply chooses to watch the crowd and see what's going on.
They're unhappy to be sure, but this is hardly a riot. Except, as he watches, Draco catches a hand reaching towards someone's purse. Instinctually, his hand flashes out and grips the thief's wrist. For a moment, he's about to let them have it, until he recalls the sermons those Sarenites hiding at the temple taught him.
Sarenrae's teachings tell us that we should seek to give the lost a chance to redeem themselves, before casting them into damnation.
An alien instinct, but if the Sarenites believed it applied to him, than it applied to this thief as well.
"Thrune makes our lives hard enough already, must you make it harder? Go be part of the solution instead of the problem." Probably harsher than the Sarenites would do it, but an Asmodean would remove the hand. Giving the thief a warning and a chance to put their hands to good use would be unthinkable to them.
Lyra Quill arrived the way a sensible woman arrived at a protest under martial law: neither first nor last, and with nothing about her that begged for a second look. She slowed as she reached the edge of Aria Park and gave herself one last subtle check: scarf straight, gloves on, posture easy. Her parents’ voices—a rhythmic chant of stay quiet, stay safe, stay invisible—echoed in her mind. With a practiced flick of her internal wrist, she pushed them aside. ”If I stay any more invisible I'll cease to exist” she thought to herself.
A soft thump of claws on wet wood announced her shadow. The raven settled on a nearby post, ruffled its feathers, and stared down as if the entire city had personally offended it. Lyra didn’t look directly at the bird, but her mouth curved. “Behave, Fleck,” she murmured, the name barely more than a breath. “This is a peaceful civic gathering.”
She slipped along the outer edge of the crowd and let the noise sort itself into sense: outrage, grief, nerves trying to become courage. Plenty of heat. Less direction. That, too, was familiar. Lyra did what she always did when truth needed to travel safely—she wrapped it in something that could pass for entertainment. Not a speech. Just a few bright lines, offered to the air and anyone close enough to listen.
“Choosing the opera house as his home,” she said, mild as idle conversation, “is either bold… or he simply enjoys living in a building designed for dramatic criticism.”
Lyra’s eyes flicked—briefly—toward the sealed doors, then away again, as if she were only admiring the architecture. “Still, it’s an interesting statement,” she went on, voice light. “Most rulers claim a seat of power. He chose our stage.” She let that hang for a heartbeat—just long enough for the implication to settle without her pressing it. “As if Kintargo isn’t meant to speak anymore,” Lyra added, almost thoughtfully. “Only to watch.”
She didn’t wait for approval. She didn’t look to see who’d heard. She just let the words land where they landed.
Dante meets up with Carlissa at a local tavern before heading to the park to join the protest. Dante had seen Carlissa around Redroof training with Grezwella, following her as she taught the young girl the ways of the streets, those self same streets that Dante had grown up on.
Grezwella had disappeared the same night that Strea had and no one had seen horn nor hoof of them since then. The tiefling community is small enough that the disappearances had every one on edge. As the pair walked they engaged in some small talk until they arrived at Aria Park. There were about a dozen people already there, and more were streaming in as the morning wore on.
When Carlissa said she was going to wander through the crowd Dante said "Okay, I'm going to see if I can find Strea or Grezwella, I don't think either of them would miss an event like this if they could help it." he smiles at Carlissa "Be careful and let's meet back here in, say, an hour?"
As he watches the crowd grow, he catches a glimpse of a nearby pickpocket trying to ply his trade. As he's about to make a move to intercept the would be thief he sees another man grab the boy by the wrist. Tensing for a confrontation, Dante relaxes as he hears the man rebuke the boy's efforts before releasing him back into the crowd. Dante approaches the man and says "Nice move, there. But you know he's just going to find an easier mark somewhere else." Dante extends his hand "Dante, Dante Allesverloren" he says by way of introduction "and you might be?"
And they call me the pessimist. Draco muses as the tiefling introduces himself. I would appreciate some consistent messaging on the possibility of redemption.
"Draco Vorens." He replies. "And you might be right, but I'd at least like to give him the chance to put his hands to good use before lopping them off."
In her winding throughout the crowd, Carlissa hears the last words spoken by the mysterious female provocateur working her way through the throng.
Hope she doesn't say the wrong thing to the wrong people, Carli thinks to herself. I'll have to try to keep an eye on her in case she gets into trouble.
Varro arrived at the protest as the throng was forming, even early on it pulsed with tension. As the crowd grew, he mingled among the people making small talk and listening for anything that might provide insight to the mood of the protest. He hoped things remained peaceful.
As you make your way through the growing crowd you overhear a couple of old ladies talking about being careful when traveling through the Redroof and Temple Hill districts and that one shouldn't walk alone there after dark. the local gangs are getting restless and the leader of the Red Jill's, a local gang known for their distinctive red cloaks, is becoming increasingly unstable.
As you watch the crowd you can't help but feel that there's something off about the crowd. Despite the usual agitation and discontent, there's something darker stirring in the crowd as if someone was organizing something among the people.
As you monologue to no one in particular, your words seem to land home among some of the crowd as they pause and listen. Several people nod their heads, while others murmur "She's right, ya know." and a small knot of people gather around to listen.
Other than the thwarted pickpocket attempt you can find nothing else amiss in the crowd, they seem agitated and discontent but not overtly hostile. As you wander through the growing crowd you see no sign of Strea or Grezwella.
You make your way through the crowd, listening to the people around you , you catch little snippets of conversation. A pair of merchants complaining about Thrune's new edicts and taxation. A group of young teens grumbling about how Thrune was appointed by the Queen and not elected by the people. A couple of nobles who support Thrune's attempts to reestablish law and order and how it's about time. But, there seems to be no specific scuttlebutt you can pick up on.
Hour Two:
As more people stream into the park a troop of about a dozen Dottari, Kintargo's city guard, emerge from the opera house and form a loose cordon around the entrance, they appear to be nervous and on edge. Behind them a woman you know as Nox, Thrune's right-hand and enforcer, paces back and forth like a leopard waiting to pounce.
The crowd itself seems to be a cross section of the city itself. A group of students gather to discuss the fact that Thrune was appointed by the Queen herself, and that there should be an election held for a new lord-mayor. Merchants can be overheard debating Thrune's new taxes and policies and how they will effect there businesses. Nobles, and wealthy alike, are satisfied at Thrune's attempts to establish law and order over the city's more rebellious streak. Some seem to hope that there is a good dust up, because...why not. Meanwhile several enterprising locals wander the crowd selling their wares, while some musicians set up and entertain the people for money. All and all the mood seems to be peaceful if just a little tense.
Every now and then you can catch a glimpse a figure watching the crowd from behind a curtained window on the third floor of the opera house.
As the first hour of the protest draws to a close, Carlissa spies Dante nearby. Making her way deftly through the assembled locals, she finds him speaking with a vaguely familiar-looking fellow. "A pickpocket, eh?" she says softly as she shifts to their side. "Was he wearing a red cloak, by chance?" Seeing no reason to keep it secret, she repeats the rumor she heard about the Red Jills to both men.
"Carlissa," she adds by way of introduction to the human, sticking out a small hand. "Do I know you from somewhere...maybe Songbird Hall?"
After dealing with any further introductions with his new friend, Carli asks Dante if he's had any success on his mission and tells the tiefling she's ready to help look for Strea and Grezwella.
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Lyra’s eyes lifted at the change in sound. The opera house doors opened, and the Dottari emerged in a practiced file to form a loose cordon across the entrance. A dozen uniforms in wet light. Nervous hands. Tight jaws. Behind them, a presence paced with predatory patience, Nox, Thrune’s hound, always a half-step from a bite.
Fleck gave a sharp, dry rustle of wings from his perch, feathers tightening as if the air itself had soured. Lyra’s smile stayed where it belonged: small, pleasant, harmless. Her gaze did not linger on the cordon, and it certainly did not seek the pacing woman behind it. Looking too long was an invitation, and Lyra had learned never to RSVP.
Make waves without being seen, she reminded herself. The trick was to stir the water, not announce the oar.
She turned her attention back to the small knot of people who had lingered near her—not directly, not in a way that made her the center of anything. She simply continued her thoughtful critique of the scenery, her voice carrying only as far as the damp air would allow.
“It’s a curious choice of staging,” she remarked to no one in particular, tone light. “Guards who look like they’ve never seen a crowd before, placed in front of someone who looks like she’s seen far too many.” She adjusted her glove, eyes on the opera house doors as if the architecture were the real subject. “If one didn’t know better,” Lyra went on, “one might think they’re hoping someone forgets themselves. It’s the oldest trick in the theater—give the audience a villain so obvious they can’t help but react…”
She let the sentence trail off. The pause did the work she refused to do openly.
After a beat, her mouth curved—not kind, exactly, but amused. “But Kintargo has always preferred a more sophisticated comedy to a common brawl,” she added. “Laughter is much harder to arrest than a stone-thrower.” A faint tilt of her head, as if considering a performance she found poorly rehearsed. “And it’s considerably more insulting to someone who clearly practiced her entrance this morning.”
Lyra moved then—slowly, easily—drifting through the crowd so she never became a fixed point for anyone’s attention. Not fleeing. Just… changing seats.
Noticing a figure peering from behind a curtained window, Varro continues to mill about the crowd occasionally casting a glance at the window.
Dante sees Carlissa approaching through the crowd and he calls out "Carli, over here" as he raises his arm to draw her attention. With introductions made he ponders Carlissa's comment about the Red Jills.
While talking he notices the city guard issue forth from the opera house and set up a perimeter around the entrance. He sees the woman behind step out and begin eyeing the crowd as if she's looking for some excuse, any excuse to sic the guard on the crowd. The guardsmen themselves look to be nervous and on edge, as if they're caught between a rock and a hard place.
Sadly he shakes his head as Carli asks about Strea and Grezwella "I haven't seen either one of them yet, but more and more people are coming in so maybe they're just late. I'll take another run through later to see if they've made it. Meanwhile I'll wander the crowd and see if anyone's heard anything about them."
"Most likely." Draco says, responding to Carlissa. "Draco Vorens." He's brief with the socialization for the moment. Something is amiss and whatever is responsible needs to be rooted out before it makes things worse than just amiss.
"Who is it you two are searching for?"
"Our friends and mentors, I guess you could say" Dante says by way of explanation "Both disappeared during the "unpleasantness" last week and haven't been seen since." he shrugs "I was hoping an event like this would have brought them out...if they were able"
As you watch the crowd you notice nothing amiss, with the exception of the local produce and egg vendors who seem to be doing a brisk business.
As Lyra moves through the crowd she seems to lose her audience as everyone around seems to be caught up with their own business, with the exception of one young man who follows her to her new spot. An admirer, perhaps.
As you wander through the crowd you overhear two old men talking nearby. "Who's that behind the Dottari?" one asks the other. "That woman?" he replies "That's Nox, Thrune's personal bodyguard. I hear tell that she's half devil. She's waaay too ugly to be just human, that's for sure."
Dante, you know the Jills are a two-bit gang of thugs who "control" some of the area near Redroof and Temple Hill. They've so far avoided the notice of the Dottari by focusing on muggings and other petty crimes.
As you walk around the park, you overhear a group of young men talking amongst themselves, their robes mark them as students of the Alabaster Academy. "I've heard tell that the Dottari are so busy rounding up Thrune's "undesirables" that the guard towers are all full, and that they've taken to keeping those they arrest in warehouses." Another student chimes in "My cousin says that they're putting some of the prisoners to work in places like the Sallix Salt Works, as slave labor." A third student complains "Well, I hope they don't come for me because, you know, they always come after the intellectuals eventually"
Draco, there's nothing tangible that you can put your finger on. Just a feeling that somethings going to happen, something bad.
You too wander the crowd with Dante but cannot find any sign of Strea or Grezwella either.
Hour Three:
More and more people enter the park as the protest draws on, soon the park is full to capacity. Their agitation is something palpable, like a dam that soon will burst if not addressed.
Thanks for the catch.
Carli reports her findings to Dante and Draco. "Seems like a lot of eggs and fruit have been sold on the outskirts of the park...stuff that's often thrown at folks you disagree with. I'm going to see if I can talk reason to some of these troublemakers. It might be that all it'll take to turn this from a protest to a riot is a couple of eggs shattered over someone's new cloak or an overripe tomato splattering on the side of a dottari's face."
As she starts to again head off into the throng, Carli turns to the men and gives a cavalier grin. "Hopefully nothing worse will come of it than getting pelted with food, but if you lads could keep an eye out for me it'd be appreciated!"
She finds and tries to talk sense to a small group of young ne'er-do-wells loitering together near the central fountain, but her words fall upon deaf ears. The eyes that appraise her as she makes her appeal are generally amused, annoyed, or even a bit predatory.
Lyra felt the crowd’s attention slip away, refocusing on their own worries. She let her eyes sweep the park: bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, voices stacking on voices, agitation thick as smoke. The sense of it pressed at the ribs—too much pressure, nowhere to go.
A dam doesn’t break because it hates the river, she thought. It breaks because no one gave the water a channel.
Lyra stepped onto the low edge of a stone planter, just high enough to be heard by those nearest. “Kintargo,” she called clearly to cut through the noise. “Look at them.” A beat. “They’re waiting for a story where we become the problem,” Lyra continued, voice light. “A thrown stone. A broken window.”
Lyra paused, letting that sink in. “Don’t do their writing for them.” Her smile returned, quick and bright. “If you want to insult a tyrant, refuse to play your assigned role.” She lifted an open hand, inviting rather than directing. “Short and sweet, then—so even they can follow along.”And she offered the refrain like a line from a play everyone already knew:
“Not their script!”
Once. Then again, steady, unhurried—
“Not their script!”
And after that, she didn’t push. She let the crowd decide whether to take it, and stepped back off the stone edge. Fleck’s wings rustled once—approving or impatient. Lyra drifted again, leaving the refrain behind her like a seed and keeping her face out of the center of the storm.
"Yeah--don't become the problem," Carli tells the young mischief-makers she's confronted. "A thrown egg shattering on the helmet or tabard of an already agitated dottari does nothing. It may seem funny in the moment, sure, but if that egg causes the city guard to lash out...maybe bashing his cudgel into the temple of the nearest protestor, or, or...possibly causing a part of the crowd to rout, maybe trampling an old lady in their midst...maybe even one of your own aunts.... Consider things and be the master of your own actions! Write your own stories!"
Though she's not convinced she's changing any minds, Carli doesn't let up, knowing that if she ends up pelted with eggs herself for voicing her beliefs, it's a far better thing for her to be a target than a more dangerous one like a dottari guard--she can easily take a bath back at the Solstine family compound near the Bleakbridge. She finds herself taking up a chant that filters weakly through the other shouts and cries of the gathered assembly: "Not their script!" Not their script!"
Well, that would definitely be cause to feel ill at ease Draco heeds Carlissa's warning and heads out to address some of the troublemakers.
"This is supposed to be a peaceful protest. Pelting Thrune's men with eggs and fruits will only turn this into a riot. And when they respond, they will do so with far worse things than rotten refuse! Stop this before you get people killed!
Dante walks with Draco and Carli through the crowd, his hands resting lightly on his weapons not expecting, but prepared for, any trouble.
As the two begin trying to drown out the noise from one of groups protesting in the park ha scans the crowd where he notices another group nearby watching the scene. He approaches them and begins to try and shout them down as well.
Unfortunately his message gets lost in the crowd as the Cheliaxian loyalist begin to jeer at the Anarchists as they get schooled by Carli and Draco.
Varro wanders through the park, keeping an ear out for interesting news or gossip but, unfortunately, doesn't hear anything useful. He stops by a group of protestors who seem intent on drowning out the chants and shouts of a pair of protest groups near the central fountain.
As the third hour of the protest draws to a close the bells of the Cathedral of Asmodeus ring out three times, as they are wont to do. As the sound of the last chime begins to fade a window on the third floor opens wide. Standing in the window is an imposing, middle aged. man. His dark hair is cut short and he is dressed in red, orange, and black clothing and wearing an ornate breastplate, all emblazoned with the pentagram of Asmodeus and the cross of Cheliax. He cradles a diabolic looking mace in his hands a if it were some royal scepter, this must be Barzillai Thrune. He gives the crowd a disdainful sneer, before clearing his throat and beginning his speech.
“Ah, my adoring little chickadees. I am sorry to say I have not yet adapted to your quaint, country ways, being accustomed as I am to the sophistication and learning of Egorian. Nonetheless, know I have heard your concerns, and that I appreciate your valued feedback, and I know we shall eventually find a mutual understanding in the fullness of time. I take pride in updating Kintargo’s quaint, outdated laws to the modern standards the city deserves, and strengthening its ties with the empire in these cruel times, but obviously I have approached my duties too aggressively. “You say you chafe at the presence of nonnatives in positions of power? That authorities not of this city have no place as its leaders? That you will not be yoked by intruders? Your lord-mayor hears you. And so it is with a heavy heart that I issue this proclamation, in response to your demands: all ships’ captains are hereafter barred from leaving their vessels and setting foot on Kintargo docks or streets, under pain of... let’s say... squassation!”
The crowd is incensed, as this is the first of Thrune's proclamations to specifically issue torture as punishment instead of imprisonment or fine. Someone in the park registers his displeasure at the proclamation by lobbing a tomato through the open window. The projectile misses Thrune but does cause him to flinch, thereby spilling a glass of wine across his noble finery. Enraged at the assault on his personage he shouts “Enough of this! Nox, run them off, arrest them, or kill them. I don’t care which!” He steps back from the windows before slamming them shut.
Finally let loose, Nox shouts her orders to the assembled guardsmen "You heard the lord mayor! Dottari, disperse the crowd. By any means necessary!" The Dottari draw their maces and begin banging them on their shield as they move forward. As if on cue several men and women embedded among the Chelaxian loyalists throw back their cloaks to reveal members of the Chelaxian Citizens Group, an informal militia made up of citizens who believe living in tyranny is more of a boon than a bane. Grinning a sadistic grin they begin to mete out "justice".
The park erupts into a riot as panicked citizens begin to desperately flee, seeking any exits they may find.
Initiative:
Draco
Lyra
Carlissa
Dante
Varro
Dottari
CCG
As the dottari begin their merciless march forward, although you do notice that they stop to render aid to anyone they drop, five chelish thugs advance on the party while others fan out into the the crowd, indiscriminately attacking anyone they get near. While you are watching the scene unfold you notice an errant, or perhaps lucky, throw lodges a dagger in Nox's throat. To your horror, she simply grabs the offending blade and removes it as the blood slows to a trickle before the wound completely disappears. Snarling she steps back into the opera house.
Dante steps up to one of the thugs attacking the crowd, drawing his weapons as he goes. "Hey, boyo, Why don't you try someone who can defend himself for change?" he calls out. He takes a swing with his silvered short sword.
The moment Thrune’s window slammed shut, the park stopped being a protest and became a stampede. Lyra’s head snapped from the Dottari’s advancing line to the five thugs pushing toward the party—then to the crush of fleeing citizens behind them.
No—this is exactly what they wanted.
“Fleck—eyes,” she hissed. The raven launched from his perch in a flutter of black, cutting through the gray like spilled ink.
Lyra’s gloved hand flicked up in a crisp arc, fingers snapping through a practiced sigil “Curtain call.”
A burst of prismatic color fanned out in front of her—aimed to wash over the thugs and buy the crowd a gap to run. “Move!” she called, sharp but controlled. “Keep going—don’t stop!”
"Excuse me!" Carli says to the raven lady, pushing past her while drawing a sap from her belt. Seeing that Dante's jab with his blade is unlikely to drop his foe, the scrawny lass swings her weapon at the wounded man's head, hoping to drop him.
for
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"F**k" The plants in the crowd couldn't turn the protest into a riot, so Barzillai figured that he'd do it himself by acting as provocatively as possible. And then the true tyranny comes. Quite like an Asmodean to be as underhanded as possible while following the letter of the law.
Seeing that some people were fighting back against the CCG thugs, Draco grabs his holy symbol and throws out a hand to give them some aid. "Blessings be upon you!"
There is no cause for such aggression in clearing out a crowd! Varro thinks to himself as he prepared to receive the onslaught of these false purveyors of order. As they come rushing in Varro strikes at the attacker's weapon.
As the Commotion starts and the nearby thugs reveal themselves, Draco pulls his holy symbol, the winged ankh of the recently outlawed faith of Sarenrae, and pronounces a blessing over a group of people who look to be preparing to counter the thugs attacks on other citizens.
Lyra casts a spell as a cone of scintillating light engulfs four of the nearby thugs. Two of the Citizen's Group members succumb to the spell and fall to the ground, unconscious. A third thug slaps his mace into his hand as he prepares to confront the mage.
Before the thug can move forward the opening is blocked by Carlissa, who swings her sap and knocks the man for a loop. While the thug is staggered, Dante steps up and thrusts his short sword through a gap in the the man's armor, causing him to fall to the ground in a spreading pool of his own blood.
With Varro's original target having been dealt with by Carlissa and Dante, he steps to the man's closest compatriot and swings his axe in an attempt to destroy his weapon. Unfortunately, the man draws his weapon back and out of the way as the great blade whooshes past.
The dottari continue their inexorable march across the square as they club down anyone in the crowd not quick enough to get out their way. Here and their you can see one of guards stop and render aid to anyone who has fallen before them.
One of the thugs shouts out "You killed Kenny. You bastards!" as all pretext of only bashing and breaking bones falls to the wayside as the thug comes at Varro, looking for blood.
The remaining thug moves past his fallen comrades, kicking them as he goes by in a futile attempt to wake them, to confront Dante. The nimble tiefling manages to dodge the awkward swing.
Magic! Carlissa thinks as the mystery woman blasts the gathered loyalist bootlickers with a spray of clashing colors and her acquaintance Draco fortifies her and some of the other nearby protesters with another spell. Cool!
The wiry lass steps up to take the place of one of the CCG goons incapacitated by the woman's spell and again swings her sap, this time targeting the southernmost militant loyalist . "Keep moving! Flee the park now! The dottari are heading this way!"
for
Lyra’s breath caught as the thug crumpled and the blood spread dark across the wet stones.
No. No—this wasn’t supposed to be. They’ll say we started this.
Lyra glanced over her shoulder at the approaching Dottari and then back to the thugs in front of her.
We’re running out of time. Everyone needs to get out of here—now.
She stepped closer to the fallen body, forced her hands steady, and shifted her stance to angle the spell away from her companions. Her fingers snapped through a quick, sharp sigil, and a fan of prismatic light burst outward to catch the remaining thugs.
“Sleep,” she whispered.
“Keep moving!” Lyra called, pitching her voice past the fight and into the press of fleeing citizens. “Don’t stop—help each other out!”
His spell cast, Draco draws his scimitar and closes in with the other protesters. In theory, the more militant doctrines of the Sarenites should help with this...
As Draco draws his scimitar and begins to close with the ruffians, the woman casts another spell and the remaining thugs are blanketed in coruscating light.
Lyra casts another color spray this time targeting the remaining thugs, who are caught full in the face by the blinding lights as they fall to the ground, joining their unconscious companions.
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Carlissa begins to swing her sap at the thug in front of her, but checks her swing as he falls flat on his face.
"Oops" Dante says as he withdraws his blade from the thug he stabbed "were we supposed to be playing slap and tickle?" As Lyra'a magic drops the remaining two thugs he looks around, he nods to Carlissa and Draco and then includes Lyra and Varro "The dotttari's getting close and I suggest we be gone when they get here. Let's try to blend in with the crowd and make our way out of the park." Puuting deeds to words Dante draws the hood of his cloak up to hide his horns and begins to follow a knot of townsfolk as they push and shove their way toward one of the parks exits.
Carlissa gives Dante a quick nod of her still-hooded head and glances around, trying to find the path of least resistance out of the park. She throws a glance at the mage before asking, "Are you here with someone? If not, it might be safest if you stick with our little group for now." Turning to Varro she adds, "That goes for you as well."
And just as soon as the scimitar is out, Lyra has knocked out the other two thugs. "Well. That saves the potential embarrassment." He then re-sheathes it, because it's very quickly becoming apparent that they should run. "Yes, let's get out of here!" Draco conceals his holy symbol back under his clothes and runs off with Dante and Carlissa.
Varro nods and follows the small band away from the scene.
Lyra held her breath until the last thug hit the ground. Only then did she realize her fingers were shaking. She forced her hands down to her sides and took one step back from the unconscious men. Lyra tugged her gloves into place almost as ritual, then lifted her gaze to Carlissa. “No,” she said, quick and quiet. “I’m here alone.”
Her eyes flicked to the cloaked tiefling, then to the nearest knot of townsfolk surging toward the exits. “You’re right—blending in is probably best. If anyone asks, we’re just… leaving. Like everyone else.”
She slid into the flow behind Dante, keeping her shoulders rounded and her expression appropriately frightened rather than defiant. Fleck swept overhead once, a smear of black against the gray, then vanished into the chaos.
Lyra let out a slow breath and moved with the crowd.
You escape the park, moving with the throngs of people through the streets. As the others make their own way to safety you soon find just the five of you alone on the street.
As you stand on the corner preparing to go your separate ways, Lyra hears the sound of steel clashing on steel and a cry of pain coming from a nearby alleyway. You enter the alleyway just as one of a group of six thugs, all wearing the armband of the Chelish Citizens Group, bashes a man to the ground with his mace while the others prepare to administer a coup de' grace to the downed man. Nearby, another group of four thugs lie on the ground unconscious, in what is now a familiar cone-shaped pattern.
As you take in the scene one of the thugs approaches you, brandishing his weapon "You don't want any of this" the man growls, threateningly "I suggest you go on your way and forget what you saw...or else" He smacks the head of his mace into his hand for emphasis.
Lyra stopped at the alley mouth, taking in the scene in one sharp breath. She lifted both empty hands and kept her voice low.
“He’s down,” she said. “You’ve made your point.”
Her eyes flicked to the street behind them—listening for boots, for whistles.
“No one’s died here yet,” Lyra added, careful. “Why don’t we keep it that way?”
“So… take your victory,” Lyra offered. “Leave him breathing. We all forget what we saw.”