What do you do when you are destined to become a great hero, but there is no life-threatening danger?
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Mackeson hoists himself up over the bar, manipulating the tap so as to refill his tankard to the very brim.
He settles back down on the barstool heavily, sloshing some of his ale on to the bar, and sends a wink and a hiccup that becomes a wet burp at the glowering tap-master.
"In his name..." Mackeson intones, lowering his mouth to the rim of the tankard.
Paige wished there were more days where she could have simply flopped down onto her bed and lay face-down in the soft embrace of her exhaustion. Getting all of her weapons off of her person, slipping out of her armor, and taking care of her church garb required altogether far too much care for that, and it added a minute or two between arriving in her room and actually sliding down into bed that her ankles were always just a little too sore for her to enjoy.
But the soreness was well deserved; the priests she'd been escorting to the slums weren't street smart enough to notice the pickpockets hitting them, and it had taken Paige a long run through the alleys and a couple clever shortcuts to catch up with them. It was hard to complain about being sore when good acts required that kind of devotion, but she had certainly earned her reprieve now. With a full belly and a tired body, she settled into bed, lighting the candle by her bedside table and pulling the topmost book off of the messy pile of new acquisitions she had picked up from a nearby used book store.
Uprisings Against Chelish Rule: A Comprehensive Guide To Rebellions Both Successful and Failed. Interesting enough. The sun had just gone down, and Paige felt she certainly had enough time to read a few chapters before she had to get to sleep, ever mindful of the fact that she could sometimes get so deep into a book that she wouldn't notice time had passed until the knocking on her door notifying her the sun was soon to rise and it was time for morning prayers. Slipping a feather a few dozen pages in as a precaution, she marked off the place she would stop at to help hedge against accidentally reading through the night. That was a mistake she didn't need to make again.
Atticus spends the afternoon as he had so many other with naught more than a pair of clippers and a wide brimmed hat. The mornings deliveries had already been settled into the cellar and pantry and his duties with the guard belayed for the rest of the day. That left only the sprawling masses of hedges, flower beds, and trees to contend with - a challenge he was more than happy to face. Sweat beading on his brow he returned to his toil humming a happy tune.
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Oathday... Ugh... Darius rolls out of bed, the light coming through the dark blinds in his room signifying the day was already well started. Never could get the hang of Oathdays, he thinks to himself, letting his legs drop to the floor with a solid thunk. As he sits up, his snarl of sheets slides off the bed into a pile, leaving him there half-naked. On the small table next to his bed, the small sack of gold he'd earned for some work yesterday sits nearly empty, deprived of its stuffing by a night of revelry celebrating what he'd earned. Won't have to worry 'bout it getting stolen anyway, he half-mutters as he stands.
Walking over to the blinds, he braces himself, throwing them open to let the mid-day sun fill the room. His room was small and cluttered with his belongings: A small unkempt bed with table, sheets piled on the floor beside it; a dresser with his few clothes topped with his backpack and most of his alchemical materials, but well kept desk--a gift from Cress when he'd gotten started here--piled with paperwork from the guard and notes; and in the corner a crude armor rack with his suit of banded mail, cloak, and sword in scabbard. It wasn't much, but that was fine. The rent was cheap, and he earned enough to eat decently and spend most of his time unwinding in the tavern across the way.
Returning to his nightstand, he picks up the pouch, the few coins left making for a pathetic jingle as he bounces it in his hand. Enough for today, he tells himself, Never did care for working on Oathday anyway. Tossing it back down, he gets dressed, skipping his armor but grabbing his sword and bandoleer with extracts on the way out. Half-way out the door he curses and dashes back to his bed, snagging the pouch from the table and slipping it inside the inner pocket of his jerkin.
Stumbling down the steps as he fights with his scabbard's belt, he nearly crashes into Emilian coming up the steps. "Sorry Emil!" he manages as he dodges the startled old man, likely having closed the shop for lunch. He stumbles out into the street through the door and stops to straighten his pants and jerkin. Now to the only business worth doing on Oathday! Marching across the street, he marches past the various dockworkers coming and going down the street and ducks into the Jeggare’s Jug.
"James! Ale!" he calls to the bartender as he heads to the bar.
"Gettin' started already Dar?" the light-haired Taldane bartender responds.
"Yup! No time to waste, I plan to kill this day as quickly as possible. Haven't seen reason to let an Oathday live yet," he replies with a laugh, sitting down on the stool just in time to grab the beverage sliding down the bartop to him. Without missing a beat he scoops it up and takes a swig before slamming it down. "Here's to tomorrow getting arriving quickly and painlessly," he grumbles as he goes to take another drink.
The dining room of the Ciliathis estate is as lavish as the rest of it, if not more. The room is paneled with oak featuring rococo motifs of long-tailed birds, and a blue aubusson rug decorates the floor. Four large paintings of hunting scenes add a stately touch, and the table is decorated with fresh roses from the garden, with a pair of ornate lapis lazuli and gilt bronze candelabra that frame the fireplace ahead. But the most beautiful piece is the table itself - carved out of marble and decorated in a symmetrical floral pattern known as commesso fiorentino.
Portia Ciliathis is sitting at dinner across from her parents, poking her fish with a fork, flaking it apart without eating it. For dinner tonight was white asparagus, poached in cream, with royal ossetra caviar, paired with grilled striped marlin smothered in a curried hollandaise. It was well made, but Portia couldn't bring herself to eat much. Not with Markus still missing. She had sworn a promise to herself a week ago that she would find him. And it was Oathday, no less.
"Mum, dad. Sorry, I'm not very hungry tonight. I think I'm going to go to my room."
Anguela turned in her pike at the guardroom and sauntered down the street in the vague direction of "home," right as the sun began to set in the distance. She felt restless and irritable, as she always did when it was time to go home, annoyed that another day had passed without any recognizable difference in her situation. Her stomach growled loudly as it often did when she was walking, and as often was the case when she she was off-duty, she felt she could put off eating no longer.
She ducked her head as she entered a public house known by the sign of the bearded lady that she had visited a time or two before, familiar enough with the entrance that she did not brush against the long hairy decoration that hung just inside. She went to a table and waited to be served, but soon grew impatient and went to the bar for a drink and some bread and cheese. The bread was too soft, she thought, and so was the cheese.
She stared out a window at the deepening shadows outside, picking at her meal. They offered her what they said was a hearty stew, but she thought it tasted more lung-y. Still, she couldn't ever really concentrate on her food. Eating was always utilitarian for Anguela. She had to eat for sustenance, but she never enjoyed it. She looked at the other people in the establishment, and briefly felt envious of them. All the experiences they got to have, being simple, common, ordinary people. She frowned. She was different, and always had been, and always would be.
When she had finally finished, she left money on the table and made her way out the back way, stopping at the privy. She enjoyed making the most of whatever establishment she favored for meals. Like using the whole animal from a hunt, she thought. She liked that the Bearded Lady had a separate tent for women, especially as it seemed they had gone to some effort to scent it. Anguela's sense of smell was very acute, and she appreciated little details like that.
She didn't want to go "home," but she knew she should. Her "parents" were always scolding her-- well, advising her, they would say-- against time spent elsewhere. She didn't want to be recognized, they would say. She wanted to avoid trouble, they would say. Lay low, they would say. But it was so boring and frustrating cooped up in that little room at the top of the stairs! She wanted to experience the city, her city, see the sights and get to know it right down to its roots. She wanted to go to taverns and hear performers sing, or see plays put on at the many theaters. Or even just go for a walk. What could go wrong?
Rebelliously, she turned right, thinking I'll take the long way home tonight. Cut through the temple gate, maybe make her way down to the docks, and then come back down High Street. She liked walking. You'd think she would be tired, since most of her day as a guard consisted of patrolling, but there was something special about doing it on her time. She felt like she was on display, like she was part of a procession. Sometimes in the seedier parts of town people would call out to her or look like they might stop her, which was certainly risky. But so far no one had tangled with her. Perhaps that is why I keep going, she thought with a bit too much self-awareness. She bit the inside of her lip and snorted. Augh, I can't take much more of this, she thought with disgust as she turned back left again and continued towards Curiosities Noctis. Something must happen soon or I will go mad.
She stomped up the wooden stairs, purposefully avoiding Gareth and Serena, who were probably squeezed in one of their three tiny rooms having a meal together, which was probably preceded by an offering to Abadar, and which probably had an extra serving saved for her if she wanted it. She took a deep breath and considered knocking on their door at the landing, but she decided she simply could not handle their company tonight and continued to her floor.
Inside, she flopped on the large comfortable divan and threw her arms out limply on either side. She glared at the crack in the ceiling and made grumbling sounds in the back of her throat. After what felt like about an hour of this she picked herself up and made her way past her dressing room to her bedchamber, which looked out the front of the building and had a prettyish sort of view of the park across the street and the last rays of the sunset in the distance. She changed into her night-gown and lit a candle, thinking that she would try to read some of the political screeds she had collected from rebels near the castle, which she thought she could often glean hints of gossip about what was really going on with the king and his court. However, after staring at them for a while she decided she was too tired to puzzle them out, and she blew out the light.
Even so, she lay in bed for several hours before she finally fell asleep. She thought she heard an animal cross the roof above her at one point, maybe a cat, but she amused herself by picturing a psuedodragon chasing an imp, and that made her smile as she drifted off.
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"....and dropped his pantaloons! HEY!" The raucous trio crashed back down to the table to a few wild yelps and a smattering of applause as the piano clunked a last pair of chords. The halfling sloshed most of his ale out of his tankard as he dropped onto his seat; Mackeson poured half as much again back into the halfling's mug and saluted him.
"To the Osprey's Clutch," the dwarf said solemnly in a low voice for the halfling's ears only.
The half-tipsy halfling sprung right back up onto the table, hoisting his mug up high. "To the Osprey's Clutch!" he yelled out. "And to the best damned fishing crew..." The halfling crumpled into sobs, crouched on the middle of the table.
"Ger off the table!" the bartender of Jeggy's Jug yelled out over the din.
"His fishing boat and crew struck a rock in the Narrows today and sunk, all hands on deck save for him," Mackeson yelled back at the bartender.
"A tuppence for his sorrows. Gerrim off the table!" the bartender slammed his iron-tipped cudgel into the edge of the bar. Mackeson had seen that cudgel put to good use on less-ornery drunkards than the halfling.
"Come on, Entwhistle," Mackeson grimaced in disdain at the bartender as he half-pulled the overly-emotional halfling down from the table. The small crowd that had gathered for the drinking song had quickly disbanded, highlighting just how empty the Jug was tonight. Wealday? Oathday? Mackeson wasn't sure which. The halfling thankfully relented his crumpled spot on the table and returned to his seat.
"I don't know what I'm gonna..." the halfling started saying. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. Entwhistle pushed Mackeson away from him, sprung to his feet, and sprinted out of the tavern. Mackeson rocked back in his chair as the halfling raced off, pulling at the table top to keep from toppling over. His four chair legs connected to the floor again and Mackeson sighed in relief. Taking it as a sign, he downed the remnants of his mug, stood up, and strode out of Jeggy's Jug.
"Tors and Gors," the dwarf muttered in a very profane, very-dwarven curse, shaking his head at the halfling-free street front outside of the bar.
I could just turn in and get an early start at the Pantheon tomorrow, Mackeson thought as he stomped through the squalid streets of Old Dock. That bastard Chiklrik wouldn't think I'd get an early start, and I'd be in South Shore before...
Mackeson rounded the corner and his thoughts halted. Up ahead, Entwhistle appeared to be arguing with a large human sporting a mohawk. Mackeson recognised him as one of Barvasi's thugs. As he watched, the human brought his brass knuckles out of his pocket, clenching his fists together.
It's going to be one of those nights, thought Mackeson as he approached the scene.
Today is a chilly but clear day, which means a brisk, early morning walk for the delivery-boys of the Korvosan Herald, Korvosa's publicly-owned newspaper as they deliver the big news of the morning. Plastered all over the front page, a picture of Eodred Arabasti II, Korvosa's King. The headline: THE KING IS DEAD; His wife, Ileosa Arabasti of Egorian, to succeed him
Surprisingly, the day is actually mostly the same as any other day. Portia's parents are leaving when she comes down to have breakfast. Her father, Louise, simply tells her that he'll "handle it when he gets back from Magnimar" and to stay in the house. There is always trouble when a king dies. The servants go about their business, and behind the estate walls, there is no effect. However, around 3 p.m. Portia can hear a crowd of people marching by. When she goes out to check what's going on, she sees a veritable mob of people marching down the street, holding signs with stupid likenesses of the new teenage Queen, some with red X's over them. Other signs say slogans like, "Give Korvosa back to a Korvosan!"
Of course, by the time evening approaches and night falls, the protests and riots have only escalated in magnitude. Portia finds herself unable to go out of the estate as herself, and the sounds of alarm bells tolling, shouts, fighting, and even a distant column of smoke wash over the Cilliathis Estate walls. Whatever is going on out there, it's only getting worse...
Of course, Paige already has an appointment. The church's Dawnflower House, an orphanage about a half-mile away in Pillar Hill, is hosting a community event for local victims of shiver addiction. There, they are to receive free treatments from the clerics that run the orphanage, they will give out supportive pamphlets, and the orphanage will operate a soup kitchen (partially run by the orphans themselves, to give them a sense of giving something to others even less fortunate). Paige had volunteered a week ago to head down there and help organize everything, which is exactly what she does when she's finished with morning prayers and breakfast.
When you arrive, you spot a familiar sight: Your friend Mackeson. The alcoholic dwarf is attending to the addicts alongside the Sarenrite clerics and orphans. Joining up with him, you have a lovely few hours filling the bellies of homeless youth and dispensing valuable advice. However, as the morning passes into afternoon, a series of protest marches regarding the ascension of the new Queen prompt the orphanage leadership to move the event indoors. And later, as the afternoon turns to evening, the riots becoming more and more violent as the Guard attempts to quell them prompts the orphanage leadership to simply declare that everybody will be staying indoors tonight.
After about forty minutes walking across the city, avoiding the crowds, Mackeson makes it to the Dawnflower House. The south side of town hasn't yet been touched by the riots, and he sees a familiar face: His friend Paige, the orphan-priest who wasn't a priest. The clergy and the orphans have already begun doling out soup, and the place's resident clerics are providing what magical aid they can to the addicts.
A few hours later though, the whole group is driven into the orphanage itself as a crowd of protestors begins marching on the same street, and the clerics pull the event inside for everybody's safety. As the evening drags on, the protests outside turn into riots, and it only gets less safe to go out, at least until the Guard calms everyone down.
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Mackeson approaches Paige once it becomes evident that the evening is a complete shambles.
"Devil of a thing, this," he grunts, offering a sip from his Caydenite holy symbol flask. "She might not be a popular queen, but there's some hateful rhetoric being spewed out there."
Paige has lived a life far enough removed from the upper rungs of society to truly be moved by the news, but the worrying after-effects leave her a bit more concerned. Usually she would not head out to a charity event fully armed--deigning to hide some weapons on her person for the occasion instead--but this time, she gears up fully to head out, just in case there are any problems. When she arrives, she simply leaves her shortbow in a supply closet near the entrance where she can retrieve it later, letting her scimitar hang at her hip where it doesn't look so suspicious given her station and the weapon's symbol to Sarenrae.
Happy to see Mackeson, Paige makes small talk here and there when the opportunity arises, but Paige spends much of her time through the day not only attending to people, but giving impassioned speeches about how help is never far away and that through a strong, kind community can give addicts and all who suffer the strength they need to fight temptation. She tinges her speech with matters of faith, but is cunning enough to know how to weave Sarenrae's teachings and ideals into rhetoric without explicitly naming her, so that whether any in attendance believe in the Dawnflower or not, they may take the virtues she extols and better their live and their communities with them.
But as the day begins to turn more violent and restless, Paige has to work harder to keep the smile on her face, eyes constantly shifting out toward the chaos outdoors with worry. "No thank you," she says politely, not much of a drinker on normal days, and having once sampled the sort of drink that Mackeson keeps in his flask; she is more than fine leaving it all to him. "I may have to step out there. The guard run the risk of making this worse if they suppress these people; misaimed as their hate might be, too many wrong moves and too strong a hand might make them angrier, and then some opportunist can claim the guard is suppressing their dissent on behalf of the queen and whip a mob into a frenzy." The strife and violence on the street is something Paige cannot abide by, and a firm tug at her heart urges her body outside to deal with matters.
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The dwarf grunts, taking a nip from Cayden's bounty for himself from his holy symbol as he secrets it back into his clothes. "Yer'll not be going out in that mess alone," he says matter-of-factly. "The bastard of it - I keep my gear for occasions such as this at the Pantheon of the Many. It's not too fur away - just on the other side of the Pillar Wall. If yer going out, we could head that way."
[expletive] [expletive] [expletive] Leaving my armour and my helm at the Pantheon. These stupid guards are going to get themselves killed and me and Paige along with it.
Mackeson hefts his pack onto his shoulder, thinking on Cayden's teachings as he does so.
"Hey, before we go out," he suggests to Paige, "I've got this strategy that'd work well fur you."
"I would be happy to accept your blessing when we are out on the street," she says, offering a solemn nod and a grateful smile. "But I'm afraid the only way I see from here to the Pantheon would be through the mob, and we had best hope that from here to there, every embittered brute can be talked down. If you wish to move on ahead without me, I understand completely, Mackeson. This is as foolish and insane a place to throw oneself as you can get, and presently you do so unarmed. Whichever path you do walk, however..." Paige gives a quick flick of her wrist, and a couple metallic clicks propel a dagger up from within her sleeve, which she catches, gives a quick flick to seize it by the blade, and offers Mackeson the handle. "It's better than nothing."
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”You seem to think I’m unarmed, Missus Paige, but I’ve got the courage of Cayden Cailean flowing in me, through me, and out of me,” Mackeson winks at Paige as he holds up his empty tankard and fills it with a gesture.
”Also, I’m not foolhardy enough to walk the streets without my kukri in my belt,” he grunts, sipping at the full tankard.
He squints at Paige. ”Didn’t you just say that you needed to go out there? Sounds like yer making this MY idea.”
'My old blood-brother, Atticus de Gray,'
'Perhaps you will have heard by the time this letter reaches you, but Eodred Arabasti II has died. I was woken in the night by the court wizard, who told me that he was poisoned, and that they are still searching for the culprit.'
'I have a bad feeling in my gut. I believe that only trouble will come from this, and I believe that I will need every sword-arm and every keen mind at my disposal in order to help our beloved Korvosa emerge from it unscathed. Please - will you meet me at Citadel Volshenyek, and join my soldiers for awhile, while power transfers over to the new Queen and she begins her new administration?'
'At your disposal,'
'Cressida Kroft'
It doesn't take long for Atticus to prepare his few belongings and set out across town to the imposing bayside Citadel Volshenyek. Since it is fairly early, the streets are only filled with a few scattered groups of protestors, mostly writers distributing pamphlets. Snagging one, Atticus reads that: 'NOW is the time! With the King's death and the throne in the grip of an immature harlot, seizing the means of production and taking Korvosa back for the Korvosans can finally happen! Gather at 12 Windemere Square at 1:00pm and we can begin the march!' When he gets to the Citadel, the Citadel is a flurry of activity as guards get ready to set out in the morning. A few requests for directions are answered, and Atticus is directed to Kroft's office, where he finds her with a handsome Varisian guardsman. "Ah, Atticus," she says, standing up to shake Atticus' hand. "As much as I'd like to have formalities, I'm afraid today is much too busy. Please - this is Grau Soldado, one of my best watch sergeants. If, indeed, you are here to do me a favor, would you please accompany him and his guardsmen on their patrol routes today? We need every reliable man and woman that we can get. These protests should be quelled. Can you help me?"
"Said your friend Kroft wants to meet you at the Citadel, but didn't exactly say why. You should probably get going."
After that, Darius gets up and dresses, passing by Emilian on the way out. "Be careful," says the older man, "There's protestors out on the streets. Best avoid the crowds, you never know what they'll be like."
Emilian is right - the streets are crowded with young Korvosans shouting some nonsense or other, marching, carrying signs with slogans about how horrible the Queen is and how she needs to be replaced sooner than later. The few guards that Darius sees already patrolling seem nervous, eyeing the crowds, but not yet doing anything. Living in Old Korvosa means it's a long way to Citadel Volshenyek, and Darius has to avoid several crowds in order to stay out of any trouble, but eventually he makes it, and is directed by a guardsman up to the offices of Cressida Kroft.
"Darius!" she calls, looking up from a city map as she does so. "Nice to see you, my friend." She shakes his hand. "I'm afraid I have to ask you for a favor. I'm calling in all the help I can get today. I think this week, we'll need help transitioning power to the new Queen, and making sure that no full-scale riots break out. Peace has to be kept on the streets."
"Of course, there's some money in it for you. I wouldn't leave a friend high and dry. What do you think? Can you join one of my patrol squads?"
By the time you've changed into the guard colors (brick red and black) and made your way to the Courtyard, most of the guardsmen have assembled in the castle's large central courtyard. Standing up on a platform to address the whole assemblage is the Guard's leader, the honorable paladin Cressida Kroft. She takes a deep breath before she begins speaking. "Last night," she says, "The King of Korvosa died. Final word from the castle seneschal and the court wizard is still outstanding, but word has it that it was poison. Now, that's gonna mean trouble. There are already people out on the streets, posting fliers about our new 'whore Queen'."
"Whatever your own personal feelings on the matter are, your duty is to Korvosa. That means that whatever trouble its people are going to get themselves into over this, it's your job to get them out. We'll coordinate with the Sable Company on making sure that everyone has the tools they need to make sure that today is as peaceful and safe as possible. Your watch sergeants have patrol and grouping orders. Let's get out there and have a good day."
Atticus departs his home immediately upon reading the letter, taking only the time to don his armor and arming sword before he does.
Walking the streets in the early morning armed means that even those who are out and about avoid him, save the most dedicated to their cause. One such man approaches and quickly jams a pamphlet into his chest before scurrying away. Such bravery deserves reward and so Atticus decided to at least glance at the page. Normally he did not care much for politics and notes such as these were why. Wanton radicalism was often just as destructive as any matter of despotism, and the fact that the pamphlet was relying solely on polarizing rhetoric to make a point was proof enough. Still though, he had to admit that there ability to put together printed pamphlets in enough volume to hand out in only a single evening was impressive. He carefully tucks the paper into his breast pocket before carrying on.
Once at the Citadel he proceeds with measured calm, like a leaf floating gently on the top of a rushing stream. Gently passing through crowds, never underfoot, only interrupting the flow of activity to ask directions.
"Sister, you are as lovely as ever" he says upon entering her office though he refrains from further pleasantries when she starts speaking. By the end he can only bow with a warm smile on his face. "Of course I will, Sister. I am here if you need me, now and always."
This wasn't exactly how I was expecting to spend the day after Oathday, Darius thinks as he listens to Cress's pitch. The city seemed to be a mess though, with protesters out in force. The queen being an outsider wasn't going to help things at all. Pay was important, but making sure that things made it through the next week of transition peacefully was more important. There would likely be plenty of people looking to take advantage of the chaos within the city as cover for criminal acts.
"Someone's going to have to keep order out there, Cress, might as well help out. We can worry about pay after things have settled down. No use getting paid if the city burns down after all. Just let me know where to start," Darius replies as he adjusts his belt and scabbard. Good thing I took the time to gear on before heading up here.
"Hnnnggghh. Too early, Ajenko." Portia grumbles when she is risen far earlier than she would like. While The Silver Ghost did not make an appearance last night, she was getting into a habit of sleeping late... and not awakening until nearly noon. Pulling on a silken slip, she creaks the door open and waits for Alethia, her handmaiden, to come in to help her get dressed for the day.
"Wait... what? King Eodred is dead? What happened?" She gets up and strides over to Ajenko, putting a hand out for the paper for her to read. "How did he die?"
....
She afterwards heads down for breakfast. She knew this trip was coming, and was glad that it would give her some breathing room to investigate what happened to Markus. "Okay, mum, dad. Have a good trip. Bring me back some macaroons, you know, from that place I like, okay?" She kisses them both goodbye then goes on with her day. She spends most of the early afternoon training - exercising in the gardens and performing fencing exercises.
When she goes back into the estate to wash off and grab a late lunch, things are getting bad outside. She anxiously watches everything unfold from a second-floor window.
"Alethia. I'm going out to dinner with some friends tonight. Let Ajenko know, okay? I'll be home late. Don't worry about me," she says, but her nervousness about the situation was getting the best of her, bringing a tremble to her voice.
Trouble was brewing, and she couldn't just stand by, not when people could be getting hurt. But she couldn't go out as just herself. This was a job for...
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The Silver Ghost!
After donning her costume, the Silver Ghost sneaks out her window, climbing down the tree and slipping out through the iron gate. Pulling her grey cloak around her and her hood up and around her face, she keeps to the shadows, using alleyways to make her way to the heart of the protests, and generally keeping her head down and out of sight when she cannot. Her brow furrows when she sees the smoke rising in the distance. That seemed as good a place as any to head towards.
After nightfall, The Silver Ghost slips out of Portia's manor and heads out to check on the riots and the trouble that's brewing. There is a large crowd on the first main road that she passes, but the Ghost's eye catches on something of even more interest. An elderly man accompanied by a half-dozen thugs slinks out of the crowd and north towards Pillar Hill. The sinister, yet inconspicuous looks on their face tell you that they're up to some trouble... maybe you should follow them?
"There's some people coming up here! I don't think they're... uh, protesters."
The Silver Ghost has no idea who those guys are but they're looking extra furtive and suspect. She figures she could at least follow them and see what they're up to. She follows behind, keeping at least 60' of distance between herself and them, and sticking to the shadows and cover if possible.
If she isn't seen, she draws her bow and an arrow as she moves, just in case. There are seven of them, and only one of her, so she doesn't want to pick a fight unless she's certain she has the upper hand.
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Mackeson wastes no time.
”Trouble makes fur trouble-makers,” he quips. Mackeson takes the hand of one of the older orphan children. ”Round up the children and go upstairs NOW. Get somewhere safe with a door and bar the entrance.” He releases the orphan girl’s hand.
”Paige? Looks like we’re gonna need that blessing sooner than we thought. How bout you close that door and answer it when they knock? I’ll be right here.”
Mackeson suggests that some of the other Sarenrite clergy might be best to tend the children.
I’ve got a bad feeling about today.
"I'll wait until we see what people are doing out there before I say 'it's my pleasure'," Darius says jokingly to Atticus and Grau. "Darius Filipes at your service nevertheless. Shall we head out?"
"I mean only the matter of leaving to quell the mob, versus leaving to get to your equipment. They are markedly different paths." She smiles and takes a moment to rig her wrist sheath back up with the dagger again for safekeeping rather than slipping it toward her hip. But before she can do much else, the child comes down the stairs and things take a harsher turn, and she lets out a tense curse word as she looks worriedly toward Mackeson.
"This changes things," Paige sighs, leaning in toward one of the priests and asking them to retrieve her bow before immediately taking charge to try and corral the priests. Her voice becomes louder and firmer as she waves a hand into the air and gathers attention. "Sisters and brothers! We need to move quickly. If you can defend yourselves, find a weapon and hold steady; we need not fight, but we must be ready to do so if this mob will not be held back. If you can't fight, take the children and our guests, and lead them to somewhere safe. Lock the doors, barricade them with whatever is near, and wait until you have our signal to open it again." Her hands move as she talks; big, sweeping, gesticulating motions meant to help compel and add urgency to her words. "We will see the dawn, we need only be ready for the worst, and to make sure we remain safe, and that we take care to protect our neighbors!"
Her voice drops down to normal again as she looks to Mackeson. "It looks like there is ony one path before us now. Gods, this is an orphanage. What sort of monsters would..." She drifts off and shudders, drawing her scimitar and starting to move again, looking around for her bow and drawing closer to the door. "Well, Mackeson, if we die tonight, it will have been an honour." With a polite bow of her head and a weary smile, she positions herself steady, ready to face whatever is about to storm down upon the orphanage. Her sword is held low and pointed to the ground, as she remains intent on using words and reason first, but wants her weapon at the ready in case it comes to it.
Atticus nods. "Lead the way my friend"
Anguela is tense with excitement as she walks into town. Something is happening! There are signs everywhere-- people are gathering, whispering. Anguela feels in her heart that her destiny has finally interfered in Korvosa's future, and she is wound like a spring.
She smiles at Grau with a big, toothy grin, and quickly changes into her uniform. She makes a curtsy to him, amused as always at his dependency on pieces of metal rather than weapons of tooth and nail, like her.
Anguela feigns surprise but cannot hide her pleasure when she hears the king is dead. However, she nods grimly as Kroft explains the threat to the queen dowager brewing in the streets. I must be gracious in victory, she thought, her mind swimming. Ileosa had nothing to do with the indignities my family suffered. She will be allowed to live in comfort on her family's estate when the throne passes to me. Her brow furrows slightly. Unless she had something to do with her husband's death, of course. Poisoning, eh? Bah.
She salutes absently as Kroft charges them to action, and with determination she proceeds to meet with her company and sergeant for orders.
The King of Korvosa is a man whose spendthrift ways are moderated somewhat by the numerous good works he has spearheaded.
Heading out into the city, the afternoon mostly consists of walking around town and watching the protests. None of them are getting violent yet, which is a relief that Grau frequently mentions.
Darius is quite surprised to find Anguela of all people involved in the guard. It was certainly not what he'd expected for someone he presumed to be a noble with some resources and backing from her family. For the beginning of the patrol he keeps fairly quiet, worried that talking would leave him distracted if a riot broke out or something else happened. After a good while however, it becomes clear that the protesters so far have been well behaved. With everyone relaxing somewhat, turns to Anguela.
"Heya, Anguela. It has been a while," Darius says as they head out on patrol. "How'd you wind up in the guard?" he asks, obviously curious.
The Silver Ghost narrows her eyes when she realizes the group of thugs, of all things, are trying to break into an orphanage. Seriously? They must have kicked every puppy and kitten they found on their way here, too. But now, her mind was made up. She didn't think that she couldn't bring all of them down by herself, but maybe, just maybe, she could draw them away. Okay, so maybe this wasn't a very well thought out plan. But there wasn't time to muddle things over.
Ducking down, she tries to inch closer. Once she's close enough to her quarry, she nocks an arrow, aiming for the biggest guy in the group. Right in the neck.
Come on, girl. Steady... Make it count.
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As the lockpicks do their work, Paige takes a moment to pray in muttered tones to Sarenrae, standing front and center before the door, emboldened by Mackeson's magic and using herself to try and block the way in. Looking as firm and as strong as she can. As the door opens, before she has even taken in the sight of them she is at the ready, and as the door opens she stands with her scimitar at her side, free hand raised in a gesture attempting to halt them. "Stop this at once!" she shouts, voice bright with passionate fire. "This is an orphanage! A place of charity that tends to the most helpless and weak of this city. Who could truly be so craven as to attack an orphanage? Stay your hands and leave this place at once. Your anger and rioting hurts not the queen you rail against but only your neighbors, and surely you can see that this is an unthinkable extreme." She's fairly certain this isn't a group of rioters after all, but the assumption helps her paint a broader appeal for some hope at mercy, and she hopes Mackeson's blessing will help stay them enough to listen.
When the Silver Ghost hears Paige's voice call for reason, she pauses to see what they would do. She didn't want to resort to violence unless absolutely necessary.
But she's skeptical, so she nocks and takes aim...
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Good on you, girl, Mackeson muses, a wry smile coming to his face. Perhaps I'm too hasty in thinking that righteous words couldn't defuse this situation, Cayden forgive me.
The dwarf lowers his kukri to his side and prepares to step out from his spot beside the door to join Paige in facing the mob......when.....
Anguela seems very distracted while on patrol, and keeps muttering to herself as if she is excited about something. It's good that they don't encounter any dedicated resistance, though perhaps actual combat would focus her senses a little more. For some reason she stays close to Atticus Montegue deGrey, perhaps instinctively, though she doesn't seem to acknowledge him beyond an initial nod of recognition.
She seems confused and surprised when Darius greets her. Then her mind does a mental click as she recognizes him. "Darius...?" she says slowly. "My goodness, what a surprise! How nice to see a familiar face." She looks left and right quickly, as if suddenly nervous. "As you probably know, my parents run a magical curiosities shop in the Midland district. But my temperament is not ideal for working retail, and so I sought out a position in the guard." She smiles and her eyes widen slightly as if daring him to challenge this story. "And what about you, what brings you to the aid of our company, you rough-and-tumble soldier of fortune?" She reaches out to touch his sleeve in a familiar way, which might be seen as affectionate-- or perhaps a quiet plea for help.
Darius seems a little surprised by Anguela's explanation, both because she seemed adept enough at talking that it should've been up her alley and because families with the money to hire private guards or investigators generally didn't need their children to work on the family business or otherwise. Nevertheless she was in the guard, which wasn't in the business of handing out fluff posts, so obviously she could handle herself. After a moment he gives a quick 'huh.' in response to the story, not entirely clear on the why, but not exactly disbelieving it either. He'd certainly heard all sorts of strange stories for people winding up in Kenabres to join in the crusades, it's not like the Korvosan guard wouldn't have its share of the same.
"Soldier of fortune? Hah, not sure fortune's the right word..." he starts, focusing instead on her question to him. "Cress sent me..." he begins before noting the confused look, "Oh, right. *ahem* Field Marshal Kroft sent me a message asking for help today. Can't say I disagree with the need to patrol at this point. Doesn't do anyone a whole lot of good if the city falls apart just 'cause the king is dead. Whatever the end result, whether people get used to the Queen being in charge or not, we need to ensure the people of the city are safe."
Atticus hums along happily as they patrol as if he were totally unaware of the situation unfolding. He only speaks up after Darius and Anguela start conversing, noting "Ah, you too are already fast friends? Good!"
With nothing further he turns to Grau. "Sir Soldado-" he starts "Or is it Captain? Hmmm, well. You seem quite the man to have made it to Captain at your age. Congratulations"
When Darius shrugs, Anguela gives him a grateful look, her eyes again checking either side of her for others close by enough to hear , and she raises an eyebrow with an expression that says Maybe we can discuss this more in private?
She looks suitably impressed when Darius name-drops the commander of the guard. "You are friends with Field Marshal Kroft?" she says, smiling. "That must be nice, eh? Consigned to patrol with us as punishment, though. Speaking on behalf of the company, I am grateful for your service." She bows, still teasing him a bit.
She indicates Atticus and says "This one is also a loaner, though I don't exactly know why. Were you trying out for the guards before and it didn't stick, good sir?" Her tone suggests she doesn't like him but is trying to be friendly. "Don't tell me you know the commander as well?" She says this last bit like it's an absurd idea.
"Ah, I am not much a knight or guard I'm afraid. Many years ago the lovely Kroft and I swore a blood oath together, so we are more like sister and brother. I know have the opportunity to honor that oath through duty. What a wonderful thing!"
"We've worked together before, you could say," he says, responding to Atticus's question about him and Anguela.
When Anguela asks about Cress, he makes sure to correct the record. Cress'd murder him if she thought he was name dropping her in a way that insinuated he was getting anything out of the deal that any other freelancer couldn't have earned. Not that he could blame her for that, she took her job seriously and the appearance of propriety was important as a leader of the guard. "Nice? I suppose yeah, in that it's good to have friends you can count on. She's definitely that, but she's pretty serious about not playing favorites, and she's as stingy as any of the Abadaran clergy," he says with a laugh.
"You're close to Cress then, Atticus?" Darius says, sounding honestly surprised. While he and Cressida grabbed drinks a couple times a year, the truth is he didn't know much about her life beyond work anymore, and she'd not really opened up about what had gone on in the years he'd been absent. "How'd you wind up swearing a blood oath? Sounds pretty serious," Darius asks as they continue walking down the street.
"It is a long standing tradition in my household to find companions who share our ideals and swear an oath of loyalty and duty to them. We were young then, but she, I, and others came together to take the oath of the Scarlet Sentinels. In truth, I have not spoken to her in many, many years. I was pleased to hear that she had become field marshal!" he says the last part with a hearty laugh.
"There is beauty in it, I think... Though we may have walked different paths in life, the oath binds us and brings us together again. It reminds me of the Trembling Giant- a forest to the far north that is made up of only one tree. Each trunk sprouts on its own but all are joined by a single, massive root system. The sight brought a tear to my eye I must admit."
1. Giggles
2. Hired Thug #5
3. Paige <--- You are up!
4. Hired Thug #3
5. Hired Thug #4
6. Hired Thug #1
7. The Silver Ghost
8. Hired Thug #2
9. Mackeson (divine favor [8 rounds], shield of faith [5 rounds])
10. Gaedren
When the do, and the door opens, Paige gives her impassioned speech. However, when her eyes fall on the old man in the lead of the half-dozen thugs, her heart falls. She even recognizes the miserable half-orc standing behind him. This is none other than Gaedren Lamm and his bodyguard, Giggles. Several years older, but the same men.
No honeyed words will be enough here. As Gaedren's eyes fall on you, he grins. "Ah, today is sweet," he says. When Mackeson steps out beside her, he chuckles. "Ah, a bodyguard? Giggles, kill the dwarf." The half-orc begins to laugh, a choked sound that is just too high-pitched, and steps forward, swinging his flail over his head, when suddenly an arrow buries itself in the half-orc's armor! It doesn't penetrate through to the flesh, but it causes the half-orc to turn... Poking her head out from a nearby alleyway is a dark-cowled figure carrying a bow. She's apparently been watching, and has just loosed an arrow into Giggles' shoulder. Gaedren scoffs. "Fine," he says, "We'll do this the hard way."
Just then, an upper-story window opens in the Dawnflower house. Keston sticks his head out, takes a deep breath, and hollers,
The first of the thugs to respond turns towards Portia, the first obvious threat. Since she is close, he simply dashes towards her, swinging a sap.
Turning away from Portia (since her threat was handled), Giggles steps up towards Mackeson, as ordered. Spinning up his heavy mace, he sends it crashing down towards the dwarven warrior.
Giggles' flail seems just about to strike Mackeson in the head, but the pure force of Mackeson's faith deflects the blow, and it slams into the wooden floor of the orphanage instead. Outside in the alleyway, the hired thug hits Portia in the chest, but his blow is weak and she barely feels it through her armor.
Darius is about to respond to Atticus when the cry rings out. "Well that didn't last long," Darius says with a sigh. Grabbing his shield off his back he begins to move as quickly as his heavy armor will allow down the alleys towards the cry. "Take a rain-check on the conversations?" he asks over his shoulder as he barrels into the alleyway, his free hand moving to the hilt of his scimitar once he's secured his shield.
The firm and carefully practiced confidence with which Paige carries herself may have been prepared for just about any sort of mundane threat that could have walked through the door, but not Gaedran Lamm. It all crumbles in an instant, firm control and passion replaced with brilliant, molten fury. "I will not let you have any of them you miserable rat bastard!" Without thinking and completely removed from considering Mackeson's magic protections, she lunges immediately into the fray, starting with the nearest thug, Giggles, but as she moves to try and help defend her attacked friend, her focus burns in the direction of Gaedran Lamm. Today is the day she cleans the city's gutters of its greatest disease. She swings her scimitar in a broad, lunging motion as she moves into place to begin cutting them down, no time to begin her dance or to consider anything but swinging for these wretched thugs' demise.
With only fury on her side, Paige's blow lacks the might necessary to carve through Giggles' armor and into his flesh. Furthermore, as she moves forward to attack, the four thugs that stand with Gaedren move forward as well, swinging their saps with great vigor, trying to remove the obstacles between them and their cash cow.
Several blows land as the thugs rain wooden clubs down on the defenders of the orphanage, but they are weak, merely meant to test the mettle of the fighters.
Taking a fighters' stance with her rapier, the Silver Ghost drives its point through the lower torso of her opponent. Blood stains his padded armor, and he groans in pain.
Atticus also takes off towards the cry.