Caloren: City of Lost Virtues [M] IC

[Scabious]

A collection of hooves and wagon wheels passed by the tavern on it's way to the East Gate. A few doors slammed behind it, and the streets began to fill itself with people, as the citizens began to make their way home, and a select few were just beginning their various professions, official or otherwise. The least business was occurring at this time, but guards were on a high alert at sundown. Pickpockets, and other thieves had their best opportunities to strike. A butcher was closing up shop, and a government official was on his way to the castle, up the main street, which followed alongside a long forgotten river, past the market square, and onto the market street, leading up a incline, to the castle, Krak de Nolan. There, a gate stood to the outer court.

[Jonas Garland]

Lugar smiled politely as men went to join him, but he just shook his head. “I need you not to come with me. Just in the coming days, I’ll need you to be vocal of your support.” There wasn’t many in the bar at that point, so his voice was directed only to those who went to come with him. Those who gave him a nod in luck received a bow of the head in return. There were the non-believers who received the slightest of smirks. Lugar almost seemed to enjoy their reactions, a little too much perhaps. It was like a famed magician, pulling tricks in front of children. Their indignation of him was the mere innocence of children, he could begrudge them that.

After listening to the bird-seller talk, Lugar turned to him with a smile. “A king is only his own rule as long as the people agree to it. Hence why this king needs his advisors, and why I am here. He may choose his own inspiration, but that doesn’t mean we can’t influence his decision in any way. But yes… Let’s head off.”

Lugar turned to the bar owner and smiled. “Thank you for your hospitality my friend. It will not be forgotten.” With that Lugar turned and exited the bar. The coolness of the air only led as a reminder that they had to move on. He was walking now; he was fast for such a little man. The two walking sticks matched the movement of his legs perfectly, turning the former monk into a quadruped. He looked over the street and caught sight of a government official, who was walking in the direction they had been given. Lugar didn’t even wait for the bird-seller, as he completely assumed the man would be right behind him regardless.

[Car'mael]

Lawrence let the crippled monk lead the way, whistling as he sauntered after with his pole of birds on his shoulders. He had to turn this way and that to dodge through the crowd without knocking anyone on the head, but he had gotten used to doing this. After all, he had no servants anymore, nobody but himself. So he ran errands, mingled with the populace, sold his birds. Nobility was merely a state of mind anymore.

He kept an eye to his purse and was ready to use his pole to "accidentally" strike any man or woman who dared bump with intent to steal. Wren had little fear his birds would fly far if their cages broke in a fight--they knew his home and no other place yet, so they would always return there. Ahead, he noted that the monk had moved to trail (or perhaps intercept?) a government official ahead, but let the other man choose his own pace while he yet trailed. The monk had nothing to lose to this crowd, but he himself did, and he would not go faster through it than he could safeguard his belongings.

Besides, they were headed the same way regardless.

Idly, Lawrence wondered at how the monk had garnered so much support from others so easily. He had a skill for a silver and learned tongue, and from his words likely a fir bit of insight to the human mind. He himself knew he had neither, only some ingenuity and a good head for applying what skills he had to useful purpose. Well, time would show what lay in store for the monk... and himself.

[Scabious]

Most of the people of the section of the city were heading to their homes, and one direction, against the monk and bird seller, was rather popular. One party heading their way, though, was a wagon, flanked by two horses. The wagon was of a higher quality then the others you could spot around the city, and the men on horses were armed well. The steel shined in the setting sunlight, and their heads swiveled on the guard. The man driving was dressed rather stylishly, with feathers sticking out of his dark, purple hat. His clothes were an elegant green. He was carrying loads of something, and one could see a few spears poking out, as well as a block of wood.

Noticing the birds, and soon after, the seller, the man slowed his cart. "To my fellow merchant, care for a ride?" He asked, his smile full of goodwill. His head gestured to the back of his cart, and he whistled. One of the guards, who knew very well what he was doing, stood at the ready to assist. The man's skin was tan, foreign looking, but his tongue was that of a local. "Hop on, if you're going anywhere near the castle court!" He made sure the seller could hear and understand him. The guards did not seem surprised by this apparent gesture of goodwill, quite the opposite. They seemed to have rehearsed positions, as though they had done this many times before.