RP:Playing with Fire

Part of the Larketian Fault Lines Arc

Summary: The King and Queen of Larket host a ribbon cutting ceremony for the new youth sports complex. The complex’s inaugural day is celebrated, along with the Queen’s birthday, with a field day and fair. The festivities kick off to a fun start. King Macon even rolled around with pee-wee rugby players!

The Larketian Guard had also set up a booth to take the names of self-reporting witches. While some witches, like the majority of Hudson’s nail salon employees, dutifully reported themselves, other witches (VALRAE) and some non-witch sympathizers and pro-democracy activists began to protest the witch list with false names, or Josleen’s name. During that commotion, a covered wagon was wheeled onto the field. Beneath the tarp was two massive effigies of King Macon, naked, hairy, tiny-membered, and Queen Josleen, fat, gaudy, coming apart at the seam. Both monarchs’ crowns were at their feet and a pro-democracy chant was bellowed by a few sympathizers in the crowd. Green flames burned the effigies, denoting the machinations of old witch magic!

The King’s rage aura incited a riot. Josleen identified a witch in a scarlet cloak, which the witch (VALRAE, but shh, ic secret) discarded as she fled the scene. Josleen then retrieved her cloak and a piece of parchment with a magically encrypted spell, which unbeknownst to the Queen is the very same Valrae used to burn the effigies in emerald fire.

Youth Sports Center

Macon cuts an arbitrarily placed ribbon somewhere near the entrance to the new sports complex from Larket Ave. The purple ribbon is held by a pair of Kingsguard on either end, and, instead of an oversized pair of scissors, the Fury Knight uses The Rage Axe and a fierce upward swing to ceremonially open this new Larketian facility. This grand opening follows a brief speech that credits the creation of this place to the birthday queen, his “...generous, beautiful wife…” His voice bellowed over a crowd consisting of a majority of Larket’s population, with much of the city’s youth in the front rows, prepared to race onto the fields as soon as the king murders that ribbon. The fields are young and green, and they are set up for multiple sports, with divisions for separate age groups. Of course rugby is represented at the command of the King and he will be participating later. Smaller courts are equipped for things like badminton, and shuffleboard, and the like, with equipment readily available. Those rushing past the cut ribbon and those taking their time to enter will both be greeted by a kind of county fair vibe, with booths set up for stadium type food and drink, as well as contests like ‘Guess the Weight of this Hard Larketian Stone’. Closer to the entrance to the complex are a pair of booths, one for Larketian military recruitment, and another for Witches to self-report their identity as advised in the latest issue of The Larketian Herald. The latter booth is also accepting non-self reported witch identification, of course, and the signage there is purposely ambiguous so as not to deter this type of information giving.

Irenic is here by no miraculous presence. He's covered up in titanium Avian armor to hide all of him in case the event runs late. The armor fakes the fact he has no wings and he stays by the queen's side keeping silent and vigilant while only following her until she bade him to stop. Only one chilling silver eye keeps a watchful eye over any and all threats while the brown one has an eye patch over it. In hopes that no one will speak to him so he doesn't speak his ridiculous sounding native speak he only nods in acknowledging others. Any close passersby to Irenic would experience their favorite scent coming from the Avain. Milling about at a safe distance behind the Queen, offering a happy birthday on his native tongue.

Aaken enjoyed this small kingdom known as larket. But what he really enjoyed was that Lemoni the Lime Green Female Salamander Jersher who stuck to his back was enjoying the ride. The 12' anthromorphic dark scaled red eyed neon green striped Naga wearing a red and white cotton scarf around his neck, loved the idea of festival or party of sorts, this gave him an opportune time to be able to show off his artistic skill creating moving memory portraits, with luck he hoped that if not getting local business he might be able to get maybe the royal familes business. "This looks like a good spot to set up." Aaken said pointing out a spot nearby the bleachers where no doubt games would be held. Lemoni smirked climbing around to his front and hopping off, the Lime green shapely anthro salamander female, took the satchel off her back carrying Aaken's art supplies, while aaken removed panes of glass to be able to craft the art upon, and unrolled a sign that read 'Memory art for sale, only 500 gold per glass' mounting it on the edge of bleachers. "Big day lots a fun, money to be made," Lemoni said before moving into the crowd to find people interested.

Josleen smiles and blushes and waves a hand at Macon as if to say, ‘Oh you’ when he calls her his beautiful wife. Her eyes, however, say ‘Go on.’ Once the festivities begin, Josleen waits until the screaming children have torn through the entrance, then follows them at a more adult pace on Macon’s arm. The couple may drift apart as social calls require, or stay together, it’s really up to the King. Josleen starts all fairs the same, and has one goal immediately on her mind. She visits the booths first, buying raffles for artisanal cheese prizes and guessing the weight of The Hard Larketian Stone, and coming very close to the actual figure! She wins a gold and purple lark plushie. She encourages Irenic to play the games too, but does not insist if he refuses. She then shoots a BB gun at tin ducks and hits 8 out of ten, wins candy, then moves on to a game of pick up sticks, in which she doesn’t win the grand prize but manages to snag a nutcracker that looks like a famous Larketian warrior of yore. In short, the Queen, having grown up in a rural village and accustomed to no fewer than 2 harvest fairs per year is very good at fair games. She does not look at all surprised as she racks up junk prize after junk prize. “Irenic, could you fetch a sack to hold these prizes in?” Irenic, maybe fetch two. The Queen is cleaning house. She eventually comes to Aaken’s stall and cants her head at the sign. “Hello,” she smiles at Aaken. After the necessary bow from him (probably?), nod from her, she asks, “What exactly is memory art?”

Meri was amongst the crowd of people looking to gain entrance to the new complex, making her way into the center after the crowd of people rushing in has thinned out. The children, the Queen, her husband, and their guard, they all have a chance to enter first. It had crossed Meri's mind to perhaps attempt to locate something a bit more fashionable to wear to this shindig but here the tattoo artist is, showing up in her usual attire of pants, boots, and corset. Tattoos were on full display for the most part, save for the full-sleeve on her left arm. The upper half of that tattoo is partially covered as her shoulder is in bandages.The tattooed woman meanders at a slow pace to examine booths and vendors. Like Josleen, Meri has her priorities, that one stop that she has to hit before anything else. So if there is a booth selling beer that is the first stop that Meri is going to make. Beer in hand, the casual browsing of what this event has to offer continues. Most of the faces were largely unfamiliar to her and those that were known to her were preoccupied. At some point she stumbles upon Aaken and his sign advertising that he is making memory art. The price is well out of Meri's budget but her curiosity gets the better of her. Thankfully, she does not have to be the oaf asking questions from a vendor when she cannot afford to buy anything. Josleen asks, Meri eavesdrops.

Eirik is nothing more than a fixture among the people watching as Macon slices that ribbon with an axe. The sight forces an odd smile to tug at the corner of his lips; shifting that large scar over his features in an odd way. The Northman, is dressed per usual. Armored sleeve working its way up right arm and weaving into a single fur covered, leather and steel plate pauldron. A silver stitched black leather jerkin is the only protection over his torso. Matching pants give way to steel greaves that protect both shins and booted feet. Brann Forbruker, a runic long sword, hangs from his left hip via the means of a leather baldric. After the children dash into the facility in a mad frenzy and both king and queen have entered, silver hues shift to Sabrina, who presumably, is nearby. “Shall we?” An arm waves out before her as if to say 'after you’. When she does begin to move heavy steps carry the berserker into the facility at her set pace, planning to go wherever she willed. For all intents and purposes, Eirik is clean shaven and in brand new variations of his familiar armor.

Sabrina arrives with her arm hooked around the crook of Eirik’s elbow. She doesn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that he didn’t dress up, in fact, the elfess seems to be learning to take it easy by ditching the formal elven dress for such functions and adopting a human-style garment that was flattering but far more ‘complete’ than her own people’s style. The dress is mostly white, with springy lime-green accents which contrast heavily against mid-thigh length locks that have been left down completely, swaying like an inky black river and making her appear almost human. If not for the scars left prominent on her face one would hardly recognize her in the festivities, which is how it should be for Josleen’s big day. With Eirik, ever attentive as he was, she takes to approaching the Queen at the Memory Glass booth. A soft touch to her elbow notes her presence, but she too would like to know what this artform is all about.

Alvina shows up just a tad behind schedule. She's come alone, but looks a bit done up for someone without a counterpart. Her hair is pulled back in a bun, adored hair pins holding the rest of her crimson hair in place. She's wearing a light spring dress with water color style flowers dyed into the light blue fabric. The gaiety of her attire helps support her otherwise dismal attitude. She greets anyone she knows, which is mainly the Queen of the hour and her counterpart, The King as they make their way to the Memory Glass booth. It seems this attraction already has a fair crowded gathered around for a demonstration. The bard hangs back, still in view to see how one goes about putting memories in glass. She keeps an eye out for Reinhardt, in the event that Josleen can introduce them.

Macon after joining Josleen, stops by the military recruitment booth once the stampede of children rushes by them on its way to the playing fields. He chit-chats with the second person currently on line, it is a line of two only this early into the event. Once he has put in some facetime with potentially the newest member of his armed forces he hands off the precious Rage Axe to one of his Kingsguard he heads to the booths and finds himself in awe(?) of the Queen's luck, or maybe it is skill and strategy. The King wonders what in the world she plans to do with all of this crud she is winning. What is clear to anyone looking at Macon, it is that he was completely unaware of this part of his wife's skillset. Before the bard reaches Aaken’s pop-up craft shop, The Rage Knight breaks away from her and heads to the fields while she moves towards the bleachers. He and a professional rugbier, who definitely has an appearance fee, join in on one of the games going on for younger children. The King of Larket playfully sets up blocks, letting the young players run past him after a couple of ‘threatening’ side steps, and once he has the ball, drags about four kids, one hanging onto each leg, one pulling on the bottom of his shirt, and one just ramming into his front thighs repeatedly, until he pretends to be overcome by their brute strength and falls to the ground, letting go of the ball and sending it bouncing erratically away from him. Every single child in the game chases after it.

Aaken smiled and bowed low to the the approaching lady obviously of significance due to the form of her dress, and also took note of the woman close by, as well as the crowd beginning to form, and he smiles as he presents an example from his bag, which contains an image of a coast line with waves actually crashing in real time and faintly hearing the sound seem to emanate from the glass painting, the colors and detail do not look painted rather it is if you were actually there, standing on a rock watching an listening to the waves crash against the sandy beach, and the birds flocking over head flying out to beyond sight, and this continuing until it seemed to loop back flawlessly repeating itself. "This is an example of memory art, which incorporates magic into the visual and auditorial production of the moving image on glass, by myself watching something for an amount of time be a person, place or thing, I can place the memory as vividly as the buyer desires. Minutes before it loops, sound and size of glass used may be an upcharge in price, but the current glass I use is 12" by 7" and sell for 500 gold apiece." Aaken explained, pointing out the art of the beach and also of secondary work with Lemoni the salamander female jersher modelling in the glass from a scene at the bards college, as another example, catching her staring out the window, and once and a while the occasional fly she'd catch with her tongue or catch a whole pigeon, before it would loop back. The life likness was exact as reality, without flaw. This only was further proven when Lemoni moved through the crowd and back flipped onto aaken's head. "Ta da." She said with a bow. Aaken chuckling as his eyes looked up to her.

Josleen turns towards the touch at her elbow and smiles brightly when she sees that it is Sabrina. She greets the elfess with an air hug. “Sabrina! I’m so glad you came.” Eirik receives a warm smile and nod. “Good to see you again, Sir Eirik.” Then she catches sight of Meri, whom she recognizes from a fair in Gualon years ago. What the Queen cannot remember is the tattooed woman’s name, and so, embarrassed, she avoids saying the name as long as possible. “Hello! Lovely to see you again.” Thankfully Alvina arrives before Josleen is put to the test of Meri’s name. “Alvina!” She gives the redhead a full bodied hug with a little sway side-to-side, largely because she did not expect the woman to attend given the recent drama of her personal life. The naga’s demonstration renders her awestruck and immediately sold. After all, the new Queen has an entire castle to fill with whatever money can buy. “Oh these are divine. I must have at least one, -at least!- I’m not sure what memory I would have captured like this… Let me ask my husband, the King, what he thinks…” She looks around for Macon and a guard points towards the field, which Josleen cannot see clearly from here. To Aaken she says, “I’ll be right back. Don’t you leave this court until I’ve bought one of these off you, you hear?” Sabrina has Eirik, Meri has beer, and Alvina has no one, and so the Queen loops her arm through Alvina’s and leads her towards the court. “The naga are really imaginative, aren’t they? There’s a scientist who lives here in Larket, Muzo, he’s brilliant too. Do you think you’ll buy the memory glass? Imagine, Harper and Luna crawling and bouncing, that moment captured in moving glass forever.” As the women break through the crowd watching the King, the Queen sees a scene she’d like to capture in glass, too. The sight of Macon playing with children sends her baby-yearning heart aflutter. She’s grinning foolishly as she watches her husband, and loses the thread of her conversation with Alvina as she, instead, pictures Macon playing with their own future children. That future may never arrive for them, and there’s a pang in her heart at that fact. Hopefully Muzo is as brilliant a scientist as she hopes.

Meri notices two faces that she is quite familiar with approach both Aaken and the Queen. A smile is cast toward Sabrina and EIrik, head dipping in a brief nod to greet them. Red lips part as if she were going to inquire how the two of them were but the artist's attention is quickly reclaimed by Aaken. Whatever words the woman was going to express to the couple is lost as Aaken's demonstration begins. Meri watches and listens intently, ideas turning in the artists mind. The price point of five hundred gold is committed to memory, she would have to work toward putting that amount aside. It is not until after Aakenn has finsihed showing his work that Meri lets blue eyes settle back on Sabrina and Eirik, this time she does give voice to a proper greeting, "Sabrina, you look absolutely lovely. Eirik, you look well." In perfect frankness, Meri wasn't here with any amount of expectation that Josleen would even recognize her, let alone remember her name -- something that Meri is oblivious to. The artist is pleasantly surprised to even be recognized, a warm smile curves at her lips, "It is good to see you too." Josleen's social standing is respected and the Queen is given all the time with the artist that she desires. It is when Josleen is finished speaking that Meri will approach him with a simple inquiry, "And if I wanted something done in the future? Where would I send word to?"

Sabrina is distracted by the laughs and merriment coming from the rugby field. Parents and children truly enjoying themselves with the King’s antics which brings a soft smile to her features. Her attention is brought back to the art before her and she is skeptical at best. Leaning in towards Eirik she mentions something about not liking her mind messed with and gives a squeeze to his arm that they should move on. The Healer is silent while Eirik is addressed, his formalities towards her Queen and dear friend earning him a favorable grin. She gives the queen both a formal greeting and a small gold box with a Lark decorating the surface, before she takes Alvina to the court. Inside, the birthday girl would find her gift nestled in plush purple velvet. “In case you don’t get everything you wanted.” Of course, she knew the King would never leave her wanting for a thing. With a wink and a smile, she and the Northman are headed towards a cotton candy tent, but not without (hopefully) snagging Meri’s non-beer hand to drag along with them once she had finished with the artist in question. The tent is in the shade-side and smelled wonderful. Next, they cross the walk once more to procure some artisanal sausage-dogs. She watches the Northman sink into his and she eyes her own skeptically. He made it look good, but after a good sniff and a casual look to see if Meri would be eating hers she makes a face and decides that maybe this is not right for her. The overpriced fair-food is handed over with a shrug, though, Eirik doesn’t seem to mind picking up where she so often leaves off in mealtime. The elfess will stick with the cotton candy for now, sharing it with the tattooed woman as they continue down the walk.

Alvina lets her mouth draw open, in a small circular 'o' to show how impressed she was with the Memory glass. A very unique magic, that reminded her of Vi, the man Brennia had introduced her to briefly at the bard's college. The naga and jersher make a cute couple, she thinks, letting her gaze drift to Josleen, who is hugging her very tightly. "Heavens," She laughs, hugging her back. The laugh is real, regardless of how heavy her heart is presently. Her arm folds in Josleen's naturally. Their in relative sync as Josleen takes her wherever it is the Queen is going. The bard is happy to be an accessory for the moment. "Oh yes, that would be perfect." Her smile wilts to a 'too wide to be real' setting. It's hard not to think of a memory where Hudson would be involved with them. That's the only time she saw him now; when it concerned the girls. As they approach the field, Macon as several kids cling to his clothes and he toppled in defeat. The antics summon a light chuckle, while the bard folds herself into another pocket of the crowd. Alvina looks up to see some mixed expression on Josleen's face and she laughs, extra loud in spite of herself. To join in with the crowd, and hopefully lighten her friend's spirits. It's her birthday after all!! "Naga are...all kinds of things. Brilliant, first and foremost." Alvina agrees, patting Josleen's hand with her own. "Your Husband is a mess," she says, laughter still in her tone. The envy can be displaced until later. "The good kind." A nudge, and a wink behind those crimson curls. Clarification, just in case.

Valrae || As the king plays rugby and the queen watches with longing, a scuffle has broken out at the witch registration booth. The booth attendant and the guard posted nearby have been growing increasingly agitated and confused at the steady stream of people lining up to sign their names down. "No sir, you are not a witch - he isn't is he? Can men be witches?" What were the rules? Weren't witches limited the female gender? Who knew! Men, children, people of all ages and races but decidedly little magic were putting their names down on the registry. There were a few witches, obvious and legitimate, scattered in the crowd of imposters. Some of them write Josleen's name in the accusatory booth. Some of them write their own and scurry off guilty and afraid. The fight starts when a young boy, no more than thirteen and covered in dirt, spits on the guard that attempted to shoo him away from the line. The guard cuffs him on the back of the neck but the grubby child manages to twist enough to bite him. The guard is shaking him and this causes unrest in the faux-witch/real-witch crowd. "Get your hands off of him! He's only a boy!" It quickly escalates,suddenly there is an angry mob of people ready to swarm the poor, panicking guard as they scream. "He's killing that boy! He's killing him!" While attention is being drawn to the disruption, a covered wagon is being wheeled quietly into a previously empty booth space.

Macon has gotten a little muddy while avoiding exerting himself too much. He has a -real- exhibition match to be ready for soon. The rugby pro carries a kid carrying the ball in for a score and the field turns over to a slightly older age group, who the king runs drills with as his warm-ups. This lasts, for the king, only a few minutes before the sound of the commotion rising up from the witch reporting tent reaches the fields. At first, it goes largely ignored, then the Kingsguard positioned around the out of bounds lines of the field start to crane their necks to see what is going on and if it poses any threat to the king. Then players become distracted, which causes the Rage Knight to wonder what exactly is going on. He growls at the interruption and starts marching back towards the booth and the growing crowd. Royal Guard follow suit, tailing Macon mostly while a pair sprint out in front of him, clearing the way for as far as he wants to go. He doesn't want to go very far, and stops at the back of what is becoming a mob. He misses catching the mysterious wagon being brought in while he draws everyone's attention to himself, his voice booming, “Wha’ is this!? -Enough-!” A pulse of infuriating aura springs forth from the king unconsciously, perhaps counteracting his command that the situation stop escalating. At least the guard releases the kid at The Rage Knights call though. Kingsguard and normal Larketian guardsmen alike start moving through the crowd, separating it superficially into smaller groups.

Irenic isn’t too sure who is who anymore and some familiar faces dot the myriad of people who are fawning over the queen. What he wants doesn’t matter to him anymore and, again, unless spoken to or addressed he will remain a silent watcher being essentially pushed aside by her friends. Of course holding two sacks worth of her loot as well being a sort of purse for the queen today… It comes with the job and lack of any title. A glance here or there to the skies to keep track of time as if expecting the shift would be any different today or something, but he hopes. The commotion hits Irenic’s ears and he quickly attempts to gently escort Josleen to a safe area which is guarded heavily not even needing to assess who or what it is. He finally speaks to the commotion around ming like some sort of authority figure, “Rien à voir ici les gens. Déplacez-vous maintenant.” It is a calm but gruff voice carried over nearly everyone being the six foot eleven that he is. He forgot he cannot speak common at the moment…. Whoops.

Aaken smiled broadly from the queen's compliment, "Yes ma'am I will be here till you return." As others remain intriqued whether asking for an art of them to be done, or moving on to the next booth. Aaken remains busy while Lemoni, hands out additional flyers seeing if people would be willing to attend the bards college or if they have any interest. But soon his accute hearing picks up on a scuffle occuring near the witches booth, and his concern grows. Taking a pane of glass and his brush he begins to paint the scene, as it develops getting every detail he can, as the pane of glass glows blue in his hands as he is putting it into the picture. If his art can make money maybe it can also capture in detail what was happening. Better to make the truth known. So he focus on the boy and the guard, and then upon the key people who making the wild claims whether they were actually seeing what was happening or not, even trying to work in the covered wagon that is quietly being moved into the empty booth space. All the way up to the point that the king voice covered the area stopping the ruckus. Finishing the art, he moved back to his booth, and handed the glass to lemoni who swallowed it, just for safe keeping. Sure the method was weird but it worked. Turning back to customers he continued showing off his items.

/ laughs at Alvina’s joke and focuses on the present. Her friend’s gambit worked, and Josleen cheers on the child being carried like a pigskin to the end zone? Goal? To score….points? Runs? The Queen has no idea how rugby is played or how many points were just scored. Not that it matters, the shouting behind her draws her attention to the gathering crowd and the scuffle beyond it. “What in the world?” she says under her breath to Alvina. Irenic is soon escorting the Queen and her friend towards a cluster of guards so they cannot be flanked, should it come to that. Josleen does not look worried, and watches her husband handle the situation as only a King can. However, when his rage aura spikes, she feels it in a way most others cannot. Most suffer the aura’s enraging effects without realizing they are under the influence, like someone snuck a drug into their drink, but the queen both suffers the effects and feels the influence. To make matters worse, the Queen acts as a signal amplifier, boosting the King’s rage aura to those around her. Those nearest Josleen, such as Alvina and Irenic, suffer the rage aura’s effects more acutely. One of the guards mutters “Should just lock up all the witches. They’re all guilty if you ask me.” Another shifts his weight restlessly from side to side, scanning the crowd for an excuse to fight. That’s when the Queen notices the covered wagon being wheeled onto the grounds. She did not plan for this. Another surprise from the King? She doubts it, as he has surprised her plenty for her birthday. “What is that?” she asks Irenic while pointing at the wagon. Normally she would alert the King, but his magic has made her aggressive and she decides she can handle this herself. She leaves the cluster of guards, ignoring their protests, and advances on the wagon, looking for whoever may be pushing it. “Hello? Excuse me.” Her tone is needlessly cross. “What is this,” she demands in a tone aggressively at odds with circumstances, all thanks to the Fury Knight. In the crowd, a enraged wife notices her husband ogling a witch and whaps the back of his head with a lark plushie he had won for her earlier in the day.

Meri could wander around the fair alone with her beer, of which she would probably go through several. Or she can wander around with Sabrina and Eirik, and still go through several beers. The choice is obvious, Sabrina is able to claim her hand and drag Meri along for the ride. By the time they get to the cotton candy, the couple is temporarily abandoned for a beer refill. Instead of going for a sausage dog, Meri will get a turkey leg. Sabrina's cotton candy is not safe from Meri's pickings though, nope, but since both hands are full the beer is occasionally passed off to Sabrina. If Sabrina wanted to steal a few sips from the beer while Meri picked away at cotton candy, the tattooed woman would have absolutely no objections to this. It just meant that a refill would be due sooner over later. The trio likely chat about various things, like Meri asks Sabrina how her shoulder is, etc etc. Conversation is also made with Eirik, something about those scorpions being the creepiest thing she has seen in ages. At least until this little disruption with the guards and the teen breaks out. Meri gawks and stares until the kid is released. Everything should just go back to the normal festivities, right? It does not seem as though that would be the case as guards start separating the crowd, Meri makes a point of trying to stick with the elfess and the lycan.

Eirik too, is enjoying the idle banter between Sabrina and Meri, having just enjoyed himself a nice meal which Sabrina had declined. The scorpions indeed were rather disgusting, and Eirik agrees with Meri whole heartedly. “We exterminated quite a fe,” his words are cut off by the scuffle and scarred visage turns to face the issue at hand. Whats going on? An awkward glance is given to Sabrina wondering if he should make himself ready to back the King and Queen. She would know it by the expression plainly smeared over his features. Otherwise the Lycan falls silent.

Sabrina is part of the trio at the far end of the events, the roar of the uprising is enough to attract the attention of the keen ears of the couple and so, they turn. From afar the Ardent healer grows worrisome about not just the outbreak of unruly behavior, but the medium that the fight might imply. The fact that the Queen was starting to have an ominous aura surrounding her events was starting to ring true. Peculiar. Eirik is obviously one-foot forward, ready to offer some service to the event leaders but Sabrina opts to stay as far from possible amidst all the potential magic users down that way. With a nod of her head they come to an understanding and the Lycan moves towards the crowd. From this distance they are unaffected by the Rage aura, after the last intervention of the thing, it is probably best. She watches the scene unfold before her; the plush tossing wife, the Queen venturing out of her protective guard. Sabrina grabs hold of Meri’s arm. She had been borne witness to these effects twice now and she was certain the King was behind it. “Don’t leave me here…” She gestures towards the commotion. “the magic is building there, I can’t go near it.”

Alvina is shuffled off immediately with Josleen to a safe zone. She's looking back, over her shoulder at Macon as he storms off but she's alarmed without really knowing why. That alarm turns to irritation, and when Josleen saunters off to confront the wagon, she's a few steps behind the Queen and passing in front of Aaken's glass memory booth when she is slipped something. The object goes quickly into her pocket, with a glassy -eyed nod of thanks, her hands shifting back to holding up the hem of her dress so it doesn't skirt the ground. There's no fear in the way she carries herself, which is very odd for the bard. There's just a bundle of anxious nerves writhering in her frame and she needs to do something so this is what she's decided to do. Go to the action, eventually jogging to catch up with Josleen just as she starts her demands. Alvina sees the couple and feels a twinge of reminisce about the situation. All that missing Hudson she'd been doing previously just swirls in with the rage aura and she's thinking about how he'd more than ogled a certain someone that Alvina can't even -begin- to think about. She grits her teeth, and stomps her foot down behind Josleen, equally annoyed back up socialite girl to add to the call - response. "Yeah! Answer the Queen!" The voice that passes through her lips is toxic, annoyed and dripping with the contagious distemper.

Valrae || The boy is petulant. He spits at the King, even as his dirty hands tremble. The crowd is further agitated by the effects of Macon's rage aura and have started to turn among their own ranks. The men that had pulled the covered cart leave quickly and in different directions before the Queen can push through the crowd. A group of harmless looking children suddenly congregate around it. They giggle and play with poor, childish acting and keep close eye on their covered secret. Josleen and Alvina's appearance complicates things. The children haven no idea how to handle the inquiries of Adults. One of the smaller girls suddenly squeals and throws herself at her royal highness's feet. She points a sticky finger at one of the boys and claims that he stole her dolly. Meanwhile, in a crowd that has clustered together to jeer at the sudden mob from a safe distance, Valrae watches anxiously from the shade of her hood. A faded piece of parchment, jagged on one edge as if it had been torn from a book, is in her hand and Tychus stands by her side. The witch's face and body are hidden under a cloak of scarlet red, suspicious but necessary. A few other witches are hidden about this crowd and have slowly formed a loose circle around them. They're talking and laughing loudly, shouting to the mob, to cover the arcane chants Valrae started to whispering and distract any guards that have been sent out as best as they can. Her free hand clutched a small satchel and slowly she lifted it so that it rested freely in her palm. As she lifts her hands Tychus whistles, three short blasts, and the children scurry with sudden determination. They pull the covering of the wagon, with great effort because they are small, and reveal two disturbing effigies. Someone has fashioned incredibly life like figures of King Macon and Queen Josleen. They were painted with great skill and careful attention to detail, wore wigs of horse hair that shuddered in the wind, and were tied to pole that stood erect in the middle of the of wood at their feet. Josleen's figure was made to look heavy set, in a gown of gaudy color and style her faux body spilled out of it's bursting seams, and her face was painted clownishly. Her horse hair wig was in a messy, eschewed style and a crown lay at her feet. Macon's figure was naked, hairy and disturbing. As an added insult, his 'member' was fashioned so that even people standing closely in the crowd would need to squint. A crown also lay at his feet. Magic, for those who are capable of sensing it, has slowly begun to saturate the air. It builds and crouches on the air, like the moments before a thunderstorm. Valrae keeps her eyes on the effigies and she waits. The children scatter away from the wagon, effigies, and queen. As they do, Valrae's spell completes and the wagon is engulfed in flames that glow in the eerie emerald hue of old magic.

Leoxander would show up right on time for the action, and that had nothing to do with the rugby game. In the distance, the pirate hears the groaning and unpleasant calls from the crowd, and casually takes another ripping bite of the jerky piece he just happened to find at a vendor cart while the food merchant was distracted with other customers, at a rogue-worthy, five-finger discount. He's aware by the advertising and the festive appeal that it seemed to be the Queen's birthday, just a few days after his own, which was never a day he cared to celebrate. But unlike the noble denizens of the city, he hadn't bothered with any gift other than his presence, in the usual grungy and black attire. "Looks like we're jus' in time for the party..." Those words were murmured to the spellrogue (Eleanor) at his side before he tossed that last bite of dried meat to the half grown white tiger that accompanied her, sucking the salt taste from a callused thumbpad, as fingers were exposed from the cut of leather gloves. Highly familiar with rage, Leo can almost smell the change in the air, as well as feel the hair on the back of his neck and arms raise, while he manages a slow, deep breath to maintain some composure against it. Lingering outside and away from the crowd, at a good distance from the wagon soon on fire, he’s watching the escalating scene as though it is decent entertainment. Taking a flask from back pocket for a drink, since the popcorn vendor was just too far away.

Eleanor sashayed leisurely at Leoxander's side, Tuna padding excitedly between them. A rune-marked leather collar was loosely hanging from the feline's neck, preventing her from leaving the spellrogue's side for more than a meter or so, but the white tiger didn't care. All the sights, smells, and people had the 30lb juvenile sticking close to Leo and El. Tuna snatched up the bits of meat, head-butting against Leo's leg while Eleanor looked ahead, scanning the crowd. "It diz swatch 'ay way, doesnae it?" she replied in a low tone to the pirate. Her steps slowed as she, too, felt the rage, but it was the witch fire that eventually drew a celadon stare. "Leo," she began warily, a familiar ache settling into her brow as the gem fixed within her diadem glinted, reflective of the green flames. She lingered apart, with Leo, and murmured to him, "Ah reckon 'at--" she jerked her head toward the unfolding scene and side-eyed her partner, "isnae gonnae end weel."

Hudson is here in sunglasses and a baseball cap with some burly bodyguard types in depressive solidarity with only a handful of his nail salon employees, i.e., W I T C H E S, who are hanging out in a pack and trying to put on a brave face despite having just registered. Even though some good Samaritans have registered too (heartening), his employees have been crying, and it puts his mood straight in the trash, they're nice people and good employees and they would never hurt anyone. Joanie, the nail salon's manager and more or less aging hippie mom of the joint, is concerned that Valrae and the others aren't here to register, and it's at this point that things have come to a head around the registry stand. In the scuffle that ensues, Hudson has to catch and steady Joanie. It's then that she notices Valrae, her lips moving. "My sweet girl," whispers the older witch, and Hudson looks in time to see not Valrae but the big reveal. Holy- He spills his snocone all over his pants. The crowd gasps, and that gasp spreads like dominos, until everyone is looking at the effigies, even Hudson, who now looks like he's bleeding atomic-fireball-scented blood from his crotchal region. In the silence that had followed the shock, a man's voice, gleefully shouting, pointing at faux Macon's pube jungle/lack of manscaping, "It's TINY!" A disembodied voice (Tychus'), amplified by magic, booms over the area in a rallying cry: "DEMOCRACY FOR LARKET! DOWN WITH THE FASCISTS!" He touches Valrae on the back, they should get out of here. "FASCISTS!" shouts a woman's voice, and the cry taken up by others, their identities concealed by the crowd, which is now roiling. Some of its members are caught up in Macon's rage, others are pushing out of fear for their safety and more than just wagon pyrotechnics. Guards and angry pro-monarchy citizens spoiling for a fight are also in the thick of it. Joanie is pulled away from Hudson, who immediately punches the guy in the face and picks her right back up. "Get your hands off of her," he makes efforts to hustle poor Joanie away from the fray (the rest of his flock have broken away to riot...). There is all sorts of violence starting now, the source of it unknown but clearly magical: a man wearing whose pants are literally on fire, his face red, mouth open in a scream, runs past them. "What the F- is happening?" Huds is trying to push them out of the mob and to safety, "MOVE PEOPLE, COME ON."

Oline hadn't really intended to join in the festivities. After the bug-hunt yesterday, her body was sore and her head was filled with screaming spectres... but she'd stayed clean since. At least for now. She wasn't clean enough to have tossed the rest of her dust and dirt... but apart from the bottle of whiskey in her hand as she strolled up the road towards the site of the celebration she'd behaved herself surprisingly well. The liquor hadn't even been her idea, it'd been forced into her hand by a friendly gentlemen outside the Red Ogre... so... that didn't even really count. Not really. The giantess was clad once more in her usual attire... which was to say naught but a bear-pelt loincloth hanging upon her hip and the elaborate array of bown-hewn body piercings. Oh, and she also had her shoulder-slung satchel of course. It was into this that she tucked her bottle of booze as she neared the increasingly agitated crowd. Like several others currently were, Oline hung back from the center of the group Moreso out of consideration for others, than anything. Her presence was just so large that she'd be more likely to get in the way than anything. Already she stood out amongst the crowd, towering over pretty much everyone by multiple feet. That did give her a pretty good view of the goings on, and she would have had to agree with Eleanor's assessment... had she been close enough to hear it above the noise now. This was definitely not going to end well. Not. At. All.

Macon is aware by now that Muzo’s temporary quelling of the Rage Stone infection is just that, temporary. As such, he knows what he is doing to incite further unrest in the crowd, he just can't help it. It should be counted as a blessing that The Fury Knight does not know that Tychus is present orchestrating all of this, but not that much of a blessing, because when the effigies are unveiled and set aflame, Macon’s anger reaches the same peak it would have if he had all the information. Green flame. That's weird. Must be Witches. The Royal Guard closes around the king while he stands tall and defiant, looking over them to scan the crowd for Josleen, who he cannot find. Technically this is her public birthday celebration, and technically their wedding was the day she was crowned. With this political display, Macon finds it ridiculously difficult to believe anything other than Witches are targeting the royals, or at the very least the Queen. Another wave of maddening aura springs forth and shoving, and fighting turns into brawls. Larket guards move in to violently break the fights, but a roar from the king refocuses them. Perhaps this is a positive effect, for him, from the Rage infection, as it seems he is able to direct the anger he produces in some cases. “Find who did this! Get that thing out of here!” The commands are given in that specific order because that is where the priority lies. All but one of the Kingsguard, as if compelled, fan out and get to work forcefully interrogating, slowly narrowing their search as they are directed towards where the ones who wheeled in the wagon went, where the children who pulled the tarp off went, and who was seen suspiciously chanting. It is slow going as misinformation runs rampant, but they eventually start to close in on the right people while the remainder of their ranks try to douse the flames so that they can get close enough to get the wagon the heck out of here. Tychus’s voice rings out over the screams, and shouts, and flames and again it is fortunate that the king does not recognize the voice or this riot might go supernova. Some well informed guards -do- know the voice, but don't dare tell The Rage Knight, who has reclaimed his axe and is futilely stomping off in the direction he thinks he heard the voice come from. It would be unwise for anyone to get in his way.

Irenic bumped into the guard a bit aggressively which said to burn witches, but he doesn’t understand why that statement irked him so. Irenic does well to follow Josleen close behind attempting to communicate to stop your highness, “Votre Altesse, s'il vous plaît. Non.” He again, would gently try to take her by the elbow and guide her away from the madness. At the moment the rage aura isn’t working too well on such a battered brain… It’s pretty much ground beef up there. His free hand is held fast to the cool hilt of his sword ready to draw at a blinks notice. Immediately his attention was snapped to Alvina in surprise and he hisses at her to get back to safety, “Revenez avec les autres, madame!” Feeling irritated as well with a firm point that gestures to what he was saying although is authoritative impact of a voice is cushioned with Venetian. He bodes the queen no to look at the scene before them, pay no mind to the filth, Queene, “Ne vous souciez pas de cette immonde Reine,” still attempting to pull her away until he was forced to bend down, wrap his free arm around the waist of the queen and physically remove her from the burning wagon.

Aaken kept his eye weary for anyone who had noticed, and soon recognized the familar red headed customer, that had been with the queen. Getting Lemoni to upchuck the pane of glass, he wiped off the glass of any ilk that had been on it, and looked at it to make sure everything was still there, which it was, acid don't affect glass, or the magic, nor paint. He was to far away to do anything to stop this rising rage, but he remembered in his mind a memory, and whispered quickly to Lemoni who got him three panes of larger glass he had been saving. One he quickly drew an image of the sun in and the other a prisim, and lastly a made the last one become and incredibly powerful maginfiy glass getting Lemoni to stand correctly on top of him all three glasses, so that it focused skyward, It worked the last time, maybe this time a large rainbow light into the sky can catch everyones attention and change the mood. Nothing like causing something distracting to distrupt the rage movement. A second later this beam would cast a colum of this into the sky, high enough for all to see.

Josleen knows a fibber when she sees it, especially a child’s crude manipulation. “No, you will ans--” Cue the dramatic reveal, the effigies whose size is only outdone by their affront, a disrespect so massive it generates its own gravity and sucks the very words out of the Queen’s mouth. Judging by the tsunami-like wave of gasps, she isn’t the only one left breathless. But her shock cannot outlast her fury, and before the effigies erupt in flames, the bard can hear a faint chant beneath the crowd’s white noise and Tychus’s shouting. Irenic lifts her easily, but she soon demands to be put down, adding a ‘That’s an order!’ if he gives any lip. Using bardic magic, the Queen isolates the chant in her ears, drowns out everything else and stalks off in pursuit of that feminine incantation (with presumably Alvina, the Gretchen to her Regina, in tow). The spell itself distorts Valrae’s voice enough so that Josleen cannot identify the witch by her voice. “Out of the way!” the Queen barks at any who stand before her. A couple guards have caught up with the Queen, and try to clear a path for her, but they cannot anticipate where she will go as they cannot hear what she hears. Josleen makes a beeline past Macon, into the agitated crowd, with no regard for her personal safety as her rage as made her singularly focused on finding who did this--and the guards make her feel invincible. The second swell of gasps after the emerald fire erupts breaks her focus for only a second as she looks over her shoulder at the burning effigies. A second is all Valrae needs, for just as the Queen turns back in the direction she was searching she sees a scarlet cloak and a wisp of blonde hair turn away from her, retreating in the posture of the guilty. “SCARLET CLOAK!” she shouts. She points in the direction of Valrae and Tychus’s retreat. “The witch is wearing a scarlet cloak!” A few of the guards close in in the direction of Josleen’s pointing, but the riot helps Valrae and Tychus escape. “CLOSE THE--” A witch sympathizer and democracy-fanboy that’s at least 80 pounds heavier than Josleen, body checks the Queen into Irenic. The blow is hard enough to knock the breath out of her temporarily, but she grabs onto Irenic before she falls. The assailant scampers off as quickly as he can, though it is unlikely he’ll get very far in this crowd.

Meri 's booted feet begin to carry her forward, not because she was seeking to get directly involved with any of this madness herself, that would be reckless as Meri is entirely free of armor. Meri was desperately nosy and wanting a better view of the commotion. It's Sabrina's hand on her arm and the request that stops Meri from trying to weasel her way through the crowd. A look over her bandaged shoulder and then a nod to the elfess as a signal that she would comply with her request and stick by her. It's from the distance and immediately next to Sabrina that Meri watches the effigies in the cart burn and listens to the protests blaring over the ruckus of the panicking crowd. It's not just the burning carriage Meri is staring at but also the reactions of the crown and the crowd. Another wave of Macon's magic and the number fights breaking out amongst the numbers seems to be on the increase. Even on the outskirts of this madness, Meri and Sabrina are not safe. Some of the fights are carried outward, a guy punches another guy in the jaw sending him toppling right into Meri, who too busy staring at something else. Turkey leg is dropped from one hand while the beer she has been carrying around is accidentally spilled on Sabrina. Hope you didn't like that dress or anything, Sabs. Meri's own temper gets the better of her and she ends up shoving the offending man forward.

Eirik gives one last nod to Sabrina and Meri. The berserker found himself marching through the field to step into the action intent upon backing Macon, the king. Though for unknown reasons to Eirik, that aura hits his mind. He’s bathed in a rage that is not his own. Its presence twisting the Northern monsters mind in an instant and he, unlike Leo, heeds that call. Embracing it unlike any might deem appropriate. He has trained his own rage for years to direct and control it in combat; to use it as both strength and weakness. Fists ball up in an instant, teeth clamp and nearly buckle under the pressure. Oh he isn’t shifting, but riddling his own mind with further anger and anguish. Cold silver eyes gaze towards the crowd, but he isn’t looking at them - he is looking through them. Without word Brann Forbruker is drawn; its name foreign and meaning fire eater. Even though he is not Larketian, his intent had been to back the King. ‘Find who did this’, the last thing to ring out in his maddened mind. In but a moment his own blade burned uncontrollably, bright blue and green flames hiss and spit in defiance. The weapon cursed to feed upon Eiriks rage, enhanced beyond belief by Macons aura; no command word had been uttered to announce the flames. Deathly visage twists back to the witches and the party, to the guards seeking to end the calamity. No words are given and instead the lycan trained as a berserker reacts. Stepping into the crowd to fish out the source and end its threat with absolute barbaric rage and a violent disregard for life. Eirik slow march carries him through the fighting crowd, left hand pushing anyone in his path away or flat out off their feet. Scarlet cloak, his mind barely processed the Queens words.

Sabrina sinks back, eyes squinting from a pain she can not define but a clear fight to stay focused. The magic is far enough away not to physically harm her but the migraine building is near maddening. When a slosh of cold beer hits her she doesn’t even react, directly. As Meri shoves a man the Elfess comes about. A bare hand is nestled in the sweat-filth at his neck and he is intently brought to his knees, unable to garner the energy to stand. Then, a path is made behind Eirik, far slower but much more deliberate as any citizen who crosses her path is familiarized with that uncanny touch and made to lay a trail directly in her wake. Her good eye is black as pitch, a spring-time green iris spreading wide as she takes and takes from the folk who happen by her. With this much put to her personal stores she would have to release at some point but for now it would just build. When she asked that Meri keep her here it was not totally selfish. She can feel Eirik changing, at this distance she is so focused on the calm him that a disrupted him is alarming. She shouldered by a passing scarlet cloak, with the elfess walking toward the mess and the other making a firm retreat. The magic emanating from her is enough to take the Druid’s breath away. It is with this action, that if skin contact is made, the wearer would be imbued with all that life-energy the Healer just stole, in a single breath. Mismatched gaze would follow behind her, tracing that unnatural force with wide-eyed shock.

Valrae 's world was pain. The bag she'd held aloft was burning with the same green fire in her palm. It was agony, searing pain flooded her from her palm to her elbow, and she had to clench her teeth through projecting Tychus's words to keep from crying out. His hand touched her back and she released the spells, dropped the hex bag quickly. The bag scattered into ash as soon as it contacted with the ground and the fire of old magic receded into flames of a more ordinary hue on the wagon. She turned as the Queen and Alvina neared, scarlet cloak and blonde hair flying, to run. She heard the crowd take up the queen's cry. Hands reach out, pulling the clothing, her hair and slowed her down as she sprinted away. Panicked, she pulled at the ties of her cloak and let it fall to the ground behind her. In her hurry, while she clutched at Tychus's hand and removed the offending article of clothing, she dropped the page she had been clutching. It fell to the ground a ways from her cloak and was promptly stepped upon by the rage-filled crowd. A man whose pants were on fire sprinted between her, Tychus and a two determined strangers(Eirik and Sabrina) that had been closing in rapidly. They made quick use of their luck and disappeared further into the crowd. Someone had snatched up the cloak and held it up, others who were confused tackled the man to the ground and began beating him. "Here! The witch is here!" In her escape Valrae's hand slipped from Tychus's as she collided with Hudson, who's crotch was stained with soncone, and fell to the ground with a thud that made her teeth hurt. In a blink she was on her feet again, giving the man a wink, and slipping back into the rest of the crowd that was funneling to the exit.

Leoxander wasn't entirely aware of what Eleanor was feeling, but that way she spoke his shortened name, he instinctively took hold of her wrist to keep her from moving toward the intensity. He hadn't actually fanned himself from the flames, or Macon's masculinity, but that could be a fantasy in Josleen's mind on the sidelines of what was actually happening. For the most part, Leo just observed, and if he had wolf ears rising up through that overgrown blond one would have twisted and cocked for Irenic's foreign words. He was glad not to be in that crowd, as he would have clocked a few innocent people in the face by now, but in good nature kept a conversation going with his partner-in.... well, he wasn't the criminal today, so his companion in blue. "Queeny seems to put on a few, eh?" He motioned his jaw toward the weighted effigy burning on the wagon. He did actually glance up at the rainbows and sun and happy thoughts in the sky, but no, he wasn't as interested in that as he was of the anarchy. "You think we should... do somethin'?" He wasn't talking about helping out. There were probably some gifts on a table somewhere, not being guarded since all the focus and attention was on this act of terrorism. Maybe even a sausage or beer left on a cart no longer being tended. He gave a sidelong glance to Eleanor, never a smirk on his lips but definitely a hint of one in his eyes. Probably a profit hiding away somewhere away from the crowd. And he was ready to go have a look-see while everyone else was busy with those wicked witches.

Eleanor drew in a deep breath, as if attempting to draw in all the magical energies, that gem flickering faintly, but as Leo's hand encircled her wrist, she was drawn back to the present, a sly smile tugging at her lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she swore she caught a familiar face or two, but her gaze settled on Leo, lips forming a roguish grin where he did not. "Ye reid mah min', loove," she said to Leoxander. Withdrawing herself from him, she, with Tuna in town, navigated deftly through the crowd, staying as far away from the rage aura as she could to keep from feeling that familiar dizziness again. Assuming Leo would soon follow, she searched for their prize amidst the ebb and flow of frenzied fair-goers.

Hudson | The thing about atomic fireball flavoring is that it burns. Hudson's crotch is doused in the stuff and it's now seeped through and getting kinda uncomfortable. At least he's not literally on fire, though (some people are). He's only started to notice as he and Joanie have broken through the mob and are able to make their way to safety (though poor Joanie is hurt and needs an assist). Hudson looks over his shoulder, rubbernecking his way out, and feels the sensation of his heart being squeezed by a fist because there's Alvina, with Josleen, going into the fray, flanked by guards at least. And then, like a gods damn metaphor for pretty much everything, Valrae crashes into him and knocks herself over (he is bigger than her, obviously). "Val?" he reaches to pull her up, but Tychus is already on it, hustling her away. They're fleeing, like so many others, their retreat blends seamlessly into anonymity. "Val!" Hudson calls after her, but Joanie is crying with pain. She's bleeding, a lot, he realizes, that's not just snocone. "I got you," he catches and rebalances her weight against him and then it's too late - he's lost sight of Valrae. He's got to get Joanie to safety, so he focuses on that, eventually picking the older woman up and carrying her. Alvina he has to leave in the custody of the queen, not like he can go to her anyway. It feels like a low point because it is. A theme, of late.

Oline didn't really know why she was moving... she only knew that she was, and swiftly. A long, wicked Mantis-Scythe blade slid into her hand as she plodded forward into the crowd. Her sheer mass was enough to part the seas of people as she marched forward into the throngs, and into the aura of fury engulfing it. Unlike Eirik, perhaps the only other berserker she's ever met, Oline wouldn't embrace the pulsing wave of rage that hits her. She resisted it, with every ounce of strength her mind possess. Even as the anger wells up inside her, she fights to swallow it down and suppress it because... because... Cenril. She doesn't want another Cenril on her hands. Here, in the city she calls home, her name is clean. She'll do nothing to tarnish it. Snuffing out all other thoughts, the Giantess of Larket focuses on a single thought: 'Scarlet Cloak'. She's hunting that cloak in the crowd now, and for her... that task is significantly easier than the others. Though the masses are moving, and fighting, and shouting, and sloshing to and fro... she spots a glimpse of the cloak as it brushes by Sabrina and bellows. "Ah see th'Scahlet Clow-uhk! Izz ovvuh theyuh!" Her arm is raised up above the crowd, free hand pointed in the direction. There are a lot of bodies between Oline and the wearer of that hood. While that doesn't stop her from plodding after, it does significantly slow her down to the point that she can't quite catch up. Rage builds in her mind as she struggles to break through the writhing crowd... her efforts get more resistance now. A drunken man takes a swing at her leg and Oline lashes out with her blade almost instinctively, leaving him with a stump. Recoiling in fear of her own violent reaction, she quickly returns her weapon to her hip and storms off in another direction. Perhaps it was a mistake to get involved. She'd heard rumors of the King's infectious rage... but... she'd thought for certain she could withstand more than this. With the voices screaming in her ears louder than ever, she... wasn't so sure now. Where did the red cloak go? Valkr's might, she'd only lost focus for a moment! Where did it go?! She couldn't see it anymore. The red cloak was gone. Of course, everything... was starting to look a little red...

Macon , without thinking at all, headbutts the first guy that steps up to him and calls him a fascist to his face. The poor, suddenly politically active Larketian goes down like a ton of bricks and the king sees stars. This act of violence, as The Rage Knight knows, is very cathartic, and, coupled with the mild concussion, eases the Furious aura he is pumping out, though it appears too late to salvage this celebration gone wrong. But hey, maybe this coupled with Aaken’s prismatic display could do some good to end this riot sooner than later. The place is clearing out as people run to safety away from the (now normal) fire and mob, and Macon, followed by Eirik and a singular Kingsguard, who are in turn followed by Sabrina, move against the flow of traffic. There is some confusion around what the Queen is shouting in her description of the culprits and some ‘helpful’ Larketians are directing guards in the wrong direction of those responsible. The end result is Macon coming face to face with one of the witches from Hudson’s nail salon, who has unluckily decided to wear a shade of red to the festivities today. The King furiously orders her capture, but the lone Kingsguard with him is suddenly occupied with a few ‘fascist shouters’ against his will and is unable to obey the barked out command. The Rage Knight points and identifies her as ‘the witch who caused all of this.’ A damning accusation from The King of Larket… and in a hostile crowd…

Irenic of course set Josleen back down, it’s an order, but she took off again. He had no issues clearing a space for Josleen and her mission as long legged strides cover much of the ground before her. Glancing about for a scarlet cloak, but seeing nothing until there was a rogue rioter. He easily pushed the rioter which assaulted the Queen to the ground and shouted his native tongue at another guard to apprehend him, the motion was communication enough. He steadies the Queen back onto her feet with an apology to your highness, “Excuse votre grandeur.” Titanium armored hand lands squarely on the rioter as he found his footing once more and made for them in taking advantage of her weakened state… The blow splits the man’s lip open and blood goes flying before he thumps to the cold floor. He takes a spare set of shackles from his armor to hand to a fellow Royal Guardsmen. In this moment Irenic does the only thing he can think of to keep her from getting severely injured if she won’t let him carry her off. Taking off his helmet and leaving his face exposed adorning an eye patch and then fitting it on the Queen’s head before, again, attempting to guide her to safety while telling her not to take the helmet off, “Ne prenez pas cela, et c'est une commande.” And THAT’S a command.

Aaken now seeing the slow but careful break up of the crowd thanks the display of the color colum and also, of lemoni singing a literal bardic knockout note, well those closest to aakens booth are out cold. He himself had wrapped his head with his cotton scarf, leaving him only a little tired by her magical note. With the other in mid distance growing tired quickly. Noticing his collection, he drops several panes of glass letting them break and shatter, so that only a few glasses are left, for creation. "Lemoni, i think most of them are out now." He said and second later she closed her mouth. Her voice raspy, "i want a honey lemon tea now." She said hugging his neck. Aaken gathered up his satchel and the remaining, glass still intact. And moved out of the booth with her hanging on. "Come on, lets go get, some food, and tea," he said his voice in its high pitch. Lemoni, lemoni sighed. "And saucages lots of long sausages." Aakens eyes rolled.

Josleen, as Irenic deals with a rioter and her assailant, looks in Oline’s direction, and the scarlet cloak beyond the giant. The witch drops the cloak and Josleen can feel the perp getting away. As the crowd breaks into fighters and flee-ers, few have interest in harassing the Queen. A path is naturally carved between herself and the cloak, which she sprints towards to retrieve. Beside it, in the trampled mud, there lies a piece of parchment. She picks it up, cleans it as best she can, smooths it against her hand and reads...gibberish? It must be related to magic, and probably the witch, too. That’s when Irenic demands she put on his helmet, which smells like sweat mingled with her favorite scent (Macon these days, hubba hubba). The King’s fury is only just starting to subside, and only just enough for the Queen to make a rational decision: they need to leave. “Take me to the King,” she says to Irenic. The avian tells Josleen to stand close behind him as he carves the safest path to King Macon (his player entrusted this player to NPC Irenic for the rest of the event). Once at his side, Josleen places a hand on his arm to let him know she is here, and jerks her head towards the castle to signal they should go. “The witch got away,” she mutters. She lifts the cloak and the paper to indicate what she managed to retrieve. Valen can analyze this later.

Meri tried to reach out to grab Sabrina by her arm to prevent the elfess from going into the fray, after Sabrina had literally just asked to stay with her and not let her get near the magic. So much for that. There is not hope of Meri being able to grab the elfess. Sabrina may have grounded the man that had been shoved into the two of them but there was soon another fight breaking out between Meri and Sabrina, separating them further. By the time that Meri manages to steer her way around the latest brawl, Sabrina has disappeared into the crowd. Meri has no sight of her. Blue eyes make an attempt to scan the crowd and search for the healer but fails in that endeavor. What she does see is a familiar giant in a scene gone mad. Meri has witnessed a few things with this giantess and it's her presence, short-lived as it may be, that is the deciding factor in Meri's decision to join the ranks of fleeing fair-goers before things get even uglier. Her pace a brisk one but she was not all out running like some. Eirik and Sabrina were more than capable of looking out for themselves.

Eirik does not stop or hesitate at Macons words unlike his fellow guard. The witch before him the sudden target for every ounce of his rage. The crowd mostly fighting, punching and screaming at each other. Eirik however, sought blood; craved death and an example to all witches. Yes, this might make him a target but this makes no difference. He is far -too- lost to even consider such things. Screw the crowd, the guards or what anyone thought. Both of the witches hands reach up as if to say 'no’ but he sees only an attempt to cast a spell. Eirik side steps, that fiery runic long sword swings through the air, severing hands at the wrists - cauterizing the wound in an instant. Left hand reaches for a fistful of her hair as she screams in agony. Eirik sneers at the witch, something wicked and awful as that scar shifts over his visage to reveal maddened features. Her head is yanked back with the authority of his massive frame, holding her own body near horizontally. His fiery brand thrusts into her stomach with such force she is pinned helplessly to the ground. It was far from over, as man in near beast form screams into her pain riddled features. Fists begin to batter her face time and again, knuckles bloody and rip open while crushing that hardened surface. Blood, bone and brain matter scatter across the scene, coat his body and perhaps even a few random people around him. His actions too quick and abrupt to be stopped. Death now riddled the scene and Eirik is still not done. She had been claimed by Eirik the witch hating berserker and every action he had made further displayed it.

Sabrina trekked slowly forward still, following that one who tempted her venture into the fray. That woman, the pleading one.. Eirik, no! But the words never crossed her lips. She came to pass by the Glassier’s booth and that note hit long, and so very sweet, and… her knees hit the ground first, then she is charmed to fall in a heap at her side, fast asleep. The last thing she saw was that gruesome scene and she was powerless to stop it. Meri had ventured off, and the chaos surrounding her- though dwindling, had all but overlooked her presence as she appeared to be consequence to a misstep. She was safe, for now. After all, the Berserker could not both look after her as well as take up an order and an accusation from the King himself. And, probably get arrested on the spot.

Valrae had successfully slipped away in the crowd and was not, in fact, the poor girl Macon pointed out. Hanna, decidedly not Valrae or blonde really, was snatched up by the blood hungry crowd. The young nail salon worker screamed as they landed blows, ripped at her brown hair and red dress. She'd come today to celebrate the Queen's birthday, sign her name as a witch, and enjoy herself. Her only real crime had been wearing the same color as her coworker. She screamed her innocents at the onslaught of blows until suddenly they parted and a man was before her. She raised her hands. One of the burly, dark skinned guards Hudson had hired was throwing himself into the fight, calling her name, picking people up and tossing them aside in his fury to save the woman he loved. It was futile, he had no time to reach her, and by the time he was close enough to touch her the man was screaming and her blood was warm on his dark face. Despair and rage filled him. With only his fists, he threw himself at his beloved's murderer and demanded blood.

Leoxander didn't take long to find the tent that held gifts. After all, the lycan could smell gold, even without his wolfish senses (in a jokingly, metaphorical sense). As well as every piece of wrapping paper, velvet, and a majority of the finery held within. He did give a glance back over his shoulder to make certain everyone was still occupied, but found that purple velvet first and foremost, weighing the ten thousand in his hand before he tucked it right down his front and looked to have a bit of a bulge. More than usual, let's say. He kept his sensitive senses aware of everything at a far distance, but it was just that. A very far distance with a lot happening. So he had some time to find a few more gifts worthy of theft. (This is where if you feel your gift is possibly stolen, please pass it over. Don't have to. Just part of the game.) "You need to get that cat out of here. She's gonna draw attention, El." He smelled blood at that point, and glanced at the entrance of the tent with a warning. "Let's make it quick." Leo knew a raging lycanthrope like the back of his hand. Particularly one in Rage and Berserk mode.

Eleanor kept close to the wolf pirate, Tuna practically snaking between their steps as if she belonged there; it may have something to do with the spells etched into the white tiger's collar, but that was a story for another time. For now, she gave Leo some side-eye, nodding to him as they came upon the first of their loot: the gift tent. "She'll be alrecht, let's jist gie it ay haur afair things gie waur," she agreed with Leoxander. And things were getting worse -- quickly. The rage aura rippled outward as each new victim turned on friend and family, and it made the spellrogue dizzy, her temples throbbing; the gem in her crown could feel the magic underneath it all, and it gave off a faint light now, no longer a hesitant flicker. El tossed her bangs to cover it up as best she could, making her way to Leo's side. After tucking what loot she could into the magic pockets of her belt, she drawled to him, "Efter ye."

Macon repeats “Got away?” to Josleen questioningly while blinking over her shoulder at the witch he has just incorrectly identified as the culprit. He is about to agree with The Queen and get them out of this mess, but Oline cuts a dude’s arm off and Eirik takes matters into his own hands far too quickly for the king to retract his orders. The brutal attack and killing splatters viscera on the already muddy King and the Queen, who is less muddy and wearing an oversized sweaty helmet(???). The murder is sobering for those not enraged by it, particularly for Macon who now believes he has seen an innocent Larketian felled in front of his very eyes. A new fight breaks out as a man seeks revenge on Eirik and the Rage Knight quickly shakes his head, dispelling his shock and orders that they both be detained (as long as they're both still alive by the time Larket’s finest can get to them). Now that someone has been killed only the most wild or invested of brawlers (or thieves) remain outside of the Larketian Guard, who can bring their full numbers down on Eirik and his new opponent to apprehend them. “Alive!” as the king demands.

Aaken smiled as he left gold approriate for the vendor who carried tea and sausages. Lemoni stuck one imediatly in her mouth and sucked on it expecting a reaction from aaken. To which aaken was oblvious too. "Why are you so oblvious?" She said disappointed swallowing the sausage and sipping the hot tea as she rode on his left shoulder. "About what?" He said, as he returned toward the sign for his vendor, rolling it up and handing it to lemoni who swallowed it rounding her out a bit. Before weaving through the knocked out bodies. Making his way to a less crowded exit westward. "About, oh nevermind." Lemoni shrugged bitting off a sausage, "seems to be quite the party." She said. "I think, we should defintly come back, maybe stop by the palace if the queen is still interested in our business." Aaken said, slithering through the western exit.

Meri was still amongst the ranks of people leaving the center when Eirik brutally murders the witch that Macon has just ordered apprehended. It's enough for Meri to stop dead in her tracks, staring openly as the guards descend upon Eirik. There was this sinking feeling in her gut, a sort of nervousness that Eirik wouldn't stand down to the guards, and Meri still had no idea where the one person who might have any hope of calming him is. Sabrina was well out of sight now that she had collapsed to the ground. All Meri could do was watch, slack-jawed.

Eirik twisted his monstrous silver gaze to the petty guard, boyfriend or whatever the witch sympathizer was. Though only in time to be caught up in his diving attempt to claim his own life. With an audible ‘oof’ the two collide and roll across the ground. The lycan fighting to snag the upper hand and flips the body over. Fists again start to batter another and before he can be killed Larkets finest are dragging him off the man and snagging the other. Both find themselves in shackles immediately, being hauled off to whatever gods forsaken cell the King has planned for them. Meri would have been right normally, but he was far too invested on the threat before him. Such is the flaw of rampaging rage.

Leoxander did what he could to find a few more trinkets of value, but he wasn't interested in what was going on outside. He looked at Eleanor to say, sternly. "We're out." There was some profit to be had, gifts left on the table, no evidence to be found. A knife drawn to cut open a back entrance at the tent, and Leo would be exiting the 'party', looking back for Eleanor and her companion. Enough fun for one night. Another successful night as a Rogue.

Eleanor would offer up no hesitation to the wolf, her nod all that was needed in reply. At some point, she managed to steal a cloak discarded from someone during all the ado, and she now threw it around her shoulders to prevent any glow of her tattoos as she joined Leoxander. Through the gash in canvas, she and Tuna would step, and the three of them would make out like literal bandits and gtfo this joint.

Macon orders that Eirik and the bodyguard be taken to be held at the cells in the Sheriff’s office, the decidedly lower security jailing location in the city, where celebrity criminals like The Fallen Paladin were held previously to await trial. Sabrina, if actually left unconscious and unattended will be carefully picked up by some Larketian guard (Royal or not) looking to earn some points for watching out for a respected dignitary of The Hard City. The sports complex, following its grand opening, is left a trampled mess, with a shouldering, collapsed wagon in the middle of it that holds toppled, now unrecognizable halves of the King and Queen effigies. The bottom halves… maybe they should have let that stuff keep burning. The fort is the likely destination for the royal couple. The Rage Knight might not sleep tonight. It is likely he will be cracking the whip to have the ones -actually- responsible for this debacle brought to justice…