RP:There's Something Rotten in the State of Chartsend

Part of the Put Up Your Dukes Arc

Summary: Chartsend is throwing its annual thanksgiving festival! Things go well, until the Patron Wilhelm Ilivaris removes the town council from power and names himself Duke. The council and their supporters do not take this well, and a fight breaks out, wherein the would-be Duke is wounded.

Coastal Square, Chartsend

This festival had been planned for over a month, and now the day had arrived. Stalls had been set up throughout the town square, surrounding the fountain. Games included (but weren't limited to) a test of strength where one had to hit a target with a hammer with enough force to send a weight flying upward to ring a bell, and a kissing booth “manned” completely by adorable dogs. Local delicacies were available for consumption, largely comprising of seafood, though some gardeners had brought treats made of apples and pumpkins and all those fall favorites. Around mid-morning, a crowd had gathered around the entrance to the square, waiting for the festival to officially open. Pilar was among them, Yozenra by her side (bearing human legs rather than her naga tail). The Patron of Chartsend, Wilhelm Ilivaris, appeared from within the festival grounds and stepped up onto a platform that had been constructed in front of the fountain, flanked by guards. He was wearing pearls and colorful silks, as per his usual. He cleared his throat. “Greetings, one and all! Welcome, welcome! Today, we give thanks and count our blessings. This year, Chartsend faced one of the worst epidemics of our history, but we were delivered from utter disaster by our tireless healers and by unfailing servants of the gods. Outside of this unfortunate event, we have prospered and thrived. So enjoy the feasting and fun to be had today!” The rope keeping the square closed off was removed, and the crowd spilled into the festival grounds.

Khitti was here at this festival, but you wouldn’t know it. Gone were those dresses that she so adored, traded in for pants of black, a hooded tunic of dark green, with black boots and fingerless gloves to match, the woman aiming to match the description of the archer-thief from her fairy tale book. That long red hair was hidden beneath the hood, braided back and kept from sight and even her face was distorted by a mask of sorts, like something worn at a masquerade. Her scent was gone as well, masked by the scent of autumn: pine and burning leaves and wet grass--she was a ranger, and nothing more. It was obvious she was here for the marksmanship contest, as a black ice recurve bow was strapped to her back and a quiver full of arrows, should they not be provided during the contest itself. Until then, however, she wandered through the stalls, olive-green eyes taking in the sights, her stomach settling itself on one of the dessert stalls.

Bastion was with the many friends he'd made during the plague. His acupuncture hadn't been a cure, but it had allayed the symptoms of the illness for people, enough so that they didn't have to abandon their work. Especially the fisherman upon the docks, and now Bastion was being shoulder pat by grown men thrice his size, and given sweets by housewives left and right. They tended to not mind his apparent youth after they saw what he was capable of, which was a good thing. He was glad to have so many people to celebrate this auspicious day with, and reveled in the presence of his many friends.

Orikahn had only planned to remain in Chartsend for a day as part of a simple errand, but news of the festival had prompted the saber cat to tarry. Having been here a week, the massive feline was just beginning to warm up to the locals. Perhaps he was beginning to warm up to them, too, after his help in the fishing boats. Quite a feast they've hauled in! The day is here, and the people of Chartsend have rolled out a hearty spread to welcome the crowd rolling in. Orikahn is alert, eyes bright and ears pert, as he wanders the square. To be sure, he his careful to steer clear of the kissing booth. Despite his help, some members of the village still regard the cat with suspicion, particularly the town council who, from beneath their wide brim hats, from behind their veil of cigar smoke and facial hair, often follow Orikahn with their wary gazes.

Pilar and Yozenra made their way to the test of strength, which already had a band of sailors gathered nearby. One by one, the slammed the target with a hammer, and one by one, they all failed to ring the bell. Pilar and Yozenra stepped up, and Yozenra took the hammer. She then handed it to Pilar, who blushed as the sailors chuckled. Still, she stepped forward, and swung. The weight rocketed upwards and clanged the bell, silencing the sailors. The man running the test blinked, then laughed heartily and gave Pilar her prize: 50 silver. Pilar thanked the man and she and Yozenra wandered off.

Khitti wolfed down a bit of pumpkin pie… and a slice of pecan pie… and an baked apple dumpling… and several other small sugary delights that had caught her eye. What? Don’t judge her. She’s eating for two now. At least, she’d be able to better used that excuse if she was further along (she wasn’t, she only just passed the first month, and thankfully with it, the morning sickness). It was hard to not notice the fact that both Pilar and Yozenra were present, but that was to be expected; the former was another reason why Khitti was here. Orikahn, however, was a different story. Didn’t he stick to Frostmaw or some such? She literally had not seen him since the war, despite having lived in Frostmaw for damn near a year. Khitti nearly choked on the warm apple cider she’d just acquired--sans alcohol, of course--then continued on. She’d approach a guard soon after and ask them, “Where exactly does one sign up for the competition? I’d rather not miss my chance by being distracted by the food,” her voice not at all like her own, making her gender--and identity—indiscernible.

The guard nodded to Khitti and pointed out a stall by the fountain. “Right there, my friend. It begins in about twenty minutes. You needn't worry, there will be an announcement. Enjoy the day.” Pilar, meanwhile, gave her prize of silver to the kissing booth and basically lied down in the pen to be buried in puppies. It was amazing, best day ever. Yozenra watched, a smile on her normally stoic face.

Orikahn feels the eyes of the town council, and he returns the stare with a glare of his own, prompting the bolder among them to tip their hats, the more timid to check their watches. In an uncharacteristic display of self-restraint, the hunter stands and walks the other way, bringing him to stumble upon a masked stranger with a hearty appetite for sweets. Though he doesn't recognize her, a prickle in his third eye nags at Kahn, hinting that he ought. "Hmmph." He crowds her when passing by, brushing a little more closely than is polite as he slips over toward the squids and sea bass.

Khitti nodded as the stall is pointed out. “Thanks.” She’d sign up, going by the name of ‘Red’, and wandered back to the food stalls. Sushi, lobster tails, and any other seafood she could find that didn’t entirely turn her stomach was bought. If anyone actually knew who she was, you’d think she was a vampire again. Pilar was spied across the way laying down in the kissing booth. Khitti could only blink until she heard ‘the hounds’ were released and the vampiress was overrun by puppies. Classic Pilar. Orikahn managed to pass her by somehow without her notice--it was the food’s fault--and then slip right next to her. “Oh. Um. Sorry,” the masked ranger said before moving on. The games were eyed then, but she didn’t partake of them. She wondered if Brand would’ve like the strength contest. It was a pity he wasn’t able to show up, for the Tranquility was here on business and not pleasure, unlike Khitti herself.

Lionel | Trace tries the prawns. A connoisseur of fresh catches, the octogenarian is one tough sell. He crinkles his nose distastefully as the piece goes down his throat, but his frown becomes a pleasant grin soon enough. Half a century ago, old Trace had been reeling hauls of prawns the likes of which no city in Lithrydel can now imagine. He'd had his fill of good prawn, bad prawn, and everywhere in-between, and it had been Trace's well-founded opinion that all the very best had gone extinct. Chartsend has taught Trace otherwise. It's taught him that there's a new frontier, a western frontier. For him, perhaps a final frontier. Trace won't return to Larket after festival; his family will flip their lid once they discover his plans to resettle so far away at such a late age, but he has plans for that lid-flipping, oh yes, Trace does, indeed. He'll remind them that Larket's no safe harbor when a witch is in their lineage, anyway, and that they really ought to come live with him if they're so concerned. And so it will be that Chartsend will gain not only Trace Goner but the whole darn Goner clan, all 19 of them and soon to be 21. All for the price of a prawn.

Pilar, eventually, had to leave the booth. Didn't want to leave Yozenra bored. She got up and stepped out of the pen, drool everywhere. She pulled her hair out of her ponytail and ran her fingers through her locks. She'd need to wash when she got home. So worth it, though. She tied her hair back up, adjusted her dress, and she and Yozenra went to get food.

An hour into the festival, Wilhelm once again took to the stage to ring a bell. “Attention, attention please!” he called out. “The marksmanship contest will be beginning! This year, we shall be doing things a little differently.” There were some murmurs in the crowd. Different how? “Before, we would unleash a rare Giant Dragonfly, and our marksmen would attempt to shoot it down. The winner received a cash prize, and we feasted on the dragonfly's succulent meat. There has been some talk among some in our community, however, that this is needlessly cruel, and further, that such a rare beast ought not to be killed for sport.” Someone looked at Pilar, and she blushed. “Therefore, this year, we will do something a little different. The dragonfly shall be wearing a target, and THAT is what our marksmen must hit. Am I understood?” After receiving affirmation, Wilhelm concluded. “Don't worry, there will still be a cash prize. I'm no miser. Best of luck to all our contestants!” He gave the signal, and a guard blew into a conch. A buzzing could be heard, low at first, then louder, as the Giant Dragonfly appeared from the beach below the square. It was attached to a lead to keep it from just flying away, and from its body a target had been hung. It zipped back and forth, over the beach west of the square. A guard raised a flag. “To me, marksmen!” A few people stepped up; the singer of local feline-only band Panthera, a visiting hobbit, and an elderly elf, among others. Bows and arrows were available, but only for those who had not thought to bring their own. Not that they were the only choice. The singer had mana crackling in the palm of her hand, and the hobbit had brought a rock.

When it was her turn, Khitti would approach the spot designated for the archers and removed the bow from her back. The black ice glimmered in the light, and the dark purple runes magically etched across its body flared up at Khitti’s touch before fading into obscurity again. Attuned now to her strength, the redhead peered up at the bug and smirked. A bug? Heh. She’d had plenty of practice with bugs during the various excursions with the Warrior’s Guild. Piece of cake. Well, it’s not like she was really going to hit the dragonfly. An arrow was nocked, the vampire-grade string pulled back effortlessly thanks to the runes, and the target sighted carefully. It moved a little too much for Khitti’s liking; she didn’t have those vampiric reflexes anymore. She’d finally let loose the arrow when she thought the time was right, and purple shadow-flames erupted from the fletching, giving off quite the lightshow, while also propelling the arrow faster to make up for her lack of agility. From the shadow-flame trickled down sparks and flares as if it were a firework show, bits of wispy tendrils of shadow swirling about it. Were she actually able to hit the mark, the arrow would explode into shards of ice on contact, the shards embedding themselves into the structure of the target itself, without actually harming the creature beneath. Somewhat satisfied with her attempt, Khitti would release a heavy sigh, then step back from the crowd of marksmen to watch the rest of their projectiles try to hit their quarry.

Orikahn looks up from his gluttony just in time to catch the announcer's call. Licking his fingers, he trots over the firing line, making sure to slip in beside his fellow feline, his fluffy tail daringly brushing past hers as he draws his bow and finds his footing. With familiar ease he settles into a half-crouch, rolls his shoulders and knocks his arrow. Broad, fuzzy mitts clench to fists, his eyes narrow in focus, and his maw wrinkles in concentration as he moves to half-draw, studiously following the bobbing dragonfly's movements of bob, hover, reverse, bob, hover, reverse. Taking the best guess he can, Kahn leads his target and shoots, trusting his gut. The bow twangs. The arrow is a blur. For Kahn, the split second stretches into vast disproportion as he waits for his whistling projectile to strike, listening intently for the telltale "thock".

Bastion decided to compete. He didn't care for glory or laurels, but he'd been unsubtly encouraged by many of the locals to compete, who knew well his vow of poverty. If he won, of course, he'd be obligated to give the winnings to charity, which meant, well. Yep. Bastion would line up and wait his turn, holding nothing in his hands. Offered a bow, he would refuse, and when it started, he nodded, and donned his blindfold, stepping forward. He held out his hand, and light shone pink in his hand, forming a long bow nearly as tall as himself... not too long, considering he was a child due to circumstances. He aimed the bow of pink light, and knocked an arrow of light within it. He aimed, and breathed deeply, centering himself, and focusing on the ki of living things around him. The dragon fly hummed in his mind's eye, and he entered a state of zen, letting intuition and insight guide his arrow. Cherry blossom petals fell around him, staying where they landed on the ground. He fired, the bow twanging, and vanishing once it had done its task. The arrow was harmless, even if he missed... it couldn't do any real harm to a living being. He didn't bother taking his blindfold off to see his shot, instead breathing deeply. He relied heavily upon a trance to enhance his precision, for such a shot.

Arrows flew over the cliffside, aimed at the dragonfly... 's target. Pilar watched, not participating, only hoping the poor creature would be unharmed. It was a tricky little thing, though, and evaded most projectiles. The feline singer felt Orikahn's tail on hers and looked at him, deciding it might be nice to get to know him a little better. Still, she wasn't there to make friends. She fired a bolt of magic from her hand, and it clipped the target, causing it to swing wildly. The hobbit chucked his rock and hit the dragonfly in the eye. It buzzed angrily and flew at the crowd, but the leash kept it back. Orikahn's arrow hit the target, but it wasn't a bulls-eye. A few other arrows hit, but done were a bulls-eye. None, that is, except for Bastion's. The guard blew the conch shell again, and the dragonfly was pulled down to be let off its lead. “The winner is Bastion!” The crowd applauded politely. One archer threw their borrowed bow down and stormed off, but that was the worst of it. Wilhelm approached and clapped a hand on Bastion's shoulder. “Well done, my good man!” He snapped his fingers, and the prize was delivered into Bastion's hands. Consolation prizes of crawfish jam were handed to the other contestants.

Bastion seemed as surprised as anyone when he was announced the winner, tugging down his blindfold with a finger to blink at the crowd with his wine pink eye. Some of the crowd was going nuts, possibly in large part because of where the money was about to go. When the cash prize was handed to him, he gave a formal bow, and politely refused, asking that it instead be donated to charity, perhaps to the families most affected by the plague. He couldn't even hold the prize, due to his vows.

Khitti wasn’t pleased with losing to someone that didn’t even look like a marksman at all, but she kept it to herself. In a huff, she spun on booted heels and pushed through the crowd, her hood coming off in the process, though the mask remained. The red braid spilled out, but she no longer seemed to care. It was time to return to the Tranquility regardless, as Brand had a very pressing schedule. She weaved around archer and festival-goer alike, both oh so near to Orikahn and Pilar as she tried to get to the exit of the square.

Orikahn isn't overly worried about losing, and instead turns to commiserate with the spellcaster beside him. Didn't expect to run into another feline here. You sing in a band? An *all feline* band, you say? Here, let's take this conversation to the buffet table. That contest worked my appetite back up. AND SO, happily engaged in feline discussion, the two wander off to forget about dragonflies and, perhaps, enjoy a taste of their novelty jam.

Wilhelm blinked, then smiled. “Charity it is! But you must at least allow me to treat you to some of these exquisite foods! Royston, Royston, fetch us some eel and cider!” With the contest over, people began returning to the games and food, talking about some of the spectacular magic they saw. Pilar, meanwhile, saw Khitti pass by and dropped her candy apple. She turned and followed her with her eyes. Yozenra frowned. “Pilar?” “That... that woman looked like...”

Bastion had noticed Pilar, with her friend... friend?... Yozenra, and approached her with a smile. "Hail, Pilar! It is good to see you. And good to see the end of these fell plagues." He was glad there would be more money to go towards the relief efforts, though he assumed anyone would have done the same in a festival celebrating the end of a plague.

Pilar blinked, then looked to Bastion. “Oh, hello. Congratulations on your win. It's very kind of you to donate that gold.”

Khitti was probably a little too grumpy as she made her way through the crowd and was subsequently pushed and knocked over by some rowdy teens who didn’t like her attitude. It hurt. It hurt a hell of a lot worse than when she’d been a vampire. She’d managed to scrape her knee and a bit of loose gravel had dug into the palm of her right hand. “Frak. Brand’s never going to let me go anywhere now,” she muttered to herself, her attention more on these minor injuries than the teens that taunted her. “Get the frakking hell away from me!”, she said finally, a bit of shadowflame conjured up in her left hand. Her injured one removed the mask from her face, letting her see more clearly, tears welling up in her eyes. The pregnancy, it seemed, wasn’t doing Khitti’s emotions any favor right now.

Bastion shrugged. "Chartsend is recovering from a plague. Anyone would do the same." He seemed entirely convinced of this. "I'm glad to meet you here! It seems you have your finger on the pulse of Chartsend. Who's your friend?" He smiled to Yozenra, giving her a shy wave. Be bold. Just because you're in the body of a child, doesn't mean you have to act like one. Most of the time.

Bastion blinked towards Khitti, frowning. That was terrible. The woman was very upset. "Excuse me a moment." He went towards her, whistling to the teens, and kindly waving them away. "Excuse me, sirs, I think now would be a good time to move along." Judging by the scary looking flame in her hand, it was past time for them to skedaddle, and they seemed to agree. He went to Khitti, a gentle smile on his childish features. "Excuse me, ma'am. Are you alright?"

Orikahn feels his otherworldly senses twinge again as Khitti passes by, and his gaze snaps sharply to follow her. Though his sight and scent betray none of the woman's secrets, Orikahn knows there's something, *something* familiar about that woman. There's a good chance, too, that she'll feel the hairs of her neck prickle when his gaze alights upon her. This, of course, prompts Panthera's lead singer, "Opalai" as she'd been kind enough to introduce herself, to stare at the disguised Khitti likewise. The feline's tails twitch in tandem as they watch her through wide, bright eyes, ears pert, fanged faces expressionless as they stare... and stare... and stare...

Pilar's reply died on her lips. That voice...! She whirled around, tears in her eyes. “Kh-Khitti...” There was no mistaking that face. Yozenra looked over, her hand on Pilar's shoulder. “Khitti's dead, Pilar,” she reminded her. “B-But... that magic. That voice, her face, it...” “You remember what Meri told you, right?” Yozenra said. Pilar nodded, swallowing. Burned to death. Pilar sniffed and wiped her eyes. Ignorant of all this drama, Wilhelm had returned to the stage and rang his bell. “Attention, attention!” People paused to look, bewildered. What could it be, now? “I have an announcement to make! You see, our recent epidemic has opened my eyes to some very important truths. First, that I put my faith in the wrong people.” A murmur went through the crowd. “The truth of the epidemic was kept from me by the very council I put in place to help me run this town. As such, I can no longer rely on them, and they are henceforth removed from duty.” This brought shocked gasps from the crowd. “Further, it is high time Chartsend got itself a real government, and a real leader. Today, is my last day as Patron... And my first as Duke!”

Khitti didn’t care much for being approached right now, but she did manage to mumble an “I’m fine” and a “Thanks” to Bastion as she pushed herself up off the ground. Khitti didn’t hear Pilar’s cries over the din of crowd and soon after Wilhelm’s announcement, but she certainly felt that stare from both of the felines. It absolutely did send chills up her spine and cause the hairs on her neck to raise. The Khat would look at the male kitty and merely stare in return as gasps rung out around her. There was a smirk in his direction soon after, but nothing more, as she shifted her attention to the soon-to-be Duke.

Orikahn is otherwise occupied and doesn't really notice what's going on with Wilhelm. The town council, on the other hand, has DEFINITELY noticed what's going on, and their brows raise dubiously. All of them, men of various builds dressed somber garb, puff their pipes and cigars indignantly. Some of them wait for a punchline that never comes. Most of them lay their hands on their scabbards. "See here, Wilhelm," Richard, a portly, white-haired bloke with a strong mustache and goatee pipes up, shouting over the crowd, "just 'cause youh the riches one heah, doesn't mean you get t'make the rules, now." The other councilmen seem to agree, and they nod to mean as much. "Sounds like this heah party's ovah. We came t'a festival, not some doggone coronation!"

Pilar took Yozenra's hand nervously. The naga-in-disguise squeezed it reassuringly. Wilhelm scoffed. “It's my money that pays for this town's upkeep. The docks, the roads, the schools and clinic, the guards, all kept up on my silver. I've been ruling through my wealth since I arrived here in Lady Alicia's absence. And she ruled through HER wealth. We're just... reorganizing, that's all. Who here has the power to tell me no?” He blinked. “That came out wrong.”

Bastion didn't pry or press when the woman said she was fine, though he didn't feel it was so. It wasn't his place to pry, however, and he wouldn't do so. When the councilmen grew hostile towards the self proclaimed duke, however. "Oh. Oh, no." The people were in danger. Whatever was about to happen would affect them most of all, and it might be very, very nasty.

Lita is late to the party, per usual fashion. She's a little disappointed to find that the marksmanship competition has ended but there seems to be a lot going on all the same, though it isn't quite the gathering she'd expected. She's only half-listening to the crowds that are gathered, lingering towards the back, munching on a plate of sushi commandeered from a nearby vendor for a few coin. Something about wealth and power? She didn't know much about Chartsend's politics but the vibe in this crowd wasn't an overly positive one.

Orikahn would have gladly escalated the stare-down, but there are happenings afoot! The escalating tension between Wilhelm and the Council is finally sufficient to draw the cat's attention, and he must now decide to follow Opalai, who seems to want nothing to do with these men and their power-jockeying, or stay for what looks like is going to be a really decent fight. THE DECISIONS. Meanwhile, the town council have all drawn their swords, a very practical answer to who does, indeed, have the power to refute Wilhelm's claim. "If it's a fight you want, Wilhelm," Richard levels a scimitar at the newly self-proclaimed Duke, "it's a fight you'll get!" Their thin patience already exhausted, the town council extinguishes their tobacco and begin advancing.

Khitti narrowed her eyes at the councilmen as they argued. This is stupid. Entirely and utterly stupid. Goddamn politicians and their nonsense. She finally did manage to make it to the edge of those gathered, and moved around the side, closer towards the front so they might hear her, “You frakking idiots! Haven’t you even heard about what’s happened in Cenril?! Pull your heads out of your arses and quit bickering over who’s got the bigger pile of gold and fancier clothes! The motherfrakking end times are here -again-. If the lot of you don’t quit it, I’ll make certain of it that Lionel O’Connor doesn’t even frakking bother with this place when the forces of evil pour out of the very Shadow Plane itself!”

Wilhelm might have been a bit foppish, but he was no coward. Especially when he had guards to come to his defense. Several came to stand between their Duke and the council... But some went to the council! The crowd, meanwhile, was making their own choices. Some were getting the heck out of Dodge, some were standing behind the council, others behind the Duke. Several had run to the marksmanship area and grabbed the bows and arrows that were there, taking aim at the other side. Wilhelm looked around at the people. “Now, now, everyone calm down and put your weapons away. There's no need for violence.” He looked to the ringleader of the growing rebellion. “Richard, this is nonsense. I've been the one in power since I came here, even before I named you to the council, and you never said a word about it. But then, you never did like having something taken from you, even if you don't deserve it. Put the sword down and walk away.” He motioned to Khitti. “The young lady is right. We've bigger problems right now.” Pilar, for her part, looked about to faint. “It... it's her, it's her...” she murmured. Yozenra gripped her shoulders, trying to keep her upright.

Lita was definitely not liking the look of this crowd. Energies bristled, people rushed to arm themselves. She'd seen these types of skirmishes plenty of times on the docks back in Rynvale. They never ended well, just chaos and bloodshed and all of it unnecessary. She stepped back a ways from the crowd, not wanting to be involved, putting a good bit of distance between herself and the crowds up ahead. She searched the crowds gathered for familiar faces and finding none, didn't feel so bad about making a sudden decision to join those leaving the little assembly to their own devices and whatever inevitable outcomes might be reached. If need be she still had that dagger hidden on her person and wasn't afraid to use it but this wasn't her fight.

Bastion saw blood boiling, and people readying themselves for conflict. The primary issue was between two political parties grabbing for power... and the people were taking sides, arraying themselves around these foci of power. Bastion's path was clear. He placed himself between the politicians, in the center of the conflict, a black and pink clad monk, blindfolded, with his hands clasped behind his back. Cherry blossom petals fell around him, and he stood, silent. If he had a chance to speak, he would take it. If not... he'd use the Gentle Fist to try his best to prevent the worst of the conflict, if it were possible. It might very likely not be possible to avoid the bloodshed prepared to happen... but there were many people here holding weapons who'd worked beside him, who'd partaken of his acupuncture for themselves, or for family and friends to help with the pains of the plague. Maybe, just maybe, he could help. He had to try.

Orikahn decides to follow Opalai back to the creek outside town, where apparently the rest of the band is lounging an making what sounds like an enjoyable study in recreational herbology. Richard and the council, on the other hand, are standing their ground. "This coup stops here," the fellow proclaims to cries of "hear hear" and "no dukes in Chartsend," upping the energy of an already lively crowd. Sensing it's time to pick a side, many of the bystanders pick up stools and chairs as improvised clubs and join the mobbish throng. "Stand down, or we'll have to run ya out, Wilhelm," another councilman offers, but before dialogue can continue, someone throws a chair, and a cacaphony of shouting and threats ushers from the crowd on both sides. The sound of another blow rings out, a flurry of movement begins, and before anyone can tell where it began, a fight proper has broken out.

Okay. This was getting a little too out of hand. There was a mob. There was a motherfrakking mob. This was not the place for a pregnant woman, but likewise she didn’t really feel like leaving just yet. Maybe she’ll just go back to the dessert stalls? Yeah. That sounds like a good idea. Khitti takes her leave of the mob because if she doesn’t, she’s probably going to set them all of fire, and goes to the stall with the pumpkin pie, ordering a whole one this time. These people were not her monkeys and this was not her circus. Plus, if she managed to get herself hurt worse than what she already was, Brand--and probably Lionel--was sure to kill her, aka yell at her a lot.

Wilhelm huffed indignantly, and prepared to retort when the chair was thrown, and all hell broke loose. Someone smashed a stool over a guard's head, only for three guards to dogpile on them. Rocks and debris were thrown, fists were flying, and it was pure chaos. Pilar and Yozenra had not chosen a side, but that didn't stop someone who thought they were a little too close to Wilhelm from coming at them with the hammer from the test of strength game. Yozenra had switched back into her naga form and her tail lashed out, tripping up their assailant. “Stop, stop this at once!” Wilhelm cried. Suddenly, someone loosed an arrow and it struck him in the left shoulder, knocking him from the stage. Guards gathered round him to protect him from the mob, and Pilar rushed over. Wilhelm looked more bewildered than injured, though the blood dribbling down from his temple might have explained that. Pilar, known to the guards, was allowed to hoist the elf to his feet. Yozenra was right behind her. “I think it's time to retreat and regroup,” she said with authority. The guards looked at each other, then to Wilhelm. “Yeah, probably,” one of them said, and the group hastened towards the exit, towards the manor.

Lita decides pretty quickly that she doesn't want to get caught up in this particular brand of chaos today. She leaves the remainder of her sushi on a bench as she heads back out of town. Never a better time to head for home.

Bastion does what he can, which is far from enough. He protects the fallen, defends himself from skirmishers, and tries his best to drag the wounded from the fray. Eventually, he ends up taking a heavy blow to the head, and ends up on the ground with the rest of the victims.

Orikahn is long gone by the time Richard, the councilmen, and the mob with them decide to chase Wilhelm, Pilar, and the guards back towards the manor. Sensing they've won, there's a lull in the violence, but certainly no lapse in shouts, jeering, and threats. While Khitti's left free to enjoy her deserts, Lita's path to the exit is cleared, and poor Bastion has a moment to gain some necessary aid, most of the town set out to harass Wilhelm and his loyalists from outside the manor's walls, at least until they're confident he won't be coming out any time soon...

Welp, since Pilar’s clearly occupied by all of this mess, Khitti didn’t get the chance to talk to her. Oh well. Shaking her head, she took the pumpkin pie back to the Tranquility where she’d add a bit of whipped cream to it and share it with Brand. This was a very strange day indeed.