"Dissent!"

[hexer]

Posted anonymously by request:


*Several sheets of parchment are tacked up to trees, walls, and inn notice boards around Redmist. They all bear the same message, handwritten with great care.*

"Rise up, you trodden souls. Too long have you sat, forced to wallow in your own poverty by the uncaring hand of the Regent. Your king is dead, and with him died the last noble soul in the Royal Family. The Regent lets this city crumble. Gangs run rampant in the streets, taking what little coin you have left. The seat of your magistrate lies empty. The time has come to voice your anger! Dissent! Your so-called 'heroes' removed the demonic threat, but what they left was much worse: a void that has removed every copper from the city coffers and drained the lives of Redmist's people! The economy and the common folk suffer while the Regent seems settled on letting you suffer on. Rise up! Dissent! Make the Crown hear you!"

[Aodhan the Unusual]

From a distance, the memorial to the heroes of Redmist seems like the beacon of light the city needs. As one gets closer, obvious chips in the stone work can be seen as well as griffiti on the statues themselves. The statue of Glewein seem to have taken the brunt of this mischief while the statue of Sharita seems almost untouched. Here and there on the figures and base is the phrase, "Desire equals Power." On Sharita's sword there are several copies of the letter of dissent stabbed on to it.

Other than Brugor being unconscious, no one else has anything to offer on who or what may have done it, and suspect it may be a rival to this "grey fox" that has been leaving notices all over.

[vercingettorix]

Haylin pauses briefly as he passes the statue to look over the situation. He looks over the graffitti and propaganda with his usual detatched demeanor before frowning just briefly as some thought comes to mind. He then turns on his heels and continues on his way without giving it a further look.

[gathera]

It was the start of another day here, like many a light mist of rain had wetted the well-worn cobbles. A dark skinned woman in an old weather worn tunic slowly made her way across the plaza. It was still the early hours of the morning and in the false light of dawn a grey cold and stark city went quietly went about its business.

She shivered slightly drawing a cloak about her to fend off the morning chill. Ahead as always four stone figures gazed impassively out. The city sentinels, a monument to a time when four had risked everything and against all odds prevailed. It was a favourite spot of hers. Once pigeons had swirled about the square in vast colourful flocks but that time seemed so long ago now. Even the rats were scarce these days. Instead a lone sparrow hopped about pecking at what few crumbs it might find. She bent down and spread her cloak across the grey stone bench. A slender hand dipped inside a pocket, “Ah here it is” Breaking off a crust of black bread she crumbled it up scattering the crumbs about contently watching the bird hopping about.

As the suns’ light peeked over top of the tile roofed houses she turned her face feelings the lights warmth banish the chill night airs. A frown creased her lips as the rose coloured light of first day touched the statues. Staring for a moment she shook her head.

The disfigurement was clear to see even in the weak morning light. Crudely drawn slurs hastily written adorned most of the statues although perhaps the monument to Glewein seemed to have suffered the most. All bore marks where others had thrown stones. Shards of broken pottery lay scattered about and several dark foul stains ran down the sides. She stood silent for a moment taking in the sight. Her shoulders slumped as she turned to gather up her cloak. During this time a few other rousing to meet the morning chores walked by. Most passer-bys merely turned their gaze away unwilling to look or even notice the four. Still with a quiet dignity the statues looked somberly out over Red Mist unwilling to pay heed to the petty efforts to belittle them.

The faint rustling of parchment broke her reverie. Several scraps of paper impaled on Sharita sword rustled in the wind. She approach and with a deep sigh ripped them off the blade crumpling them up into a tight ball in her fist. Her fingers slowly opened and the small bits of paper slid lazily down.

“No, not this time” and with a lithe flick of her wrist snatched the parchment up before it lay in the street. With a curt turn on her heel she gathered up her cloak and with purpose strode off across the street to the Red Mist inn.

A short while later armed with a bucket, with brush and lye soap tucked under her arm returned. “All that practice on floors must be good for something after all” and with a wry chuckle started to scrub away the stains at the monument to Lady Glewein.