A Recruitment Rally of sorts

[emeraldknight]

It was a good day to hold a recruitment rally. Well, perhaps most would say it was never a good day for the Connlaoth Force of Anarchy to hold any sort of event. But not Chelsea. The sun was high, and the cloudless blue skies provided a nice backdrop for the all-important event. Numbers hadn't exactly been 'up' lately (or at all), and so when she'd had the idea to set up an event, she'd not hesitated a second. Before he knew it, Arcturus had been dragged out of the dark basement and into the streets of Reajh, some small banners bearing the organisation's initials crumpled under his arm. Suffice to say, he was less than enthused.

As the locals skirted around the small setup Chelsea had brought out, she climbed atop the wooden crate the two had placed in the middle of the street, and began to speak loudly, hoping to draw some attention before she began her pre-prepared speech. "Peoples of Reajh and the wider city of Connlaoth, we need your attention! Do you believe in a government who restricts your every movement, who watches you, hawk-eyed, wherever you choose to go?"

"Those hawk eyes are probably already on us!", Arcturus thought to himself, as he stood on the box next to her. He hadn't been briefed on exactly what Chelsea had decided he would do during all of this, if she had even thought about it at all, so he simply stood there, waiting for some kind of signal from her, and watching for any signs of trouble. His partner went on. "We, the Connlaoth Force of Anarchy, believe in a nation of freedom, a nation of peace! A nation where all are able to live the lives they want! A nation where mages can--" At this point, Arcturus gave her a small jab between her ribs. "What?", she said, turning to him in annoyance.
"This city isn't ready for that yet."
Chelsea scowled at him for a moment, but eventually decided to take his point, and continue. In her experience, Arcturus was usually right about these things.

"Well, at least I don't think we've attracted the attention of the City Watch yet".

[Miriad_Vegetables]

A scant few minutes beforehand, the finest the City Watch had to offer had his bleary eyes focused solely on a mug of ale. Frankly, to his refined pallet the sour drink was reminiscent of donkey's piss. However, as a counter point, it was highly intoxicating and decidedly cheap donkey's piss, so who was the City Watch's finest to complain?

Morgand knocked back the last of the swill, and plopped the empty vessel on the counter of the worst alehouse on Eastgate street. Though his speech was now greatly impaired (unable to feel his tongue) he eloquently sent a burp in the barkeep's general direction as thanks for the booze and a review of the service he had received. He then stood and dramatically swept out of the musty interior, immediately stumbling on the cobbles outside. He did after all, have a reputation as a critic and intimidating watchman to uphold.

Considering how badly he failed at this, it was fortunate that whenever he stopped for a drink on patrol, her hid his uniform as best he could, and had now forgotten to re-dress in all his livery. Looking all the world like the sort of tramp he would himself heckle at on occasion, he lurched down the street uneasily. Usually able to handle his drink, something was terribly, awfully wrong.

Helpfully, as he began to feel faint, the wall of the nearby street corner came to meet him halfway as he approached an intersection. First his shoulder then his temple impacted the stone and despite the pain, Morgand decided it was rather smooth, and cold, and even a little comfortable...


Before he could fall asleep however, or maybe he had? Unable to tell either way, Morgand started at the sound of a familiar accent calling out into the clear day's air, asking something or other from the citizens of Reajh passing by.

Disentangling himself from his over-cloak, Morgand looked up at the dazzling blue light, his vision then being filled (once his eyes adjusted) with a bunch of banners, each displaying a catchy if somewhat vague slogan about freedom or tyranny, painted in oversized cursive. Looking about he sees that someone has set up an impromptu political platform around him, apparently overlooking the admittedly "Sack of potatoes under a tarp" shaped watchman.

Morgand scratched his bristling jaw at the peculiar situation and focused his ears in on that voice and it's lilt, that of someone who grew up in rural Connlaoth, much like himself. It seemed he'd just missed the beginning of her speech, and the speaker was winding up for the next stretch. So Morgand stayed slumped against the wall and decided to listen as he waited for his hangover to dissipate.

As the voice went on, his hangover was gradually replaced with a headache, as he realised what was being said. He didn't like what he heard as it meant that he, Morgand "The overworked family man" Pentecrast, may have to actually do something.

Fuck.

[emeraldknight]

Soon, a small crowd had formed around the setup, and Chelsea communicated her ideas with increasing volume and gesturing. Arcturus carefully watched each of their expressions, glad to find that no-one seemed incredibly interested in joining with the organisation. Most of the people were just curious about the disturbance, or having a laugh with friends. Still scanning further out into what scenery was visible over the circle of onlookers, he noticed movement coming from the street corner opposite where the two were stationed. At first, he hadn't noticed the unmoving, seemingly harmless form slumped up against the grimy wall. However, upon further inspection, the uniform's color emerging from the bundled cocoon of the cloak betrayed his ranking, and his ranking his threat. There was a watchman.

Finding the first gap he could in Chelsea's speech, he leaned in, placing one boot on Chelsea's "Podium", and whispered news of the issue, to which she quickly responded before getting back to her attempt at a rousing speech. "Just keep your eye on him. If there's a problem, you know how to deal with it." It was the answer he'd expected, though not the one he'd hoped for. Making sure to watch as closely as possible, Arcturus could only hope the man wouldn't attempt to intervene.

[Miriad_Vegetables]

Morgand had hoped he wouldn't have to intervene. But duty called, in a clear voice no less, shouting about rather innocuous ideas of liberty and criticism for the government. These were hardly the most egregious of views to present in public (at least those Morgand had paid attention to). Regardless, Morgand viewed himself as a man of tired compassion if nothing else, and so he decided to move them along before anything more came of it; no harm, no foul.

Half-stood half-slumped against the wall, he placed his hands on his knees and shook his head vigorously, dislodging his grogginess, before pushing of the stonework and making his way across the street. His path deviated greatly from how straight the crow flies, meandering one way then the other, as he came up behind the crowd stumbling. At last he squinted up at the pair on high, a well-off looking enthusiastic lady and what seemed to be her long suffering accomplice.

As Morgand shouldered his way into the gathering crowd, the man caught his eye. All things considered, he was a rather handsome gent in Morgand's opinion; dark hair, slender frame, jaw shadowed with bristle, brown eyes... Yes, all things considered, the middle-aged, portly, and mean-looking geezer looked on the man with jealousy. He was just Lorrita's type and Morgand knew it, remembering something his wife had said a few days prior, completely missing the fact Arcturus was basically a younger and better-looking version of himself. He was so focused on this he filtered out much of the nearly treasonous monologue.

He braced himself for the drawn out and boring process of shooing away the vocal miss and the gentleman along. But in his groggy state, and needing something more entertaining to start him off, he instead decided it best he add a bit of theatrics to the whole ordeal. Now in the middle of the crowd he called out in interruption, pulling his cloak close to hide his uniform, however clumsy and useless it was.

He laid on his accent to be extra thick, and said "Aye'n that's all well'n'good missus, but wot'n'abow the Church an' City Watch, eh? Thas Connlaoth heritage thar', an our way of havin' a peaceful existence! Whose gunna be watchful of the rogue magicians! The foreign agents an' T'rrible Beasties if'n not the gubberment?"

Morgand thought that if he could in some small way rile the crowd, make the speakers uncomfortable with a bit of push back, then when tensions were highest he could swoop in and let the people know that it was the City Watch kept the peace. This was an opportunity to turn an annoying civil disruption into a proper promotion earning spectacle. Morgand moved slowly through the crowd, towards the front, thinking what voice to use next, and thinking also that he must be the cleverest and most devilish man in all of Reajh to even think of pulling this off.

If that were true, then there wouldn't be half as many manipulative villains in power as there currently were. Which would probably mean even the CFA would have less to complain about. Alas, Morgand was many things but he was far from the sharpest tool (though he could certainly be a tool) and was in fact as blunt as the mace he carried on his belt.