The first morning was a somber day, laced with high tensions during its fasting and penance. And because it was customary that talking was discouraged, the entire city of Uthlyn had an eerie silence settling over it.
All day it was like this,a nd not many took a step outside their door, except for the anticipations of going to church and any other needed preparations for the morrow. But as the day crawled onward, and nearing the hour to reflect over the death of Ansgar himself, not many people were directing their attentions there. No. The whole of Uthlyn feared for a whole new set of deaths to come.
The poor were getting poorer. The population of their men, dwindling. More and more freedoms were being revoked, and another proposition to make Connlaoth a more 'boastful' kingdom was only gaining the ire of it's own people.
Raise taxes. Take the men. Let the homeless starve. How much more did the people have to take?
The man with the slicked black hair entered the tavern of NightWall. There was a decent crowd there, and the only ones enjoying booze were those who figured beer didn't count in on this day of fasting. Most of the men here were older, and a lot of them were men he already knew.
He approached one such man with a smirk.
"A beer to Ansgar's falling?" he jested. The man he addressed shook his head. And as the two looked around, it looked like no one was paying them any mind as Cullen took a seat and ordered himself his own mug of beer.
"It could be our last one, you know," he went on, assuring the man his consumption of the drink was purely on purpose. "Tomorrow, all the men in masks might drink it all."
And though he smiled as if it were a jest, both he and the man already knew of the plan.
The Blood Wardens wouldn't be easy to spot. Masks were a common occurrence on men's faces the next morning. But they wouldn't be chasing after children, and the chaos to ensue would not be pretend.
When he got his second beer, Cullen found himself asking the bar owner.
"What time is it, Lan?"
The man's voice was gruff.
"Twenny af'er Eleven."
Cullen raised his beer to his friend.
"Hear that? Less than an hour until the bell tolls."