"Young lady, I can see you're angry, we all are. But I'm sure there are other eyes in this crowd taking notes. You don't want to be a martyr, you have the ability to be a leader. Don't let the church or the Thrunes end that before you get a chance to begin."
Aphra's anger grew at the side-spoken words, but not because of them. She was angry because he was right. And she was angry because he was wrong. His words had earned him her respect, but he was treading on thin ice. Deeper down, there was solidarity. She would stand by him. He was nobility. However wrong Voltarus might be - especially in underestimating the intelligence of the citizens of Kintargo as to just who was to be murdered, hung, detained, left alone, helped - he'd made his first unconditional ally in Aphra despite her fed-up mood. Maybe the noble should live in the slums himself, and know that boards of wood were thin, and that even quiet violence at a neighbor's door did not go unheard by others. And by whom, and many times why. The slums had their own eyes and ears. Maybe Voltarus knew nothing. Maybe not. Maybe martyring herself was the only way to set off a successful rebellion. Every fire needs a spark.
"They're taking notes on you whispering to me."
It was all she uttered back to Voltarus, for the moment, as he turned to speak publicly again. She watched, and listened, after flashing her eyes and giving a quick nod of approval to a group of four others who seemed in particular agreement with her rant. She would perhaps speak with them alone if the chance came.
Again Voltarus spoke to her liking, and not. At the mention of the Hellknights her eyes flashed to the four in mutual disdain, then to the silenced loyalists in warning. Or maybe Voltarus was bluffing about really calling the Hellknights or militia, meaning only to suppress careless violence? She appraised him further. Again he underestimated the power of the people, thinking neighbor would turn on neighbor, after the citizenry had endured so much together, frightfully. As if they'd destroy their own neighbors' businesses - the only places where there might be humanitarian gestures of food to the hungriest, or the mercy of a warmer shelter in the coldest nights of the seasons. He was also right about organizing. An interesting man, this Voltarus was.
..."No more talk about riots or I will personally cut out your tongues!"
"I spoke of it!" she shouted over at Voltarus, capturing attention again and sheathing her sword. "You did not cut out mine, nor will you." Her dark eyes glossed over the crowd at large. There were some that might cut out Voltarus's tongue at any moment right now. She stayed still for a moment, using her intuition to fish out any who might just do so. Her ears sifted through murmurs. Her hand went back to the hilt of her sword should she need to save Voltarus's tongue.
Listen for Rumors (Perception for something of note). d20(17)+6= 23.
Last edited by Bong Bellowsmoke; 02-26-2017 at 04:48 AM.
The Red Condor shrieked at Sir Darvig in full wrath. Wings flapped storms of fire across the sky. "The Mage-God grows in power swifter than it appears to Paladine. This I know. A warning," Sargonnas told Darvigl, "for you to give to Paladine in your prayers."
“I will,” Darvig uttered.