The Legacy [Kassan]

[Liar]

24 Summer, 512 They had called for reinforcements. Three ships of foreign traders had arrived at port days earlier, and with them came a great variety of foreign ores, idols, slaves, crops, spices, and other miscellany. Despite their apparent successes, they were not received with the appreciation which they seemed to expect. Business proved slow with east-quarter merchants, whose ever-tentative invitations had been soured by strangers who drank more than they worked, refused to recognize the alvinas’ authority, and regularly violated curfew. By the time Laat’s finest asked for help, they had already sent two men to the gaol and half a dozen to their ship due to injuries. That noon, citizens themselves were beginning to rise up against the remaining merchants, who had taken up arms and called it defensive. Sennac collected a small group to answer the call, low-level monks who were known to control a situation before they ended it with violence. These nuisances did not deserve the wrath of a Sharp Blade, but rather the face of a united city to tell them that they were not welcome. It was for this reason that Kassan found himself on Flax Street of the Eastern Quarter, within a mob of rowdy foreigners, furious easterners, and monks of every rank and alliance. There was barely room to stand, much less to swing a glaive, but he had managed to clear a small space against one wall with the polearm’s sheer repute. Everything was happening at once. There was an alley five paces away, into which two men taken a bloody fight. One, who was clearly not a Nykan, carried a sword; in close quarters, he seemed to have the upper hand against the other, a monk who wore Laat’s sigil. Both Kassan’s ally and his enemy, the monk’s face was indistinguishable from the mask of blood that covered it, his robes littered with wet red stains. And then a Nykan citizen was flying through the air just feet away, thrown from the crowd and through a shop window. An angry foreigner followed him over the broken glass and proceeded to scream about the value of the rare and perishable foods he had to offer, but not louder than the shop keeper whose means of living had been all but destroyed. In almost the same moment, Kassan himself was assaulted by a another trader, armed only with her fists and the frenzy on her face. She seemed reckless, easy to avoid and easy to lose, as she yelled through the din, “Benshira slime!” Kassan had been chosen because he was known to keep his calm in the fray, but even the most reasonable man cannot right every wrong.

[Kassan]

A spark of the wild gripped the Eastern Quarter. Kassan found himself backed against a wall, his weapon held to keep the space before him clear. He was caught among the baying throng; among the tumult and chaos of uncertainty and protest. Like a hawk, the monk of Uphis watched the events unfolding around him. A fellow monk, of a different quarter, fought with bloodied visage. A man literally flew through the air, smashing into a shop, accompanied by shouts and preposterous statements around him. It came as little surprise when a trader came upon Kassan himself. The monk's face turned into something more fierce, inquisition fleeing his features, and battle lust replacing them. And yet, it was a woman. Without a weapon, she simply tried to brawl with him, insulting him verbally, using his race as some sort of sticking point. "And what of you," he growled, turning his glaive so that he could simply knock her away with the dull shaft. "What of you, acting like some rabid animal?" He twisted the thing, and lifted it to push it against her chest and knock her onto the floor. He did not wish to harm her, only to keep her at bay. Taking the opportunity he moved through small gaps in the crowd, keeping his glaive upright. A frenzy was palpable. "Madness!" he shouted against the cacophony, "This is blasted madness!"