@FuzzMonster @Sarky @Chaka @Ragoza
After the strange foundry-like crash at the gate some streets away, a great calm settles upon the mob. The elders are released, sobbing and running hands over bloodied pates of pulled and cropped hair. Everyone is dividing attention between the daylight pouring from your bodies to the great scythe and mien in Red Snow, the shadowed aspect of the Archer, the fading peal of the bell, and gawking at their fellow who seemingly attacked the young noble. His pals drop their razors and stare directly at River, then their friend.
One finally speaks up, "Fuck you doin', Anja?" The other, "Man, they got the fuckin' Bull-glow like them priests was screaming about. You wanna kill us all?"
Any and all weapons in the crowd are being dropped. Murmurs rise like the tides.
@Chaka
As soon as his friend says, 'you wanna kill us all,' the man, Anja, spits out a few teeth from the sucker punch. The razor slips from his fingers as his hands dip into the blood dribbling from his mouth. His face scrunches in anger and utter confusion, then clarity. The usual question of 'why' becomes 'you're dead, friend' with conviction.
Initiative 5. Defense 2.
@FuzzMonster
The older man tries to peer at you, but can't for the shadows and light at play in your anima. He does, however, approach in a wary fashion, hands out to show no harm. He throws vicious glances at the brute squaring with your spiritual kinsman, but speaks to you. "We will do as we have always done in this land. We will survive. You don't know what's happened here. Justice is strange to outlanders. Be you Medoan? Have you seen the chattel trains? The dishonor to our ancestors and their sacred work?"
@Ragoza
"...Is the Bull finally coming to claim Medo?" A young lad of ten summers, stones for throwing still in hand, asks from behind a stout looking man.
@Sarky
The giant from the gate is rounding the corner and looking upon the now-stilled riot.
@Hair
Goddamn. Look at this. A lot of recognizable flairs of light pouring out of some of these strangers, cowing the mob to a sullen group of whisperers.
@Excession
Ba Sao looks at the impromptu grate the craftsman threw against the gate, could nudge it over well enough if need be. It could be shoved aside. Many of the people around the bonfire of saddles and now unrecognizable bounty gape.
Familiar terms start wafting up to your ears. "Anathema?" "The Bull has returned..." "We're doomed!" "You see, this is our curse for these events!"