Bastions

Faye:
"I have never known the truth to flatter. Especially after a theif has stolen some ones coin. On a related note if it such a common occurrence then perhaps its not the best spot to stand and talk." Faye responded, wondering if such queer names were common in the lower sections.

Cynthia:
She leaned in "I'm listening." she said, surprised that Ulvjeger had come to her for something.

“There is a location within the city I would like to visit without anyone being the wiser. This is normally not a problem, but something has the city spooked.”

Ulvjeger paused and took a deep breath as if unsure of how to proceed.

“Before I say anything more, I need to know, why do you really want to change ‘careers?’ And do not give me that it is depressing line. I mean the real reason.”

Faye:
"If you would be so kind, i sould be most appreciative." She answered. She could agree with the man before her. The day did seem like it would be taxing. "On a side note what makes you say that i am a noble?"

Faye:
"Then I suppose these were unnecessary then." Faye said to herself as she followed Owen, slightly tugging on the loose fitting clothes she'd stolen. They weren't as uncomfortable as she had always presumed commoners clothings would be. They were in fact very comfortable, not that she would ever admit it.

Faye:
Wading through the throng of people, Faye kept her guide in sight. She had quickly learned that trying to avoid bumping into the people are her wasnt going to happen. At least not of she wanted to keep pace.

As politely as he could manage, Owen squeezed his way past vagrants and nobles alike, his hands fixed in a hovering position above his pockets. It was just as he was passing by a peculiar looking vagabond with a ragged, faded magenta head wrap that he heard an exclamation from a man that couldn't have been more than fifteen paces away. The crowd froze as the man's raving rose above the hum of the cascading marketplace conversations and, with a grim sense, Owen knew that guards would be quick to quell the disturbance. His dread was confirmed as a brawny, armored figure shoved his way through the crowd towards the man whom Owen could now hear was vehemently condemning the bastion government and urging the people around him to rise up against it.

Owen and his companion were nearly at the other end of the street when he heard the clanking of metal against stone followed by a cacophony of gasps. He turned to glance at the scene unfolding behind him and spotted the guard previously shoving his way through the crowd, now face down in the the street not five paces from the provocateur. The guard lay still on the cobblestone and the street around the collapsed constable had cleared. A faint trail of blood glistened in the midday sun and led away from the gradually expanding pool around the guard's body and into the retreating crowd. Owen pulled the collar of his coat up, tucked his head, and attempted to traverse the remainder of the street ahead of him. His attempt was met with abrupt failure as another guard shoved him back hard, nearly knocking him off his feet. "No one leaves this market; form a perimeter and apprehend the instigator!" The armored man bellowed to his comrades positioned along the street. The guard then turned his attention back to Owen and drew his sword. The distinctive sound of metal escaping leather resounded across the marketplace. "If any citizen interferes, their life is forfeit!"



Owen glanced back at Faye, looking for an indication of her intent.

(Temporarily tqking over Cynthia to add a bit of reprieve for some of the writers in this rp.)

Cynthia: A tad suprised at the question, Cynthia responded. "I dont necessarily want toquit, just to take a break. Doing one thing for an extended period of time can be tiresome. Thats really it." It was an honest answer for an odd question. Not that it really mattered though a job is a job. "So what is it that you want me to do?"

Cynthia: "The city changing really only means more buisness or less depending on the what the change is." Sliding back into her seat slightly, Cynthia continued. "I do also hope you are taking more then a big risk asking me to do this. I do work with the Guard every now and then."

When Owen glanced back over his left shoulder his spine tingled with heat that traveled up to his brain with a boiling sensation; the woman he was leading had disappeared, likely into the receding crowd. Had she led him into a trap? There were many who would see him killed for his quiet alliance with Grant and his underground network. As he scanned the market-goers behind him he noticed that they were getting closer, herded inward by more guards no doubt. Some yelled, others cowered and shrank from their aggressors, but all had a sense of anger and despair about them. These were feelings that he knew well. These were feelings that he could use to his advantage. He saw no escape route as the street was cordoned off by a pincer formation of Bastion's constabulary. He gritted his teeth as he watched the market's populace being corralled around him.

"People are going to die... But at least they will have a voice."

The thought echoed grimly in his mind as his semi-shrouded face adopted a somber expression and his right hand disappeared into his coat. The guard facing him saw this and brought his sword up, the double edged blade of the two-handed weapon was now a mere two feet from Owen's face. "I have issued my warning; it is by my generosity that you still live, peasant!" The armored aggressor yelled. Owen slowly withdrew his hand from inside his coat, holding a small coin-pouch where the guard could see it. "Please kind sir," He pleaded, injecting frailness into his words as he spoke. "This is all I have, but I would beg that you spare my life in return." Owen inched forward, leading with his left leg. The guard's face was unreadable under the shining helmet that masked his features, but his head cocked with an arrogant chuckle. He offered no further threats, only peered around cautiously as he reached a clutching, gloved hand toward Owen. The wayward noble gave a sharp whisper and, holding the coin-pouch on the flat of his palm, extended it past the guard's open hand and into his steel visage. The constable turned his gaze toward Owen only to have it met with a flurry of sparks and gold. Coins shot through the air as heated projectiles, several of them battering against the visor of the guard's helmet while others embedded themselves into and between the hulking man's armor plating. He staggered backward, blinded and seized with pain. Owen took a step toward the disoriented opponent with his lead foot, brought his right knee up to his chest, and extended his leg in an uncharacteristically abrupt kick that pitched the guard back, past that side of the street and into the alley beyond. The constable's sword clattered to the ground as he himself came to rest after displacing numerous trash bins several yards away.

Owen brought his leg back down in a stomp that cracked a small portion of the cobblestone street and gave a hooded, panting glance at the now paralyzed crowd. He paused for a moment, trying to regain his breath and looked upon the mortified and equally astonished faces of the crowd. He gave a slight shrug and shouted: "Let not metal men dictate our lives! Er... Long live the resistance!" 
The people in the street worked themselves into a frenzy, charging guards on either side with as little as their bare hands. Just as he had hoped, the people were desperate and angry enough to lash out with the right encouragement. Though he preferred to be an agent of change from the shadows, he knew he could not afford to be searched and questioned by the Bastion guard at this moment. Owen only hoped that his face was obscured enough to escape eventual recognition.

"There you a-" Owen had barely begun to speak when the woman yanked his arm, pulling him through the unbridled turmoil of the riot he had helped instigate. He stumbled and tripped trying to move as fast as she was pulling, his suspicions of betrayal now giving way to confusion.