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PostPosted: February 24th, 2009, 8:46 pm 
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"My lords," Jate said with a nod of his head. Show them respect, but don't fawn, a small voice in the back of his head said. Good. Some learning must be kicking in. He turned to the man who just spoke. "Your objections are quite reasonable. I have little experience with running a country, but I am by no means lacking in all diplomatic skills." Was he? Wasn't he? His heart beat faster, and, oddly, he heard a hum pulsing in time with it. Raising his hand to his chest, Jate removed the Heartshard. It glowed faintly, still humming an odd tune that calmed him momentarily. Allowing it to rest in his palm, Jate continued.

"However, what is important is what I can do right now. Lord Raen is out there, ready to snatch up Kytana and kill every last one of us. We have to be united to face him. The rebels have stopped fighting. Kytana has to be whole. I know the dangers out there and I can reach through to those who wouldn't listen to -no offense intended at all- those who have sat in palaces for months." The words out of his mouth, Jate cringed inwardly. Oh yeah. That ought to win friends. Idiot. "I am not useless, you know. This at least ought to give us a better chance against Raen." He looked back down at the Heartshard and wrapped his fingers tightly around it.

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PostPosted: February 25th, 2009, 1:27 am 
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If most of the room's occupants appeared dubious, then they at least were not objecting vehemently. Even the lord who had spoken out earlier seemed to be contemplating, albeit with the occasional glance in Phaerin's direction. "You would have us overlook an evident lack of experience in favor of possible protection against a threat of which we do not yet even know the full extent?"

"You are as familiar with the recent reports as we are, Lord Tenaeus," one of the advisors replied. "The Regent did not wish them publicly disclosed for a reason. Whatever is out there, be it this 'Raen' or something else, it is most decidedly a threat deserving of our full attention. We decided last night - and the Regent agreed - to believe them regarding this matter. Kytana is in very real danger. We must consider all possibilities."

Lord Mairon eyed Jate thoughtfully, then looked to Silvryn. "You will vouch for him?"

"Yes."

"He is capable?"

Silvryn hesitated briefly this time. "He is learning."

"He is very young," another one of the advisors observed.

"Kytana has thrived under the rule of younger kings," someone else countered. "With sound, experienced advisors, an inexperienced king can still rule effectively - provided that he is willing to listen and learn."

"Yes, but if the threat is as great as you say, do we even have time for that? We will lose enough time enacting the transfer of power, making it public, answering questions, subduing any potential uprisings. We don't have time for him to learn."

Silvryn tried to interject. "I have full faith-"

"Does he even know how to use that? That is no mere toy he holds. An unpracticed wielder might do more harm than good. And in any case, one magical heirloom does not a ruler make."

"On the contrary. The royal bloodline first came into power as a result of their ability to harness the Heartshard's magic. Our most prosperous times have been when the king has sufficient power to protect the kingdom himself, rather than relying solely on others."

"Yes, but if he cannot use that power-"

"He makes a valid point regarding his ability to reach the people. Kytana is very much divided at the present. With a leader who is supported by both the nobles and the Phantom - or whatever he is calling himself now - we might actually regain some level of unity."

"Or add a third faction to this civil war. It is a dangerous gamble."

"We have little choice. We must act quickly."

"But not rashly. We cannot simply appoint this boy to the throne. How do we know he can even handle the strain and immense responsibility of the position? He has no experience, no training. We know nothing of him."

"Let him fight for Kytana if he must - the Heartshard would make a useful advantage in battle, no doubt - but grant the throne to someone with greater political experience. Someone who has some sort of reputation, who is known for skill in leadership. Not someone supported by rebels and long-exiled monarchs."

"Whom would you propose, then?" Silvryn interrupted sharply. "We have no other choice, no better alternative. Appoint a lord, the peasants will revolt. Appoint a peasant, the nobles will not follow. Jateyani has the right by heritage - if he'd grown up in the palace, no one would contest that."

"If he'd grown up in the palace, he'd be trained to handle this. He himself admits that he has no experience in ruling. You make your claims, yes, but I've yet to see any clear evidence that this boy benefits Kytana in any way beyond a temporary, unguaranteed sense of 'unity. We need someone who can take charge, make things happen now, not after he's learned a few things.'"


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PostPosted: February 26th, 2009, 1:02 am 
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"Look." They want someone who can take charge? Fine. Jate tried to think back to his earlier conversation with Silvryn; she had seemed to think him somewhat capable. "There's no promising that I'll be wonderful right from the start. But no one is, let's be reasonable. Our main concern right now needs to be stopping chaos from spreading in the city. The faster we act, the more chance we get of stopping rumors. This place is going to be in an uproar soon unless someone is on hand to quell it. I can do it. I'm a quick learner. And it isn't like I refuse sound advice."

Seven levels, what was he getting himself into?

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PostPosted: February 26th, 2009, 10:06 pm 
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"Here's my sound advice for you, boy." Lord Grey stumped forward, and for the first time Phaerin noticed he was using a crooked stick, silver-tipped on the bottom, for support. "Don't think your pretty rock makes you a king."

In the brief pause to allow Lord Grey time to speak - in which the other nobles had fallen silent - Phaerin skirted a gaggle of lords and, shoving his hands deep in his pockets, stepped forward. "Lawfully, possession of the Heartshard makes him king," he pointed out. Dark gods below, the stark comparison between his father and Jate was painful. An oak tree and a sapling.

"Lawfully?" barked Grey. "I'll remind you all" - and he swiveled, nimbly for one of his age - "that assassination of a monarch is not lawful. Nor," this time Phaerin received the steely stare, "is sedition, treason, rebellion, or insolence toward the crown." He straightened and swept the room with one long look. "Mairon had it right. Let the boy use what he has for Kytana. But the Lords should hold power as a council, not this green upstart."

Murmurs of agreement filtered up toward the vaulted ceiling. Phaerin failed at hiding a grimace and turned to meet Silvryn's eyes.

The worst part was that it made sense.

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PostPosted: February 27th, 2009, 8:15 pm 
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D***, Lord Grey had a point. Well if he was going to be king, he needed to get used to working with the lords and with coming up with solutions.

"My lords, if I may? Any decision over the ruler of Kytana, be it me or another, will take more time than we can really afford to spare. I shall assist the country through what is in my power," Jate looked meaningfully at the Heartshard, "and a council will rule until this danger has passed. By that time, I hope you will have seen my merit. Is this agreeable?"

Jate shot a sidelong glance at Silvryn. In some ways, he felt like a puppy seeking approval from its master. He really wasn't sure how all this would turn out. Dark gods, he was only a child compared to these lords! Half of the heads in the room had traces of grey in their beards or thinning hair, while he stood before them, well, young. What a hopeless mess! Why did Silvryn have go be bloody ruler of the bloody elves? Why him? Jate tried to keep terror off of his face. The gods only knew if he succeeded.

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PostPosted: March 1st, 2009, 9:31 pm 
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Silvryn found herself unexpectedly relieved at this new proposal. Regardless of what arguments she put forth, the truth was that Jate was not nearly ready for the responsibility of ruling a country. She was supportive of any plan that allowed a bit more time for his education.

"This will only be a temporary arrangement," she stated for clarification. Jate's vague plan left too many gaping holes that could be exploited. It was best to make everything as specific as possible now, to avoid trouble later. "It is a rather large decision that requires much consideration, but time is also of the essence. And there must be limitations - especially on the interim government. The people need to know that we have been thorough in our planning, and that even though this is a time of transition, the government is still very much stable."

Thus began a period of planning and negotiating and arguing over the various nuances of what, exactly, was to be done now. It was nearly two hours later when they had finally reached something resembling an agreement.

The council would have two weeks to reach a decison. In the meantime, the same council would be in power, but only in a very limited sense. Their purpose was merely to keep the government from collapsing and forestall any uprising among the civilians. All decisions would be reached by vote, and Silvryn, Phaerin, and Jate would still be included in the process. At the end of the two weeks, either Jate or another qualified individual of their choosing would take the throne.

A document was drawn up to establish these terms and others, all who were present signed, and then they dispersed to partake of the noon meal as they pleased. They would reconvene in an hour to determine who would make the address to the public.

As they all went their various ways, Silvryn indicated that Jate should follow her again. She waited until they were a reasonable distance from the others before speaking. "How do you feel that that went?"

------------------------------

Kjan was bored. Given the lack of activity so early in the morning, they had ultimately, at Eledhe's insistence, settled in to watch the Mercenary's Guild for any suspicious activity. Or rather, any suspicious activity that might relate directly to their mysterious assassin. There was none, of course, and Kjan was beginning to think that he might have actually preferred the whiny politicians.

"Right," he said abruptly, standing up from their latest cramped vantage point and dusting himself off. "We're getting nothing done here, and people are actually starting to be out and about now. I saw we make our way towards the market area and see if we can't strike up any conversations. Might find out something useful."


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PostPosted: March 2nd, 2009, 12:20 am 
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The nobles scattered with purpose. For a time, Phaerin didn't move from his ornate chair around the table that had been brought in. Chin in hand, elbow on table, he listened to the buzz of conversation while dignitaries dispersed.

Naively, he assumed he was forgotten.

The heavy hand that landed on his shoulder made him jump. He twisted around, and then caught a grimace just before it landed on his face. "Father."

Lord Grey jerked his head toward the door. "Walk with me." The words thinly disguised command as invitation.

Phaerin was halfway out of his chair purely out of habit before he reconsidered. Stopping in mid-motion and then continuing, more slowly, he turned to fold his arms and scrutinize his father. Lord Grey had once been tall, but his son was taller now. "Why?" demanded Phaerin.

Thick eyebrows jutted formidably. "I held a funeral, Phaerin. I disowned you, to great ridicule from the council for losing my only heir. You owe me, boy."

Phaerin turned away. "I owe you nothing," he returned. "Adopt an heir, then."

"You would do well to listen to me, Phaerin," Lord Grey said, his voice dropping to a growl. "I can have you spend the rest of your miserable life in a palace dungeon. You are dead. If force must be used to ensure you stay dead, so be it."

They faced each other, father and son, in the empty audience chamber, and Phaerin felt his jaw tightening. "Does Phantom Grey intimidate you?" he shot back. "Don't want a lone rebel losing you your prestigious place? Don't worry, I don't want to be related to you any more than you want to be related to me."

"You are nobody, Phaerin. Does that please you?"

The former Phantom Grey stomped around the end of the table toward the door. "You're somebody," he retorted nastily. "Does that please you?"

He was halfway there when fingers clamped on his arm. Apparently the cane did not impede his father's quickness. Phaerin wrenched his arm away and turned, jabbing a finger into his father's chest. "You leave me alone," he said, carefully enunciating every word. He did not have to put up with this. He was not the Phaerin Grey he had been. "I chose what I wanted. You chose what you wanted. They're different. I won't be helping you cling to your precious rank."

This time he stalked out unimpeded. But it didn't keep him from hearing his father's parting words, spat in gravelly tones.

"Leave, Phaerin. Leave Y'rydha and do not come back, or you will live the rest of your life behind bars, and your whelp of a king won't be able to save you."

---

Eledhe might have been bored too. In any case, she grumbled very little, and soon they had melded with the masses in an unyielding current toward the seething anthill that was the west square, at noon on a market day. "Don't be stupid," she snapped before they were forced to disperse by the crowds, not bothering to define 'stupid'.

The fragmented patchwork of market stalls created a veritable maze crammed with people, irritatingly immune to Eledhe's prominent scimitar and forbidding mien. A few elbows in guts earned her a place not far from the front in a throng listening to a scrawny youth with a lyre and his accomplice, a girl with panpipes. Their subject was, of course, predictable: the composition seemed to be a warbled dirge for the late Phantom Grey.

At the woeful conclusion of the song, Eledhe was wondering if humanity could possibly be more obtuse. For certain, the Phantom Grey she knew had perfectly normal parents, unless Lord Grey had hidden his secret profession as an otherworldly wizard all this time (difficult); his talents had also never included dragon-summoning or sprouting wings at will. However, reactions to the song proved more worthwhile listening than the song itself.

"Lies!" screeched a housewife shrilly. "Phantom Grey's a scoundrel an' he never lightened our hearts, he lightened our pockets!"

"Oy, and what was the Regent doin' for you, then?" someone else shouted. "He was goin' ta hang the Phantom is what he was goin' ta do!"

"I think the Phantom killed 'im!"

"The Phantom's dead, idiot!"

Others were chiming in now, and Eledhe listened, detached, until a burly man with the muscles of a blacksmith climbed up onto the edge of a fountain. "I say we make the laws ourselves!" he roared, thumping his chest emphatically with a fist. "Dark gods can have the Regent! We don't need 'im!"

Shouts of approval multiplied. Eledhe considered a moment, then edged over to one of the loudest supporters. "What if the Phantom was tired of unrest?" she inquired. "Maybe he killed himself."

This one was wearing a blood-streaked apron, and thankfully not wielding the cleaver that would go with it. He paused in his hooting enough to turn and scrutinize her, lip curling. "Idiot idea," he said. "You're one o' them mercenaries. Wouldn't have put it past you to kill him."

Nevertheless, he climbed up beside the blacksmith. "If the Phantom's dead, where's his body?" he demanded of the crowd. "Lies! It's all lies! Let's make them show us the Phantom!"

Oops. Not what she had intended.

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PostPosted: March 4th, 2009, 4:35 pm 
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Jate followed Silvryn down the hall, rubbing his temples wearily. Sunlight shone through narrow windows, illuminating strips of the floor and walls. What time was it? Jate wondered to himself. The sun had just risen when they closeted themselves with the lords. At any rate, it was time for some food. He shushed his mewling stomach and tried to focus on Silvryn's question.

"All in all? I suppose it went rather well. It certainly could have been worse. Truth be told, I'm a bit relieved that I don't have to take on all the decisions at once." A dull ache continued to throb behind his eyes. "I wish the lords had been a little more cooperative though."

Jate wandered along the hall and paused to finger a tapestry. "Do you think I could do it?" he asked softly of the colorful knights parading before him. "With training, with help? Could I be ready to be a king?" He had felt so inadequate in the room. The lords, and Silvryn and Phaerin were so adamant, so knowledgeable, so sure of themselves.

Turning, he finally gave in to his stomach. "And do you think we could go to that food now?"

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PostPosted: March 5th, 2009, 1:15 am 
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Silvryn hesitated. She had been intending to show him something - hence walking toward the archives, not the dining hall or their quarters - but she supposed they could eat first. Wordlessly, they turned back the way they had just come.

"The tapestry does not know the answer, I hope you realize," she said. "Nor do I, nor does anyone else. You know yourself better than anyone, and you must decide. Decide that you are capable and act accordingly, or decide that you are not and get out of the way. The only thing you cannot do is continue to wait for someone to decide for you. As long as you have to ask others, the answer is no."

------------------------------

Kjan was unsure how to respond to the rapidly escalating situation. Somebody needed to calm people down, but somehow he doubted that the sudden appearance of an allegedly dead rebel would have an especially placating effect. But at the same time, they could hardly just slip out quietly now, with the risk of a riot starting at any time. Curse it, crowd control was the Phantom's job, not his.

While he was still trying to determine which course of action was least likely to be disastrous, a sudden disturbance on the opposite side of the gathering drew his attention. Their dear Commander Sorian, accompanied by not a few soldiers. Perfect.

The commander shouldered his way through the crowd, then joined the other speakers atop the edge of the fountain despite numerous shouts of protest. "Silence," he ordered, his strong voice still only barely audible through the din. "Go back to your business."

"Regent's lapdog!" someone shouted.

Sorian continued undaunted. "A council of advisors and nobles-"

"A plague on your thrice-cursed nobles!"

"-is meeting even now to resolve-"

"We don't want their resolutions!"

"-this matter. All of your questions will be answered soon enough."

"More lies!"

Kjan, unable to retreat by now even if he'd wanted to, saw one of the men stoop to pick up a loose stone. "Hey, now-" he started, only to be cut off by a sharp elbow to the gut. Sorian somehow managed to dodge the flying rock, and within seconds the soldiers had forced their way through the masses and seized the offender. The masses, however, didn't seem to like this much and, in turn, swarmed the soldiers.

In the blink of an eye, the market square erupted into utter chaos. No doubt the soldiers' weapons would have been very effective, had they been give the opportunity to use them. As it was, by dint of sheer numbers, the peasants nearly seemed to have the upper hand.

Dodging a wildly swinging fist, Kjan quickly cast about. No sign of his companions anywhere, nor the commander, for that matter. After further searching, he finally spotted Sorian making his way out of the square, looking...up? Kjan followed his gaze and swore. Archers, all poised to subdue the crowd if necessary. Because they obviously weren't having enough fun already.

He swore again for good measure and began pushing his way through the chaos. After what felt like ages, he was able to catch the commander by the arm. Sorian quickly shook him off. "You were not to leave the castle."

"Terribly sorry," Kjan replied with questionable sincerity. "Listen, you give the order for those archers to fire, and you'll never gain control of this crowd."

"And how might you suggest going about it?" the commander shot back. "I do not waste life lightly, but this must be stopped before it spreads."

"The only effect killing people will have is making it spread faster. These people have been oppressed and lied to for countless years - do you really think shooting at them will make them any happier?"

"It will make them quieter."

Sorian tried to leave, but Kjan caught his arm again, more firmly this time. "Has it ever occurred to you that that mentality might be why they're revolting in the first place? They're sick and tired of being subdued by force, of being treated like they're expendable. You only make enemies when you do that."

"This is not your undersized rebel force, and I am not your Phantom. We cannot afford the luxury of being liked."

"Talk to them."

"That was already attempted, you'll notice."

"No, I mean - Forget it. Give me five minutes."

"You have three."

Kjan didn't have time to negotiate or question the commander's honesty in this arrangement. He turned hurriedly back into the crowd, trying to push his way to the fountain once more. By pure chance, he stumbled across Eledhe. "We need to do something. Quickly."


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PostPosted: March 6th, 2009, 7:31 pm 
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His father wanted him to leave? Fine. He'd leave. It wasn't as though he played a role in this game of unending diplomacy.

Minutes later Phaerin was emerging from their rooms with what little had come with him - not much - and his determination had heightened to a simmering thundercloud. No more Phantom Grey? Fine. They didn't need him? Well, he didn't need them either.

Briefly he considered leaving a note for Kjan or Silvryn, then tried to compose such a note mentally and couldn't get past the first word. Never mind that.

Nobody bothered him as he left, and as he remembered to pull up his hood in the streets, nobody bothered him there either. Really, it was a beautiful day, as he might have noticed had he looked past the thundercloud. However, it was as though cracks had started in Y'rydha's foundations and were trickling up to fracture the people as well. Even Phaerin noticed the turbulent buzz of frenetic energy that was traveling from citizen to citizen - shopkeepers did not seem to really be paying attention to their wares but rather to the rumors; huddles of goodwives clustered by the fountains with their heads close together. An echo of guilt sounded within him.

No. Phantom Grey was dead, remember? He took a turn that would lead him to the east gate. Five minutes of walking, and he stopped dead.

Commander Sorian was arguing with Kjan on the outskirts of a square - rapidly becoming a square and the streets surrounding it - full of what looked like some very angry civilians. In fact, what were some very angry civilians. Phaerin considered. Or rather, the Phantom made an appearance and considered for him.

It only took a moment. Hood still up, he circled around and found Kjan and Eledhe by the fountain, and in those seconds he had time to hear quite enough.

"Show us the Regent's body!" about equally with, "Show us the Phantom!"

"No more lies!"

"Damn the bloody nobles! We don't need them!"

And so on and so forth. The effect this had was to inspire a Phantomesque idea, so that by the time he reached Eledhe, he had a plan.

"Three minutes?" he said, not bothering with a greeting. "We'll have to stretch that a bit. Eledhe, you're with me. Kjan, if you could keep an eye on the eastern rooftops there and be loud about it when you see me" - he gestured - "I'd be much obliged. Two and half minutes. Off we go."

"What?" said Eledhe when he'd dragged her off, explained his plan in the briefest possible terms, and told her that time was of the essence. "You're crazy! They'll kill you!"

"I'm already dead, remember?" He winked. "Two minutes. Maybe I can give you threefold that. Go fast."

Then he ascended to the rooftops by way of a handy rain barrel and a drainpipe.

---

Intentionally, he'd picked a position where the sun would be behind him and therefore not in his eyes, but in the eyes of the milling crowd in the square. Phaerin straddled the peak of a roof and looked down, trying to catch Kjan's eye. The roar of myriad mingled voices was drifting up to him from the roiling mass of humanity. He cleared his throat. This might mean some yelling. He spotted Sorian at the edge of the square, looking as though he might boil over, and wondered how much of the three minutes had elapsed.

Better not to find out unpleasantly when their time was up. Phaerin twisted to balance on the slippery roof tiles, and waited for them to notice before he attempted to make his voice heard over the crowd.

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PostPosted: March 8th, 2009, 9:09 pm 
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Kjan had long ago learned not to ask questions whenever Phaerin popped up out of nowhere with some vague, no doubt suicidal, plan. It was better for his sanity if he just went along with it, sometimes.

The overall atmosphere in the square was growing increasingly charged. The activity was starting to spill into the streets, which would make crowd control significantly more difficult if it spread much further. The archers were still there, and time was still steadily ticking away. Curse it, Phae, where are you...

"Don't I know you?"

He turned to discover a woman peering under his hood. As quickly as he could without simply drawing more attention to himself, he turned back around and tried to discreetly move away. '"'fraid not."

She followed him. "I'm sure I have. Elbric, doesn' he look familiar?'

A burly man - presumably Elbric - turned briefly from his shouting to give Kjan a cursory glance. "Sure."

"Like as not, you've seen me 'round the market,'' Kjan replied uneasily. It was true, technically - wanted posters were hung all over the city.

"No, isn't that... I never forget a face, though; I'll have it shortly."

Elbric turned back around abruptly, as though just having a thought. "Say, isn' he one o' them-"

Oh, thank the stars. "Oy, it's the Phantom! Phantom Grey 'imself, right up there!"

At first, Kjan's shout seemed to serve little purpose beyond momentarily distracting his new acquaintances. Fairly quickly, though, murmurs started spreading through the crowd, and soon the shouts were instead being directed toward one specific rooftop. About half of the noise consisted of cheers and whatnot, but the other half was not nearly so complimentary.

"Traitor!"

"Murderer!"

"'e's in cahoots with th' nobles, 'e is! Knew it all along!"

Kjan cautiously edged his way out of the crowd. This had better be one *beep* good plan.


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PostPosted: March 9th, 2009, 11:41 pm 
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Phaerin cleared his throat once more, then adopted his idea of a grand pose and hoped the wind was blowing his cloak out behind him. By the feel of it, it was closer to being plastered to the backs of his legs. Oh well.

Unfortunately, the noise didn't seem to be lessening. He scanned the square and gave up, drawing breath for a bellow.

"People of Kytana!" And a few heads turned, a few mouths closed. "People of Kytana, according to your demands, I present - Phantom Grey." He flourished a bow, teetering a little on the roof tiles. "You may have heard me dead."

Again, a swell of noise exploded upward. "Lies!" "What'd I tell you, can't trust the nobles!" "'E's lying, too!"

"On the contrary!" shouted the Phantom - Phantom again, not Phaerin - "I am not lying to you! And had your Regent lived the night he, too, would be an honest man!"

By the sound of it, he commanded far less attention than he would have liked. The smoldering wrath of the mob threatened to burst into flame. Where was Eledhe?

"An honest man!" someone shouted, scoffing.

"Yes, an honest man!" bellowed the Phantom. "Citizens of Y'rydha! Kytana is under attack from those who would destroy us, destroy every last citizen! If we do not band together, the Elves will raze us to the ground and not even I can stop them! Do not let dissension crack us from within!"

Oh, dark gods, it wasn't working. He experienced a moment of sheer panic, and was in the throes of it when Eledhe grabbed his ankle. He yelped and looked down, and she shoved the object he'd sent her for into his hand. "You're crazy," she hissed. "You're a thousand bloody idiot kinds of crazy -"

The Phantom ignored her. He hoisted the Regent's head - macabre, noted some detached part of him, and even the part that had invented the wild plan had to agree that it was gruesome - into the air, and was quite gratified when some degree of shocked silence prevailed.

"Yes," he said. "The Regent is dead. Now you can see for yourselves."

Whatever he'd thought would happen didn't. In fact, for a few moments there was utter pandemonium. Unless he was mistaken, the roof on which he stood was quivering mildly at the shouts from below. 'Oops' didn't seem to cover it.

He vaguely registered another shout from Eledhe before events began to take place in slow motion. He actually saw the man with the crossbow, standing in a brightly sunlit corner of cobblestones and not bothering with concealment, before the bolt arced slowly, slowly through the air. His aim is off, the Phantom thought dimly, and in another time and place he might have sidestepped, might have avoided -

But then they sped up again. He didn't really remember falling from the rooftop, bolt a lance of white-hot pain in his side, but he definitely recalled his arrival on the hard cobblestones, and the strange silence that followed. That lasted for about two seconds. Then he blacked out.

And therefore Eledhe was the only one who saw, from her vantage point on the rooftop, how the crowd surged back like a wave from the place where he'd fallen, and the edges of it - the most shocked, and the women and children - melted away. A core of shouting men, ever smaller, still grappled with Sorian and his forces, but Eledhe didn't care at that point. She slid down the other side already cursing like a sailor.

Well, the idiot had fixed the problem of a riot, at least.

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PostPosted: March 10th, 2009, 8:46 pm 
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Kjan shouldered his way through the dissipating crowd, swearing steadily under his breath. It was fine, he tried to assure himself. Phae got himself injured nearly as often as he got Kjan injured. They'd both been stabbed, bruised, sliced, and so forth countless times and lived to tell the tale (generally with not a few embellishments). It seemed like one of them was nearly always patching up the other for something or another. Getting shot and falling off the roof onto the stone road was a new one, though.

He had to push his way past several soldiers to get to where Phaerin lay. Dark gods, that was a lot of blood. Much of the fabric surrounding the wound was already soaked through. His head didn't seem to be bleeding too badly, though, despite the impact. How hard had he hit? It was a pretty good drop from the roof to the ground. Was anything broken? They wouldn't know until he woke up. Assuming he woke up. Dark gods, that was a lot of blood....

Right. Focus. There was a pulse, and if it wasn't as strong as he would've liked, then at least it was there. He cut and tore a large strip of cloth from Phae's coat and applied it to the wound as well as he could around the shaft of the bolt. He knew better than to remove it, but he did put as much pressure as he dared on the wound. Anything to slow the bleeding.

Vaguely, he was aware of commotion behind him as the soldiers subdued the few who lack enough sense to back down. The man who'd made the shot, too, was apprehended. The appearance of a tall shadow announced the arrival of Commander Sorian.

"Is there someone nearby skilled enough to treat this?" Kjan asked. His voice sounded strained even in his own ears. "My medical knowledge doesn't go much further than this."

The commander nodded. "The royal physician should be more than capable. Stallos."

Kjan glanced up and spotted Ash hovering nearby. "Ash, run to the palace as fast as you possibly can. Find Stallos, tell him what's happened, and send him back here. And if you happen to see Lady Silvryn or Jate, might want to let them know. Silvryn may know where to find the physician, too, if you have trouble. Tell him time is of the essence. Go."

As Ash ran off, Kjan settled into a slightly more comfortable position and tried to calm his nerves. The bleeding was starting to lessen a bit. As long as he kept the pressure on it, they could afford to wait a few minutes. It'd be fine.

Drawing a deep, slow breath, he smirked mirthlessly. "So much for that damn good plan."


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PostPosted: March 12th, 2009, 1:19 am 
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Ash whirled and sprinted towards the palace, glad the crowd was drifting off. It would have been nearly impossible to get through if they were all still packed in the square. The streets weren’t empty, though, and he had to dodge people, bumping into some and hurrying past with a shouted apology.

Even going at full tilt, it seemed like it took far too long until he reached the palace. Finally, he ran inside, let the door slam shut, and collared the first servant he saw.

“Where’s the physician?” he demanded, trying to catch his breath. “The royal physician. What’s his name? Oh, Stallos.”

“He’s likely in his study now, and can’t be interrupted.” The servant glanced at Ash’s dirty, disheveled clothing. “There are other physicians in the city, if-“

“Take me to him.” The servant started to protest, but Ash interrupted again. “The Phan- Phaerin Grey has been hurt. Commander Sorian ordered that Stallos go and take care of him.” That was stretching the truth a bit, but it worked.

After another moment of hesitation, the servant said, “I’ll go tell him. Wait here, please.”

“I’ll tell him myself. Show me where he is.”

Five minutes later, the royal physician had left the palace, hurrying towards the square. Ash watched him go and let out his breath in relief. Seeing his leader plunge from the rooftops with a crossbow bolt stuck in him had not been pleasant. At least he would be in good hands now.

Ash turned away from the door and started walking down a long hallway, searching for Lady Silvryn and Jate. After some looking and questioning a few servants, he found the pair.

“M’lady. Jate. The Phantom’s been hurt.” He winced slightly at his own words. That wasn’t a good way of breaking the news. “He was shot with a crossbow and… fell.” That sounded even worse. “Kjan’s with him, though, and the physician will be there soon, too.”


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PostPosted: March 12th, 2009, 11:16 pm 
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Silvryn nodded mechanically. The Phantom had been shot. Ash was making a valiant attempt at putting a more optimistic spin on it, but obviously the Phantom was wounded badly enough to require that the physician go to him and not vice versa. What circumstances could he have possibly gotten himself into within the past twenty minutes that would involve not only getting shot, but falling off of something? She was about to ask Ash precisely this when she realized that she probably didn't want to know.

She glanced at the clock down the hall. The council could wait. "Can you take us to them?"

--------------------

After what felt like an eternity (but was in truth probably no more than ten minutes or so) Kjan spotted a middle-aged man - presumably Stallos - hurrying toward them, followed by a youth who was struggling with a rather heavy-looking bag. The physician scarcely even glanced toward Kjan and the bleeding, unconscious man lying in the street, instead going straight for Sorian.

"I'll have you know, commander, that I have rather important things to be doing at the present and cannot simply be summoned on a whim. Furthermore, you might at least come yourself, rather than send a boy. Now, what's this about a phantom and a bolt or some such nonsense?"

Sorian merely nodded toward where the Phantom lay on the ground with a crossbow bolt sticking out of him.

"I see. I must admit, I never thought I would be asked to patch up the infamous Phantom Grey."

"You will help him, though, right?" Kjan asked. "We're not even really outlaws any more, technically."

"Of course I will," Stallos scoffed, indicating for the boy to set the bag down. "I'm a doctor, not a politician. Discrimination's best left to those who care. Move."

Reluctantly, Kjan stood up and took a step back. He tried to be inconspicuous as he watched Stallos begin a preliminary inspection of the wounds.

"How hard did he hit?" the physician asked abruptly, looking up at Kjan.

"Ah...well, he fell from up there, so..."

Stallos had already gone back to work, unwinding a bandage and beginning to wrap Phaerin's head. "No sign of serious damage to the skull itself, though no doubt a rather nasty concussion. I'd feel better if he were conscious, but I suppose it's to be expected. The bolt's far enough to the exterior that I don't think it struck anything absolutely vital, for which he is quite fortunate, but there's still quite a bit of blood loss to worry about. Of course, there's also an assortment of scrapes and bruises to see to, and I'd wager at least a few cracked ribs. I'm going to operate here, in order to minimize movement."

Kjan took a moment to sift through the assessment. Even assuming the bolt was removed safely and not too much blood was lost and Phae regained consciousnesses without difficulty, it sounded like it would be a while before he was anywhere near fully mended. Kjan hated to think what might happen if it came to battle before then, or they were forced to leave quickly, or anything else that generally required physical well-being. He also hated to imagine what Phaerin's mood would be once he was informed of this.

And he also hated standing around uselessly. "I can help, if you-"

"I'd rather you didn't."

Well, there went that idea. A group of people had gathered to watch curiously, though the presence of Sorian's soldiers ensured that they remained at a distance. Kjan was just thinking about going and making some attempt at speaking to them when from the crowd came Ash, followed closely by Silvryn and Jate.

"What happened?" Silvryn demanded as soon as she'd reached the others. She tried to keep her gaze fixed on Kjan, rather than where Phaerin still lay.

"The idiot took it upon himself to try to stop a protest from escalating," Kjan said, shrugging. "It didn't work. Or rather, it did, but not quite how he'd planned, I think. Though one can never be entirely sure with Phae."

Abruptly, he turned to Eledhe. "What was his plan, anyway? Just stand up there and wave around a severed head until people listened?"


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PostPosted: March 12th, 2009, 11:41 pm 
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"The idiot thought that if he showed them who was alive and who dead, they might stop complaining about being lied to," said Eledhe, shoving her thumbs in her belt and leaning against the nearest wall. "Mobs are irrational."

"What's this about a severed head?" snapped Stallos - stretched taut as a lyre string, Eledhe observed - and an uncomfortable silence fell.

Oh. That might not go over well with fussy nobles. Eledhe mentally cursed the Phantom's suicidal plans, cursed herself for throwing her lot in, and - out loud - cursed this newest inconvenience. The physician shot her another glance, and she shut up and fixed Kjan with a look. "Where did it go?" she muttered from the corner of her mouth.

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