Announcement from Captain-General Del'Rosa
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After spending several hours in the Mermaid, Brumir comes out looking like he's had more than a few drinks. He approaches the crowd and speaks
_"Look at all ye folks bitchin' an' moanin' 'bout dis shite! Sum o ye bitchin' 'bout da Senate, sum o ye bitchin' 'bout da king here, an' sum o ye looks at Aelthas just standin' 'round in girly armor! Ye think all dis shite is relevant compared ta Gralin's mum!? It won't matter iffn' ye have a Senate er a king cause she'll eat dem all da same!
Ah bet sum o ye thinkin' ah makin' dis up! Ye ever hear o da region o Faerun called da Endless Wastes? It were nay always like dat! It were once a vast an' mighty kingdom dat had an army o millions! But one day Gralin's mum got hungry an' ate it all! Den just like dat, it were da Endless Wastes! Every time Gralin's mum passes gas, a hin village gets obliterated! O course her appetite is only matched by her sexual desires! She nay always eats men right away, sumtimes she forces dem ta put babies in her belly, den she eats dem! Ah tell ye, Gralin's pappy be da bravest kin ta ever live goin' ta bed wit dat! Dey call him ole' Pancake Thighs since Gralin's mum were da one on top!
So ye all go 'head an' continue pissin' an' moanin' 'bout yer next leader, but remember - when it comes ta Gralin's mum dere is nay good er evil, nay law er chaos, nay holy er unholy, nay natural er unnatural, nay moral er immortal - dere is only wut she has eaten, an' wut she has yet ta eat!
Now iffn' ye'll excuse me, ah need ta go back ta Aura Runedar an' put sum water in Rary's mum's bowl. Moradin guard ye."_
Brumir wobbles off towards the docks
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George nods at Marty
"It is true there will be some upset people in Norwick. Mainly the flour merchants. Think on it for a while, though. With the current coldsnap, the productivity on the fields is low.
The Norwickians need their food, so the trade will automatically slow down, while the prices increase. This will leave the importers in our city with the alternative option, Hoarsgate, which has been used previously when trade with south has been compromised. Do we want to pad the pockets of Vaster?
If you recall my earlier answer, I spoke of 'reducing dependency'. Trade with Norwick is a good thing. Dependency is not.
As for the coldsnap, that is another matter that needs to be solved, much like other dangers threatening our time from time to time. I intend a system of Crown Bounties, used against plots that make our city vulnerable. Adventurers are a resource that should not be ignored."
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So when you say that your "first order of business" will be to move toward reduced trade with "the south", how do you think Norwick will feel about that?
((edited because of quote fail))
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Eilonna smiles warmly to him in a friendly manner as she speaks calmly
While I don't speak of hostility's between us, there has been a great deal of distance between Peltarch and Norwick, something during the Gnoll war I sought to fix and bring unification back. Something I would hope to see continued as I believe both Peltarch and Norwick could benefit one another.
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George looks oddly at Eilonna
"Damaged? Neither me, nor any of my friends have anything against Norwickians. Their chief apparently even fought as our ally in the war. What is this 'damaged relations' you speak of?"
Most commoners lift their eyebrows, never having heard of damaged relations. The merchants nod at George's words for they do weekly trade with Norwick.
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Yana moves quietly through the crowd, guard badge visible, making it a point to be in close proximity to the more "passionate" hecklers in the audience. She briefly shadows Cormac as he exits the city before returning to the crowd. She makes no effort to be stealthy in this process.
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Eilonna shakes her head turning back to George waiting for him to answer her question calmly
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Heorge simply surveys the crowd calmly, as there are no non-rhetoric questions being asked. The defenders near the rant stand grab their halberds tighter as the barbarian start acting dangerously.
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Bael nods to the Half Orc as he now keeps beside the man for his protection watching the crowd cautiously
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Watching Cormac leave, the half-orc returns to his station without a word.
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Cormac literally howls a laugh, and claps his hands together in a single terrifying, whip-sound crack.
"_The hell has any of this got to do with a pair of Elves? We are 'MEN', not the polished-arse types of men from Cormyr, or - haha - whatever that blonde said, Suzail? Same place, whatever, poncey whatever it is. Your decadent ways, bah, I spit on what you'd call 'right to rule'. We are men from the 'North', whether you appreciate or accept it or not - Elf - the right to challenge has ever been our way! Or has Peltarch gone soft in the loins since the old days?
Bah, I don't even care. Your city can cram itself up it's own ass for all I care. I'm not even from here, I just wanted to see if I could scare the old bastard to death - bahah!_"
With that he about turns and walks away, slow-clapping and cackling to himself like a mad dog, away and out of the city.
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- A male elf steps up beside the elderly man protectively wearing the Defenders armor and nods to him reassuringly*
Cormac was it? Perhaps you should move along, we don't accept challenges for Royalty. This is the decision of the people, not of some vagabond that wishes to display himself for all to see.
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Eilonna shakes her head
Blow it out yer ass Cormac before the guards here remove you for causing a disturbance. I would prefer the old man to you any day. Yer just still sore because you lost at a fair roll. Grow up and stop acting like a five year old boy, gods my sons act more mature then you.
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Cormac's eyes narrow at the Half-Orc, he snarls at the creature.
"Get lost 'soldier-boy', you don't want to be measuring axes with me. For all you know - I could be your next king, unless the old man is CHICKEN! Bahahah! But seriously. Get lost. Oppress someone who gives a half-a-damn."
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A towering half orc in Defender armor steps up to Cormac:
Yous keep calm. This Peltarch. We no challenge to rules. Peoples choose what want. If want senate, Peltarch has senate. If want king, Peltarch has king. Is not hard. If want measure ax, Vugdush ax bigger. So calm.
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The barbarian gives Elionna a look as hard as iron and growls a few words toward her.
"Shut your mewing mouth you damned brainless, gutless, thieving witch. I've never lied to you or to anyone else, you ugly-faced crow, it's because I'm so damn honest that you rat-people can't control your stupid tempers around me. I would be a 'great' king, a passionate king. A king with 'many' sons. A people's king, hah! What say you, Elf-chebs?* Would you rather have a king who's scepter can't royally rise to the occasion, or a manful, meaty, loving machine to lead your city into prosperity?"
((Chebs is a common slang word in my town for boobs))
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Lycka, after a hushed conversation with her youngest son and some stern finger-wiggling, straightens to give Martoushca an incredulous stare.
"Marty… first up, get your facts straight. Second, a -bit- rhetorical?"
She seems about to continue when Cormac's sudden bellowing disrupts her chain of thought, giving the tall barbarian a look that almost, but not quite, matches the first.
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Hrmph! Peltarch would turn Norwick into a colony! A king aspires to a kingdom, not a city!
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A female elf in a white gown some may recognize as Eilonna limps to the side holding a staff as she looks between the man and the Barbarian man yelling speaking calmly
To our yelling friend, you would be a horrible king, you have no patience, you can't stand losing, you lie and you make up stories to credit your lies to your benefit. Sorry but your not really fit to be king.
Secondly…She turns back to the older man I have no qualms with you becoming King, I would only ask what you would do about reforging the friendship between Peltarch and Norwick. Something that has been damaged for a very long time. Understandably we do not wish to become a part of Peltarch but prefer to work to become friends again and work to better one another.
She leans on the staff as she looks up to the man quietly awaiting his answer.
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A barbarian looms over many of the folk in the crowd, his face painted grimly with black streaks, his armour black, his tight leather pants - black. He points a finger at George and bellows out with a voice like thunder.
"You! Old man! You want to be king? 'I' want to be king. And you're so old and weak that 'I' think I'll take your crown. I challenge your right to rule, I challenge you to match me in a contest - of your choosing - to determine which of us shall be KING!!"
