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The Sad State of Security in the Jewel


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"The situation is handled," they tell us. "There is no threat," they say. Anyone who was present in the Quicksand yesterday knows what a load of aldgoat peat that is if they happened to catch witness to one of the Sultanate's toy soldiers viciously and savagely accost someone in the middle of the street. The official story we're supposed to choke down is that a man in a cowl attacked a woman, and justice saved the day. What sort of justice represents itself as a bloodthirsty maniac whose first choice of actions is to start cutting off hands?

 

And now we're supposed to believe this man was a Voidsent? Witnesses testify that the blood that spilled was black, not red, and that he spoke with the affectations of someone possessed of the darkness. Praytell, friends, what would anyone know of someone touched by darkness? Besides, how likely would you be to speak ill of someone who opted to start hacking off limbs at the first sign of dissent? Someone who directed, nay, someone who ORDERED a nearby thaumaturge to "torch" the body before it could be recovered? Surely we are to believe his interests were of safety, and not concealing his midday murder.

 

Look around at your so-called protectors, citizens! Do not believe their lies and propaganda. We must be ever vigilant to protect ourselves from those who would abuse us!

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Bri huffed as she listened in. She was not happy with how her day went about. She would not speak up as the man yelled as she was apparently this weak innocent woman who was attacked. It was not like her to not sense someone coming and hated any image that made her look less than she was. The whole scene last sun was a complete mess. She could only listen to the panic that occurred like some child being protected.

 

She spat down to the ground with a grunt. She did owe Warren for saving her life but that meant she had to speak up. It was hard as her pride was about the only thing she had left anymore. "Oi! Keep talkin' and I'll cut off yer hands. He did what he had ta do. Quit yer bitchin'."

 

Before anyone could correct her or speak out she would just turn to leave. She needed a drink.

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  • 2 weeks later...

The stranger - a midlander who was most assuredly NOT Warren, though the author sees now how that could have been interpreted - looked at the doubts cast on his words and seemed to embrace those obstacles as small hurdles which to trample.

 

"My testimony is the same as every truthful citizen who witnessed the brutality of our so-called-self-declared protector! A man was accosted without questioning or reasoning, his body hastily destroyed and the evidence burned! Surely we should not question the immutable word of 'law,', friend! Surely, we too might find ourselves possessed of the void and dealt with similarly!"

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  • 2 weeks later...

The black haired and gray-skinned miqo'te watched silently for some time before speaking up, his tone soft but also amused. "One corpse.. One body.. and you start a campaign. For all we know with the one individual, it was truly the case. Should more cases come to light, I might be more inclined." A small, amused smirk was playing on his lips. Death was merely a part of business, after all. "What solution do you propose, stranger? If you've thought this through enough to preach to us, then you must have thought of something that can be done to prevent this from occurring again.. besides standing on your soapbox and yelling your lungs out." His tail flicked behind him, his crimson eyes observing both the man and those around him.

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