As the day is drawing to a close, and the wet, dirty fog of the river moth crawls across the cityscape. The flickering yellow light of the gaslights starts drawing ghosts across the approaching dusk.
No wonder you're all edgy.
Across the street cries of abuse explode in all directions. Time passes and the cries gets more desperate, more tinged with hysteria than what's healthy.
"Rashan says he's infected"
"Uhuh, he did not."
"Yes he did!"
"nuhuh. It's not true."
"Mockra is nastier. He touched me in a very wrong place."
"I tried touching Barghast but she hit me, even after all the flirting"
"But look, I see fungus growing on rashan's neck"
"That's his beard, you moron."
"Even after I bought her flowers"
"Beard on his neck? That makes no sense"
"I thought we had something going on"
"You make no sense!"
"A chemistry you know"
"I think we should l calm down and be rational here"
"And then she stabs me. In the knee!"
"He's being rational! Kill him!"
The tumult gets worse. Fists are out. Barghast beats crazed suitors away with her stick, suddenly someone screams. There's [insert name] with red fungus spreading from beneath his hair down his neck.
"INFECTED!"
In a roar the crowd throws themselves at [alt] with murder in their eyes. It's a mob and they want blood. Much the same as Barghast wanted when she knocked [alt] above his ear with her stick when he tried to grope her just a moment ago.
xxx is dead ladialdialdila.
It's now night. Tomorow night, the Festival takes place. The fear is already spreading.
This post has been edited by Path-Shaper: 24 June 2009 - 08:21 PM
Only someone with this much power could make this many frittatas without breaking any eggs.