1????????Soul Bound
1.3??????Making a Splash
1.3.3????An Unrequited Love
1.3.3.5? Ultimatum
Captain Farinacci: “So listen up. I hereby recognised every one of you worthless scum as being a damned protestor, and I will take the greatest delight in fucking over not only you, but also burning down your homes along with any brats or sluts infesting it, if I can still see your ugly mug goblyn faces by the time I finished counting down from one hundred. 99. 98. 97….”
One of the workers picked up a piece of dried dung, from a pile left by the ponies who pulled the delivery carts, and flung it at the Captain. He coolly dodged it and kept counting, but there were jeers and others started looking around for stones or other ammunition.
Bulgaria: {I can hear hooves on the road. A lot of them. Kafana, do something!}
What did she know about these people? She thought about Harlequin’s pride and refusal to submit meekly to the disdainful judgement of others. She thought about Madero’s words about the power of mockery and the importance of reputation. She thought about Tickton, and the way every business was so dependent upon the support and acceptance of their neighbours. She thought about the resentment expressed against those who dismissed them as stupid.
Captain Farinacci: “...92. 91….”
She looked up at the document on the wall. That was the key. This wasn’t a battle between people. This was a battle of perceptions, a battle over meaning and identity. All she needed was a story, a narrative for later historians to copy, one that would pull her listeners in the direction she needed them to go. She’d acquired A way with words as a skill. Let’s see if she could use it…
Kafana: {Guys, I’m going to try to get everyone out of sight inside the foundry. Help move them and get me Giare ready to stand up and agree when I ask him a question. Bungo, bring me that charter.}
Captain Farinacci: “...87. 86….”
She jumped back up on the trolley she’d sung from, and felt the drain as System fully activated her skills.
Kafana: “That captain wants a physical fight doesn’t he? With us on one side. The side of those working hard for a better future, who are asking only for the respect their work deserves and the protection of those claiming to act on your behalf. And, on the other side, the professional warriors working for those who have beaten and stolen from you, tricked you and sneered at you, and who have gotten away with it not because they are better than you but because they have the backing of the rich and powerful, and the indifference of the majority. He’s spent years training how to stab people with that little sword of his, and he’s probably pretty good at it. A physical battle plays to his strong point. Probably his only one.”
Trolezzo immediately picked up on the innuendo and made a rude gesture, causing those around her to laugh and Farinacci to flush red with anger.
Captain Farinacci: “...75. 74….”
Bungo handed her the charter and she put some bite into her voice, judging the timing was right.
Kafana: “He must think we’re stupid! That’s not the way we do things in the Ghetto.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
She held the charter up high.
Kafana: “There’s going to be a battle sure enough, but it won’t be the sort he’s good at. We’re going to hit Pazzi where it really hurts - in his pocket! This is going to be a battle over reputation. If a business in the Ghetto rips you off, doesn’t act as a member of the community, all the others refuse to trade with them. How will Tridella, Gimet and Mazoni fare if nobody sells them metal or leather until they demand the guild starts listening? You don’t need to set people on fire, just talk to them. Spread the word! And you can’t do that if you’re dead or arrested. Everyone here is tough and determined, but right now what we need to do is show them we’re smart too. Master Giare?”
Master Giare: “Yes, Suor Kafana?”
Captain Farinacci: “...63. 62….”
Kafana: “Nice and loudly, please announce you’re inviting all your friends here inside on behalf of the company who owns the building for an unannounced tour and demonstration. And then politely thank the guards and make clear their presence inside is unnecessary and not authorised. Everyone else? You want Goffa to be remembered? Well, we’re going to make everyone remember Goffa and those like her, those unfairly treated as ‘worthless scum’. We’re going to make them remember her the way she’d like to be remembered, not by bending to the pathetic manipulation of that ‘lordly’ captain and lickspittle priest. Are you with me?”
She put as much contempt into the word ‘lordly’ as she could, then gestured to Giare before turning her back to the guards. The crowd growled their agreement, every eye locked upon her. She put everything into her final words.
Kafana: “Chartist workers of the Ghetto… FOLLOW ME !”
Jumped off the trolley, high into the air, blue hair trailing behind her like a tidal wave, before landing lightly and then striding towards the entrance of the building, still holding the charter like a battle banner. She looked only ahead, not willing to risk breaking the momentum by taking time to check how the crowd were reacting to her words, rising above her fear to project confidence with every ounce of her determination. Would it be enough?
Captain Farinacci: “...48. 47….”
After her came Bungo, bringing all the leaders and, behind them came the rest. They moving with a unity of purpose, a unity formed under the pressure of the last few hours, but seeded days ago when magic had been cast at a funeral upon mourners from all parts of Basso - a magic that wove lives together like a willow basket, creating a collective identity strong enough to bear even life’s heaviest burdens.
An identity which, like willow, was also flexible enough to adapt. Flexible enough to accommodate and incorporate additional strands. These people had shared history, grievances, values and demands. But now, thanks to the Wombles, they had a plan to follow. A direction to move in. No longer were they just a crowd, or temporary group of protestors without name or identity. They were a movement. And they had one more thing.
They had a leader.
*ding* [Your party’s reputation with the Chartists has increased by 1500.]
*ding* [Your reputation with the Chartists has increased by 1000.]
[You have attained the following rank with the Chartists: “Provisional Leader”.]
[Skill “Rulership” has reached level 3.]
[Skill “A way with words” has reached level 10.]
[Skill “Etiquette (common)” has reached level 1.]
[Skill “enhanced willpower” has reached level 11.]
Once far enough inside, she felt safe enough to turn and take stock. Wellington was outside with the tall Master Armourer Giare, coaching him on legal terminology and altering the amplifier spell to ensure his words reach beyond the captain to buildings across the road where people looking out of windows could act as witnesses. The captain had stopped counting and was heading back towards his guards, now reinforced by four more mounted patrols and what looked like several specialist squads of mages, archers and even a heavily armoured unit that seemed to be forming a shield wall.
Bungo was shepherding the last few stragglers inside, while Tomsk was warning people to avoid the areas he’d set up traps in and Bulgaria briefed the elders about the escape routes he’d found so far. So far, so good. Perhaps that captain would give up now? She crossed her fingers.
