Cathay/RP/Establishment 2

A sword slashed through the air, betrayed by a glimmer of light peeking its way through misshaped boards intended to barricade a window. The blade missed its mark, instead impacting upon a chair that was present as a matter of happenstance. This also meant that the majority of the force behind the blade had already dissipated leaving only a chunk missing from the chair instead of a dismembered back.

This part of the city had grown troublesome. Riots had broken out as food stores continued to plummet as those farther down the pecking order were first to be left without. Despite the chaos, however, the nobles who called themselves Cathayans had managed to garner back some level of control. People were beginning to speak in favor of the new government, hopeful of future food deliveries instead of bitter at the lack of current stores. A few pockets of upstarts still remained, not to mention the countless damage done to the local buildings and farmlands, but if these new nobles had gained anything it was respect of the common folk for their degradation.

It was unusual to say the least. A noble acting as a sheriff policing the streets, or a lady working a field with hands that had likely never touched a farm tool. Yet, whatever was driving these nobles was appreciated, and that appreciation was showing.

Of course, the opinion of a mob can shift with the wind...

Having avoided the first blow from a man barely clothed, Ranulf remained on the defensive as he backpedaled through a doorway. The minimal light in this house did not provide the best grounds for fighting, and it was his intention to draw the man to a more appropriate arena. Following Ranulf through the doorway, the other man pitched back his shoulder as if to hack at a tree. Such a powerful attack, while devastating if it should hit, is also a timely blow. Time that could be filled with a few precise thrusts of a sword.

As the first stream of crimson began to flow across the floor, Ranulf took another step backward to avoid soiling his boots. His steward, Mr. Regan, would be appalled to see such a mess of his fineries. Just then one of the men from his unit arrived at the entrance of the house speaking, “M'Lord, we have found more vagabonds in need of your attention.”

“Bring them to the magistrates,” he replied, “they may plead their case at first light.”