Tumult

Ostiarium
JP with Omni, Bandorchu, and Lucian

Tarmen, while still sympathetic to the plight of the natives, was still in no mood to see innocents murdered. After their journey however, he was not about to jump into a fight so quickly.

Stopping two soldiers, he bellowed orders over the din to try and head off whoever the figures were before turning back to Alexis in case she hadn't seen them.

"We need to head off whoever just ducked into the shadows before they make more chaos. Seems there isn't much for us here, eh?"

As Tarmen's voice cuts through the tumult, roaring with authority born out of necessity, the response from the two soldiers is mixed. The first, a stoic figure cloaked in the quiet gravitas of the Silent Flock, fixes Tarmen with a glare of disdain for being ordered about by some stranger. He communicates in response with a sharp, dismissive gesture in sign language—a silent but unequivocal insult that leaves no room for misunderstanding.

The second soldier, however, carries a different air about him—one of recognition and a touch of respect. His face breaks into a semblance of acknowledgement, his eyes narrowing as memories slot into place. "Oi, 'e's alright," he asserts. "Seen 'im wif’ Sir Zane. Come on, then," he urges, clapping his companion on the shoulder with a sense of camaraderie. "Let's see what's what."

With a reluctant nod from the member of the Silent Flock, the two soldiers pivot on their heels, their initial hesitation quickly giving way to action. They dive into the fray,

Tarmen’s call pulls Alexis attention away from the congregation of colonists.

She emits a short whistle and calls over to the colonists, “Either get to safety or go help!”

They can’t be everywhere at once and Tarmen is right, if the perpetrators are still here they need to be taken care of.

At the center of the tumult and shouting is a confrontation between a man in dark desert garb and the gathering of colonists who have ensnared him.

The man struggles fiercely against their grip, desperation etched into his every move. His attire, suited for the harsh deserts far beyond the city's walls, marks him as an obvious outsider. As Alexis and Tarmen watch, momentarily halted by the unfolding drama, the situation escalates.

Pinned on his back by the choke hold of a dockworker, the dark robed man's free hand darts to his boot. With a swift motion born of necessity, he draws a short, curved blade. A glint of steel catches the light of one of the many fire. Some of colonists recoil, others try to stop him, but not before the blade finds its mark, plunging into the flesh of the man holding him.

A gasp ripples through the crowd as the dockworker staggers back, wounded, and the desert man seizes the opportunity to break free. His escape is a desperate sprint, his robe billowing behind him as he dashes away from the crowd down the alleyway, stray colonists' hands grazing him, nearly causing him to stumble in his frantic bid for freedom.