Open [The Syliras Theater Square] Exploring Syliras

[Rhys Blodwen]

17th OF FALL, 513 A.V. TWELFTH BELL, THIRD CHIME Syliras is a big city. This Rhys knew. When he had set out from the White Swan, he had anticipated the size of the city. Although... He may not have anticipated the true greatness of the city. He thought this as he stood before the Theater Square. The structure towered above the man, staring back down at him as he gazed upon it. The man contemplated stepping closer for a moment, as he wasn't used to public places, such as a park. Even though Rhys had no idea, yet, of what the purpose of the gigantic structure was, he could infer from the large crowd of people that it was fairly public. Would he know how to act? Would he know what to say? Would he know what to do? Rhys was unsure of himself, now more than ever. He had little to no experience in this kind of situation. The determination that Rhys prided himself on could not be found. He was shaking inside. It was at this kind of situation where he missed the comfort of company most. Just as he had rarely been in public, he had rarely ever been on his own. The sheer weight of the moment intimidated him, and very few things intimidated Rhys. What the hell am I doing. He thought to himself. He curled his hands into fists, locked his jaw, and set sights on the base of the structure. Step by step, he approached the building, and whatever was inside. He was wary, yes, but he couldn't quake in his boots every time a crowd faced him. It was time. He was closer, now, the structure ready to swallow the human whole. As his heartbeat quickened, so did his feet on the paved road. He was ready. Or, so he thought. He was still intimidated by the size of the crowd, he was still intimidated by the possibilities, he was still intimidated by the endless unknowns, but he was not afraid. Or, not yet. He had to see what would come.

[Bolivar]

Finding an empty room in the top floors was simple enough. Overlooking the theater square Bolivar found that he was no way shielded from the sights and sounds below him. Which was perfect for the squire, there were times when absolute silence was needed but on the whole Bolivar found that he worked better feeding off the energy in the air. Dressed in his casual pocket robes Bolivar already prepared a chair and table arrangement near the window looking listlessly on the grounds before him. Inspiration was looking to be elusive that day as his eyes looked back at the paper before him. A scroll of parchment was lying open on the table with his right hand over ready to write. What contingency could he hope to prepare for if he was just writing something down on a piece of parchment? The question lingered in the mixed blood's mind musing silently, trying to work past the chaos in the background to find his answer. What was it that I...these thoughts needed, wanted? It had been bothering him more finally realizing what the problem was and now it started to haunt the squire with every breathe. Bolivar could take an arrow, he can deal with getting ambushed from out of nowhere but this was different. This was bothering him at each turn, nothing life threatening but the squire dreaded what might become of him if this continued on any longer. His only hope was to figure out what exactly he wanted. Not just him. These phantom thoughts that clouded his judgement. The obvious solution was to find something practical for the squire's mind to work on. Bolivar's right hand drooped as he reapplied a fresh coat of ink while glancing at the blank parchment. Staring at the grounds below him Bolivar waited patiently despite the nagging in his head. Give me inspiration. Give me thought. Before the day comes this nagging becomes too much to handle. oocOverlooking from above since public relations are not really the squire's thing.

[Rhys Blodwen]

He strode with a new pep in his walk. He had done it. Or, he will do it. The gargantuan building - whatever it was - wasn't as intimidating as originally expected. it was just... It was large. It was very, very large. And filled with strangers. That may or may not kill him on a moment's notice. Stop thinking like that! He silently screamed at himself. He knew that coming here wasn't exactly the worst place he'd ever been. The Bronze Woods still haunted him... Don't think like that, either. As he looked around, he attempted to gather information about the large structure. Wide, even circular angles, merchants, street performances, a staircase to gods know how many floors... He had no clue what it was, honestly. A common area? A shopping-centre? He had no idea. There was too much diversity. As he was observing the colossus, he began to become unaware of his movements. As he was trying to peer up a staircase, he lost his footing, and tumbled into a mass of people... Probably a family. As Rhys spun to hit the floor, he peered up at the scene above. The people had a sort of Domino Effect, as the family, and some others, were on the ground with him. An uproar of groans from the crowd next to him. Oh, no. He thought, getting up onto one knee. Oh, gods, no... He looked around. Exactly what he feared. He had attracted the attention of the general public. He scrambled from the ground, sprinting for the staircase. He felt uneasy in the stomach... He collapsed on the stairs, and leaned over. There was a strange pulse in his throat. What... There it was again. WHAT IS THIS!? His question was answered with the next pulse. On the stairs in front of him. Before him was breakfast. Rhys felt uneasy again.

[Bolivar]

Inspiration came in the form of a lack of thought. With that lack of thought his inspiration fell short delivering Bolivar's sudden epiphany. That "nagging" soon turned into focus trying to grasp that indecipherable thought that tried to form itself into words. It just on the tip of his tongue and yet it lingered lame, without movement. It was do or die here in the squire's mind. Somewhere he had been hinted a realization that he had to put down in his glyph. Bolivar's hands moved deliberate and concise describing a circle and accompanying components. Two triangle focuses, their barrier, an easy trigger that responded to a spoken word and the paths that combined them together! This was it! A breakthrough in his glyphing practices was to be created here and now. Now for the last part... but how would he put them together? Rubbing head forehead in irritation Bolivar hinged on nervous collapse or breathtaking revelation. That was until the momentous commotion brought the squire back to focus. A slight jolt from the surprise nearly slipped the inkwell all over his latest creation to which he reacted instantaneously. Quickly reacting Bolivar pushed the inkwell off the table, giving a relieved sigh as he looked back at his paper. Pristine and in good condition Bolivar attention went to his hand coated in ink on one side. Sighing slightly the squire looked out to the common grounds to see what the huge uproar was. From what he had seen something had toppled a good score of men outside, perhaps a beast gone awry or some sort of troublemaker looking to make a scene. Watching the commotion from afar Bolivar could only guess what had happened. Did it warrant his attention? Looking for something amiss the squire noticed a few odd behaviors from a few that looked to be trying to get away from the scene. One of which was just down the flight of stairs just opposite of his room and another that was... "Ugh" Walking across the room he picked up his weapon harness before stepping out into the ensuing chaos outside. Reaching the bottom of the stairs the commotion gave life to music as a festive song reached the squire's ears. No doubt a busker's idea of a witty response to the brouhaha. Looking at what looked to be his first suspect Bolivar spoke in almost a growl "What happened here?" Nothing groundbreaking news. When asked who the boy a curt response was given with only minor hesitation. A simple runner of the city, delivering messages, that just happened to run past all the mess. Waving him off Bolivar looked at the other problem across the square. The one vomiting all over the place. Though he was dressed in his casual robed wear Bolivar did not go anywhere without his axe. Bolivar's weapon harness hanged on the shoulder carrying the grand weapon, the squire paced leisurely to where Rhys was. Clearing his throat slightly Bolivar eyes scrutinized Rhys closely, no apparent concern in his eyes, his posture presenting the question that went unasked. Relaxed while resting on the wall near Rhys, Bolivar waited until he was sure he had the other's attention. The squire's thoughts cycling to the mess of a man before him, the revelries and shouts of emotion from the unrelenting crowd of people in the square and moments later wondering what the stranger was doing before spilling his guts on the floor. "This isn't looking good for you. Ser. Pray tell stranger, would you mind clearing up a few things for me? Start first with the mess you made. Then we can exchange pleasantries you and I." oocSorry for the length. Want to make sure you understand what's going on though.

[Rhys Blodwen]

Clutching his stomach, Rhys rolled onto his side, away from the puddle of vile fluids that tortured both his eyes and his nose. Rhys' throat burned from the expulsion of the pile, almost as if he had swallowed a live flame. And his stomach ached as never before, almost as if a boulder had been flung at his torso, hard. Truly, the magnitude of his pain was great. For the moment, Rhys focused on compensating for the pain that came with the pile of goo next to him. Nothing else mattered to him. He didn't care what happened, or what would happen. This sensation was new, and it was ugly, it was grossly unpleasant and Rhys absolutely hated it. The pain and the burning were almost too much to bear. Dare he open his eyes? He knew what he'd see. He'd see a crowd of hateful Sylirians gaping at his disgusting audacity, silently cursing him. His presumption was close to the reality. Squinting, Rhys peered at the crowd yonder. Mouths agape, yes. Staring, yes. Although, they were not staring at Rhys, but directly above him. "This isn't looking good for you, ser." Came the voice above him. Rhys hesitantly rolled onto his back, staring up at the disgruntled man above him. He seemed menacing, upset, even a little sadistic. He then shifted his gaze to the stranger's apparel, looking to infer anything about the figure from what he wore. It was simple attire- A robe, some boots, nothing much. His clothes signalled almost perfect casualty. Or... So Rhys thought until his eyes fell upon the ax the man carried and all the blood drained from his face. "Pray tell, stranger. Would you mind clearing up a few things for me? Start first with the mess you made." At this point, Rhys was scared petchless. It didn't help when the man added "Then we'll exchange pleasantries, you and I." Rhys almost shivered. He didn't know who the man was, or how he had the authority to order Rhys around, but he didn't question. One glance at the ax had warranted almost certain demise. He didn't know much about the situation, but he knew he didn't want to make the man mad. He didn't know what vile curse he expelled from his body, much less how to clean it, but he had to figure out SOMETHING... A quick search of the satchel at his hip told Rhys all he needed to know. He had nothing. Redfaced and scared, he looked up at the man. "I don't have anything." He choked out, swallowing on the lump in his throat. "I can't." He sounded like a schoolboy! What was he doing!? This is my last day, for sure.

[Bolivar]

Small motions came from the vomit man as if to signal his own ineptitude. Peering at the squire and the weapon casually fit over Bolivar shoulder was enough to make Rhys guarded. Was he afraid or merely surprised at how casually the squire spoke? Yes. Yes. You are bewildered...I get it. Acting the fool only buys so much time. No... they were in public and perhaps being blamed of the blundering gave the man pause. The squire would have done the same in his shoes. Biding his time until Rhys spoke the squire's eyes quickly evaluated the man before him. Flush cheeks, that depraved expression... and that odd, yet familiar tone. Rhy's response clarified... nothing. What did this fool just say to me? Given the squire's limited knowledge of common Bolivar took a tic longer to figure out what had just transpired. What Rhys said was not some play on words meant to otherwise mock the squire. The man literally meant that what he had just said. Raising an eyebrow, Bolivar shook his head simply amazed at how much an imbecile this man turned out to be. "You Type of People. Very Foolish. Quite the bother. Making a mess one moment then forcing an off duty squire with such trivial chores.” A defeated look on the mage squire's face, Bolivar gave an even stare at the curious onlookers quietly daring them to do something about the move he was about to make. Bolivar's palms opened and closed as the mixed blood reached for his axe. A conspiring chuckle escaped Bolivar's throat recalling Rhys's reaction just seeing it hung casually over his shoulder. How would he react when the squire held it in his hands over him? Bolivar guessed not well. In a quick, decisive move Bolivar moved his axe from it's harness into his hands brandishing the weapon over Rhys. Leaning forward as if testing the man's resolve with his own rested his axe calmly against the nearby wall. Taking this time to securely fasten his weapon harness on his back the squire's eyes did not move from Rhys. You can never be sure about the type of people you meet in Syliras. A few silent tics later with his battle axe fasten to his back Bolivar had just begun “resolving” this little situation. Rubbing his left thumb over his index finger the squire rolled up his sleeves revealing a deep gash running down the length of the mage's forearm. Bolivar's left arm had an almost jade gleam in it's entirety, unperturbed showing the surrounding crowd his true colors the mage squire glanced at Rhys with a stare that did not seem human. Quite a few people cried out, in fact a good amount of them did. For when the squire revealed the very telltale scars of reimancy the accepted reaction was to be wary at the very least. Then came the shouts of alarm when Bolivar started creating that grey translucent gunk that reimancers use to burn houses down, make one terminally ill, sour the cow's milk and every other misconceptions that reimancy had with it. If the squire had to guess the same thought was going through the crowd. Bolivar was going to viciously execute Rhys simply because he threw up. "Yep that's right. I want you all to see me do this." What they saw was Bolivar let an uncomfortably mass of res hover ominously in the air before dropping the mass to the ground. A weary look on the squire's face as he went through the motions of directing his res over the mess. "Bring a towel next time." The engulfing mass of res seemed to expand more and more as it underwent the changes of transmutation before liquifying unto Rhys's vomit. Soaking up and absorbing the lovely gift Rhys presented, Bolivar yawned as he found the paltry task tedious directing his the water to his will. More res was created by the squire receiving less appalled reactions from nearby onlookers watching the scene. Perhaps they would hesitate before panicking at the sight of reimancy next time, the squire could only hope. "You. You are to accompany me. Don't think yourself free just yet." Using the new res to attract the newly transmute puke water Bolivar directed the mess out of the theatre square with a meticulous air. Letting the water run off to the side the squire quickly convert his remaining res into wind before turning back to Rhys. The squire's galvanizing summons for the stranger was quickly followed with a knowing tone that did little to hide the squire's conceit. "I can tell you type of folk the moment you walk out into the open. Like how the smiths can tell good iron from the bin" Letting the words linger in the air as Bolivar continued his close scrutiny of Rhys the squire keeping watch for a guilt look in the man's eyes before continuing. Crossing his arms the squire relaxed slightly keeping himself within two paces from Rhy's. "You are a newcomer to the city aren't you? I can tell by that first look you gave me back there. As if you did not know you were allowed to be entertained in a theatre." Shrugging slightly uninterested in the why of that reasoning Bolivar sounded off his routine introduction. "You are speaking to squire Bolivar of patron knight of Ser Theron. With whom am I speaking with?"

[Rhys Blodwen]

OOCSorry for the length. You gave me a lot to reply to. Rhys stared up at the man after uttering the inexcusable. The look upon his face did not falter. It did not twitch, it did not change shape in any way. It almost appeared as if the disapproving scowl had been carved by a hammer and chisel into his complexion. They silence that was born from the awful turn of events was almost too much for the young human to bear. But, in pain and weak from fear, he held the gaze given by the man with the ax. The silence was long. The man was unblinking. Rhys didn't know what to do. His determination had left him. Finally, the stranger spoke. "You type of people. Very foolish. Quite the bother." He spat. Rhys, lying on the stairs amongst the filth and the muk created by his own stomach, could do nothing. He sat, and he took the verbal beating with a straight face, knowing not what made him foolish. Other than tripping over the theater of people and then creating a putrid mess on a public staircase. Beside that, what had he done!? "Making a mess one moment then forcing an off-duty squire with such trivial chores." He finished. It made sense, then. The authority, the annoyed tone in his voice, the sudden appearance from seemingly nowhere, and the ax he held... Gods, the ax. Rhys could picture that ax painted with his blood in perfect clarity. The man's head turned to the crowd watching, an indifferent look upon his face. The look scared him- As if this man dealt with scum every day, every second of his being, and Rhys was simply another speck of dust which could be exterminated with a simple swing of the ax he was lifting up at this very mo- Oh, gods, no! The squire had the ax in his hand, and it was being raised. Time slowed down, the ax raising to the slowest tick. Squires couldn't kill, could they? COULD THEY!? Rhys was practically vibrating inside, but his face did not betray his emotions. His lips were cold and thin as the ax was raised well above his head. Rhys watched in absolute horror as he leaned forward and rested it against a wall. Immediately he lost all respect for the squire. His eyes still locked on the stranger, he watched as the man began rolling up his sleeves, revealing gashes of Rhys didn't know what. They stretched down his arm like dried blood, and practically forced Rhys to think of the likewise. Everything this man did was sadistic, it seemed, and Rhys did not expect his next move to betray the pattern. Then, something spectacularly horrid occurred. In the still air, a droplet of translucent Nothing was made by the squire. The droplet increased in size, and kept increasing in size, until the droplet of Nothing was a puddle of Nothing. At this point it had stopped growing. Rhys knew nothing of the nothing. Not what it was for, not what it COULD be used for, not how it got there... All he knew was it was going to hurt, and the squire before him had created it. The squire turned his head to the crowd, it almost looked as if he were evaluating each of them. At a quick glance, the crowd was horrified. They stood close together, huddled in groups, children hugging their mothers, husbands holding their wives. That could not be a good sign. The squire spoke to them. "Yep. That's right. I want you all to see me do this." Do what!? WHAT WOULD HE DO!? Rhys' face now betrayed him. His eyes widened, and he looked up at the ominous glop. It seemed more Everything than Nothing, now. Rhys watched in horror as the squire dropped the Everything's Nothing on the vile liquids that were expelled from Rhys' stomach. Another fake-out. This was beginning to become tedious. What followed, however, was amazing. It was if the Everything was alive, and hungered for the green and yellow Something that was expelled from Rhys. Little by little, the Everything made more Everything, covering the disgusting Something. Rhys' nose was almost on top of the Everything as it ate. He was entranced by it. Almost enough to miss the squire inform Rhys to bring a towel next time. Suddenly the Everything and the Nothing became one, and dissolved into Nothing once more. Rhys, amazed by the handiwork of the squire, stood and faced him. "I can tell your type of folk the moment you walk out into the open. Like how the smiths can tell good iron from the bin." Rhys didn't know what his type was, nor did he know what a smith was, but he assumed that the statement was an insult. He didn't care. Rhys still looked at the squire with a silent awe that would linger for hours to come. The squire crossed his arms before speaking again. "You are a newcomer to the city aren't you?" Rhys almost opened his mouth to protest. ALMOST. The opportunity, however, was slim and easily missed. "I can tell by that first look you gave me back there," He continued. "As if you did not know you were allowed to be entertained in a theatre." So that's what the structure was! A theatre! The squire, with a shrug, opened a mouth again. "You are speaking to squire Bolivar of patron knight Ser Theron. With whom am I speaking with?" Next to none of that made sense to Rhys. He could pick up that the man's name was Bolivar, and he knew squire, but the name Ser Theron, patron, and knight made no sense to him. He did, however, get the gist of what the squire was saying. He took a moment before speaking, as if he were trying to remember his name. "Um... Blodwen. No! Rhys. Of... Um... Amelia Blodwen." He replied with a wince. He didn't know what was accepted in this society. He certainly didn't know how to speak to a figure of authority. Maybe he should try again... "What did you mean by pleasantries?" He asked nervously, rubbing his hands together in jittery fever. The squire could kill a man by looking at him. Rhys was caught between a rock and a hard place, with no idea how he got there and no idea how to get out.

[Bolivar]

The other man mentally erred for a time before revealing his name stumbling to form the words in a sentence. Raising an eyebrow looking unbelievingly at this Rhys, Bolivar quietly mused on the man's mannerisms before settling on the name. Rhys Blodwen. If it wasn't obvious enough the man's name sounded like that of a Ravokian spy. Rhys = Rhysol? Blodwen's base refers to blood, suiting name for a Ravokian. Lucky for him the squire stayed long enough in Ravok himself to know the different nuances when picking a family name. Blodwen was a pretty unlikely name to choose. The benefit of the doubt was required but with stern vigilance for this Blodwen character it seemed and the squire will do that now. "Interesting name. A pleasure I am sure." Whether or not the man knew what the squire had entailed Bolivar did not press the issue further. There was still much to do. He had yet to get a good read on the person in front of him. Fear and hesitation seemed to bleed out of his manner and yet the man had yet to raise any qualms. The squire would not accept that he had scared the man with just his direct mannerisms, that would be absurd. Amelia Blodwen? Right. I shall believe that for now. A look of abrupt confusion entered the squire's face tilting his head slightly tried to recall exactly what he had said. No... Bolivar was concise with what he meant. Exchanging pleasantries was just that, small talk; a comment of the weather, followed by a snarky response, followed by a defeatist protest, finished with an abrupt apology for example. Fussing with his hair slightly regaining his composure Bolivar resumed his humorless watch of the man. “Did I stutter? Simple pleasantries. We are in the midst of doing so. Exchange of names and a quick evaluation of the other. What do you think it meant?” An indignant look on his face Bolivar tried to match the man's words with his own actions from earlier. The man was unable to keep his eyes off his axe the first few tics Bolivar spoke. Initially ignoring the action as chaff it was now becoming quite apparent that this Rhys thought Bolivar was trying to come off as threatening. The bit with his res hovering over him with the crowd's reaction did not help the man's first impression of the squire. “I am being led to believe you've quite the imagination Rhys Blodwen.” Closing his eyes slightly miffed at the sudden distrust of the squire, Bolivar massaged his temple with his hand he mentally shuddered at what Rhys had thought of him thus far. Perhaps assuming the man would take his words at face value was too much to expect. Rhys had after all threw up from the “fun” in the theatre. Why did he even throw up again? “Pray tell Rhys Blodwen, you planned to sojourn the capital? What did you have in mind?”

[Rhys Blodwen]

After telling the man, Rhys waited for a reaction from Bolivar. There it was again... The silence. The awful, terrible, everso haunting silence that Rhys was all-too familiar with. For a few long moments, they stared at each other. Rhys, faintly aware of the crowd beginning to go back to their own business, studied the man. He seemed to be doing the same, although with a bit more judgemental tone to his studying. Although a bit less malicious, Bolivar still carried a threatening air about him. As if Rhys was a potential threat. Well, to be fair, he was. The respect lost earlier was returned without hesitation. The squire took his job seriously, and that was commendable to say the least. "Interesting name." He commented. What does that mean? "A pleasure, I am sure." Confused as to what Bolivar was referring to, Rhys looked down to the ground next to him, where the vile something used to sit. Looking back up at the squire, he deadpanned and barely uttered his next sentence. "Actually, it kind of hurt." With the hesitation and fear slowly fading from Rhys' face, his complexion began to soften to resemble something of comfort. Maybe even relaxation. Because of his ascending demeanor, the following silence was easier to bear. The studious exercises continued, although less concentrated. Well, at least for Rhys. He had learned what he found was necessary about the man. "Did I stutter? Simple pleasantries. We are in the midst of doing so. Exchange of names and a quick evaluation of the other. What do you think it meant?" He said, a note of sarcasm in his tone. Rhys thought for a moment. He didn't know what to say. The concept of pleasantries was new to him. He had never... Exchanged pleasantries before. The confusion, although not apparent on his face, was reflected in his speech. I'm not sure what I thought... He thought to himself. "I didn't know what it meant, is all." He told the squire, completely serious. After a short, and endlessly awkward, pause, the squire spoke again. "I am being led to believe you have quite the imagination, Rhys Blodwen." "What would make you think that?" He asked, almost immediately, regretting his question as soon as he said it. He didn't know what the man considered offensive, or what was rude, and Rhys didn't feel like experimenting. He wouldn't want to diatribe, lest the man crate an Everything to ingest Rhys. "Pray tell, Rhys Blodwen," He continued "you planned to sojourn the capital? What did you have in mind?" The answer was immediate. "I'm not sojourning." He returned, quietly. "I'm here to stay. And I don't really know what I'm going to do, right now... I'm trying to look around, first. Which is why I'm here. Is that not allowed? Did I make a mistake?" He asked, completely serious. Despite the respect Rhys gave Bolivar, the man was fearsome. He was afraid of him, and for good reason. The man had the means to kill Rhys, the man had the resources to kill Rhys, and the man certainly had the balls to kill Rhys. He had yet to see if he actually would or would not. Rhys hoped with all his soul that it would be the latter.

[Bolivar]

Rhys answer came out much faster then the squire had anticipated. Taken aback for a moment Bolivar peered back up at the strange man expecting more. "Decided so quickly? Is there any special reason Syliras in particular?” A dodgy answer at best Bolivar did his best to not immediately dismiss Rhys's reasoning. Rather it would be better to help Rhys see if this was in face the city for him. Still the squire could not hide his disdain regarding Rhys's wish-wash demeanor. “Just here to with nothing in mind? I am sorry to hear that. If you wish to stay on a mere whim I'm afraid Syliras is not the city for you.” Crossing his arms Bolivar's thoughts went to his half completed just sitting in that room to dry. Centering back on Rhys Bolivar let the question go unanswered giving the man his default incredulous look. Was he listening to himself? The answer is obvious is it not? Perhaps he had been making a fool of the squire all this time... “Not to my knowledge no.“ The conversation quickly going downhill the squire pressed the underlying issue. The man was on the fence in some ways that would not make him suitable for the city and it's various politics. It was fine to be kind but being unable to deal with the city's nuances made for a miserable existance. “Though I do feel compelled to warn you.” Letting the words linger for a time Bolivar continued on without skipping a breathe. Motioning Rhys to accompany him Bolivar serenaded the newcomer with a dull speech. “Syliras is not for those who do not commit. All that we do. All that we are. It is for the betterment of Syliras. See each man and woman on the street and know their resolve. There is no such thing as half-arsing within these walls. Either make yourself useful or get out.” By now it was apparent that Bolivar was leading the pair closer to the fortress. The general course the squire was leading them seemed to serve many functions. First to gauge Rhy's reaction upon entering the fortress and later to match him up with the passerby’s of the market. The squire also needed to replenish supplies concerning his glyphing. Ideally the squire planned to guide Rhys for a time before resuming his work on the glyph. Which I need ink and more parchments to work with. Keeping an eye out for a vendor that dealed in parchments and the like Bolivar kept his other eye on how well Rhys was doing in dealing with the crowd. The city was cramped in the later Fall seasons and personal space was more a luxury then a common curtsy then. If Rhys was having trouble now when it was just early in the season Bolivar would be pained to think how the newcomer would deal with the crowded city. “Though I have to say. The best part about being in a Syliras has to be the people. Know what is the worst part of being in a big city like Syliras? ...The people. Let's go meet some shall we?” The social interactions in the air was thick and constricting as the pair now waded through the inner market within the citadel. At least five times the squire was approached to see some wares, look at the latest import from a far and away region all the while dealing with trying to wade through the city streets. A busker who played and sang a festive tune and a beggar looking hungrily at each passerby, the former being chased off by the squire while the latter entirely ignored. Stopping suddenly Bolivar seemed to have found what he had been looking for. Turning back slowly at Rhys, Bolivar took note how their little trip affected the newcomer before taking a easier stance. “Well? Think this fine? I am led to believe you threw up at the open theatre because it was too much to take in. What are your first impressions.” Feigning interest Bolivar looked for anything amiss from Rhys's answer, blinking several times trying to keep himself in the conversation. The permanent scowl was starting to wear on the squire, it was Rhys's fault after all. If Bolivar didn't deal with breaking in the newcomer himself there will be no doubt trouble in the stranger's future. As if on cue the stirrings of a scene started unheeded behind the squire. Several strong armed men had gathered in front of what looked to be a peddler that had fallen on hard times. Having a laugh at the man's expense they started to toy with what little the street merchant had to sell. Noticing the squire and foreigner pair nearby they immediately stared down Rhys. “Something... amiss?” Unheeded by the squire Rhys would do well in noticing how well armed the bully boys were. Each with a sword strapped to their waists they looked to find any excuse to cause a scene. Two of them staring down Rhys it seemed they have found their newest toy. One made a grandiose movement with his thumb across his neck threatening the foreigner if he keep looking their way.