A crisp clear morning revealed as the sun emerged from behind a mountain. Crvenarib square, a popular meeting ground for students, artists, political radicals, dissidents and many other counter-cultural types, was packed with people. Many of them were from the groups typically found here, but there were others too. Workers, guild representatives, even a number of street vendors had gathered, although that was mainly to peddle their wares to a captive audience.

Several hundred individuals from different walks of life had gathered in Crvenarib, many displaying red armbands with a black key and an eye embroidered into the fabric. A familiar symbol to citizens of Wyllmochvar, and an irritation to many of those who walked the corridors of power and influence in the city.

The Kljutsotsu, as it was known to the people of Wyllmochvar, was used as a symbol to represent the interests of a political movement that had grown in recent years. Originating as a thought experiment by a particularly radical professor from the mage academy, the Kljutsotsu had spread notions of wealth redistribution, equality for women, an expansion of the role of guilds, and a council that represented the people of the city, instead of being primarily an old wizard's network.

The professor responsible for this radical thesis had mysteriously disappeared a few years ago, during the attack of the screaming mouth. The official story was that he had been killed in the chaos that followed, but the lack of a body caused many to speculate that the attack was used as an opportunity for certain magi to remove him from play. It was denied of course, but the general opinion among certain sections of society was that this was exactly the kind of thing the authorities would say. It only served to martyr professor Giudice's name in the memories of his supporters.

Today was the anniversary of the attack, but in the minds of most who milled about the square, the tragedy of that day mingled in their minds with the loss of a man who many had idealised as a figure representing their freedom and oppression at the hands of an uncaring mage class.

Someone began banging a drum, others took up other instruments and joined in, playing a loose marching tune while the crowds assembled themselves into an orderly procession. Banners were raised and as one, they began exiting Crvenarib to make their way onto Josipo concourse, one of four broad arteries of Wyllmochvar that led to the onion dome-vaulted towers of the council building.

A young man with dark, unkempt hair, watched with interest as the crowds marched by. A protest march. Oh father, you would be so proud of these mortals, he thought with the smallest of smiles. Electing to follow the crowd, the man continued alongside the throng, paying close attention as the protestors made their way towards the centre of power. Not everyone here was following the same agenda. Indeed, some of those present were certainly against this radical movement. It would be interesting to see how it all played-out. At least, it would be interesting for this particular chaos lord.

Jake had come to Crvenarib Square mainly to mingle on that morning, it could hardly be said that he had any interest in what they were protesting about. No he was there to converse with the various vendors set up and try and acquire any information he could find. Rumors spreading around, where to get good deals, and more importantly to him work. Yes while Jake would have loved to avoid the square he was broke and decided that if he wanted to find work he should go to where the most people were. Though while most sellers of goods know much they're only interested in one thing getting your cash, which Jake had none to give. So there he was standing on a tightrope acting just interested enough in some random necklace or whatever the dealer was peddling to be able to converse with the man behind the counter but not interested enough so that they tried to rush him to closing the sale. Though such tactics are of dwindling effectiveness as people notice you just want information and not random baubles, and of course information is the most expensive good of all. Not to say that no information of value was acquired, any piece of information was useful if used correctly, it simply wasn't what he needed.

So after managing to "borrow" a loaf of bread from a distracted vendor he entered the crowd moving to and from different groups of people. Playing a game he knew well listening for a pause or gap in their various conversations to enter talk with the people exchange niceties, acting interested in their conversation while subtly pulling it towards the information that he wanted. Which albeit was easier said than done, but he slowly made his way through being noticeable enough to take decent part in the conversation but not enough that he'd be remembered long after he left.

By the time the crowd had started it's march he was far too deep in to make a hasty escape. Jake then decided to go along for the ride humming a tune he had come up with several days earlier to himself, while snapping his fingers. He also began swaying from side to side in a rhythmic sort of half dance as the crowd marched along.

It was a lovely crisp morning, common to Wyllmochvar in the autumn, and September found herself in a fine mood.  It wasn't actually because of the weather, but the people within the city.  They were rebelling against those who considered themselves to be better, marching through the streets, and being a general disruption to the usual calm of the city.  It was the anniversary of an attack on the city as well, and the death of a well known professor from the Academy.  No one was really entirely sure as to how the professor had died, but he had most certainly become a martyr to the cause of the common people.  And September found herself quite amused. 

Standing on the sidelines and watching while munching on an apple, September almost missed the young man with his dark, unkempt hair.  But that was simply part of who her little brother was.  If she was not related to him, the young woman was quite sure that she would not have even noticed him within the crowd.  But it had been quite some time since she had seen Mendean, and she had been out wandering the world.  She had been learning to hone her talent for arcane magics, and from the elves in how to add that magic to her arrows.  Perhaps it was time to reacquaint herself with him.  And it was most certainly time to see if he had been affected by the strange phenomena of their copies crossing over from another world. 

Slipping into the crowd of marchers, it took a few moments to find her brother again.  "Well, hello again little brother.  It's been quite some time, now hasn't it?" she asked in a murmur meant only for him.  It had been… perhaps two years?  Something about the time of their world was strange, something that September had never quite been able to put a finger on.  It could be two months for her brother, and two years for herself, and it was quite strange.  But perhaps Mendean would have an answer for that.  "I hope you've been well, and that you haven't been splitting yourself too much between too many places," she said, a mischievous smile on her face.  Would he understand that hint?  More than likely, Mendean was quite perceptive when it came to just about any area he had an interest in.

The crowd bottlenecked at the edge of Crvenarib while the steady flow of people began to filter onto Josipo concourse, separating into two columns. For the main thoroughfare was bisected by a canal that ran the length of the great road, all the way up to the very centre of Wyllmochvar. Each of the four roads sported a canal and all four met somewhere beneath the onion-domed council building, behind great doors on each side. Mendean imagined that without those great metal skirts, the structure would look like some great beast on stilts.

He moved along with the crowd. Already out on the concourse, the young deity blended inconspicuously for the most-part, remaining at the edges. Citizens emerged from their homes and applauded, while others leaned out of their windows, bellowing obscenities at the massed throng. Most of the crowd ignored such naysayers, a few responded in kind, but their voices were mostly lost in the rising sound of music, drums and a rhythmic chant.

'Oblast je pris nas, Ljudska! Oblast je pri nas Ljudska! 'Authority here belongs to the people!' A new idea in a land such as this, and one that had spread across the city, particularly over the past year. Mendean gave passers-by a wry smile, then in a cat-like move he matched their steps and joined them, almost bumping into a young man who seemed to be moving to a different beat from the rest. A spy perhaps? He knew there would be a number of those here. It was inevitable. But as he opened his mouth to ask the man, a familiar voice distracted him. He turned around to see one of his many, many sisters. This one was September.

A barrage of memories hit him. Two different sets of memories. One of the Septembers he was closer to than the other, but which one this was, he was unsure. Perhaps she was both? Mendean blinked. It would take some time to fully integrate his two selves. But he was getting used to the frequent bouts of confusion.

He glanced back at the man, more as a way of focussing his thoughts than anything else. “Čudno mjesto za obiteljsko okupljanje, eh?” He said with a shrug as he fell into a matching step while his sister approached. He spoke in the language of Wyllmochvar, assuming the man was a local and would understand him. Strange place to have a family reunion, eh? A chuckle followed, but it was lost in the rising chant of the crowd. 'Ljudska! Ljudska!'

When September made the comment, Mendean reflexively raised a finger to his lips, making a quick pantomime of glancing from side to side with eyebrows raised. Gods were not popular in these lands and he did not wish to attract any undue attention from any secret police who might catch wind of his true nature. Editing the memories of so many people, in a place where his divine gifts were diminished, was a tiresome exercise that he did not wish to perform unless absolutely necessary.

“Sestra, što ti radiš ovdje? Ste izgubili?” Sister, what are you doing here? Are you lost?”

As the march continued Jake had become rather oblivious of the goings on, that is until he almost bumped into a young guy. Jake quickly apologized to the man before turning to him to get a better look, he had brown hair other than that he looked normal, if not having a slightly strange air about him. Though after hearing what the man said Jake responded "A stranger way you'd have trouble finding. Though I remember hearing a story, it was about two brothers who lost each other and one became a cunning thief and another a rich merchant. They reunited when the thief stole the merchants wares. I don't quite remember the ending to that one though. Of course that's just a story but stranger things have happened so who knows it." Jake cut himself off, rambling was a bad habit he'd taken to in the past couple months that he was trying to rid himself of. Though by this point the man had moved into step with a rather odd looking woman. Jake shrugged and stuck out his hand to the man who he'd just rambled at and said "The names Jake pleased to make your acquaintance.". Deciding if nothing else he would at least give the man a proper hello before they were separated in the torrent of people surrounding them.

[Apologies for the delay.]

Choosing to speak the same language as her brother, the young woman nodded when he raised the finger to his lips.  Even if they likely did not see eye to eye… he was still blood.  She smiled a little when he mentioned their meeting place, it did not seem so strange to her.  "Perhaps so, but I do rather like it here.  And I think Father would have as well," she said, a forlorn note in her voice for a few moments.  Then there was a stab of pain that contorted her face for a few moments.  In this reality, she had fled their home once their father had died.  But there?  The other September had stayed with her brother, to try and help him find his way after that loss.  And those two were at odds.  But both of them had cared for their father.

But the pain cleared after a moment, and September only smiled.  "Not lost, only seeking out someone… and I just found you, little brother.  I… I need your help," she said, a grudging note in her voice.  It was something very difficult to admit.  But the switches between memories were getting more difficult, and if anyone could help her, it would be Mendean.  And for now, she would keep her brother's secret.  Watching the crowds for just a moment, her purple eyes took in the stranger.  A part of her wondered how his flesh would taste. 

Her head tilted a little as he stuck his hand out towards Mendean.  She was quite aware that this was a means of greeting in some places, though she wondered how her little brother would react.  Still matching her pace with Mendean, she waited to see what he would do before responding.  The crowd kept surging around them, and September kept her eyes open.  Any chance to cause a bit of chaos was just what she wanted.

“Zjayk.” Mendean tested the sound of the foreign name in his mouth, as though tasting an unfamiliar sweatmeat. He looked at the hand for a second, almost taken aback. Physical contact was something he was unused to, but he understood the conventions of greeting. He smiled, showing a thin line of teeth, taking the bard's hand and shaking it. The man's hand was warmer than his own and he could feel his pulse through the palm. “So,” Mendean said, allowing his hand to slip away. residual warmth fading from his fingers. He had to shout to be heard, over the chanting and drumming. “Think we are witnessing history in the making? Or is this another flash in the tava?”

The march had been initially slowed when the masses had been bottlenecked during their exit from Crvenarib square. Even now, a quarter of the way down Josipo, what had begun as a determined march was already slowing into a meandering shuffle. The mood, however, was as jubilant as it had been at the start, albeit with a growing nervousness as the crowds drew nearer the council building.

A cheer rose up. Something had happened nearer the front. Most of those who were cheering were doing so without knowing what had happened, but as he skimmed surface thoughts, he saw the image of shopkeepers coming out of their stores and applauding the marchers. Any gesture of camaraderie from outside was sure to boost the morale of the crowd. It was the residual pack mentality of mortals. A fascinating and potentially deadly tool, he had observed.

While looking around the sea of bobbing heads, Mendean took a moment to surreptitiously spy on his sister. She had changed since last they had met. She seemed older, more tense than he was used to. As though something weighed heavily on her mind and that it was tearing her apart from the inside. She was not the same woman he had seen several years before. He did not react to this change. There would be time for that later.

“Sister, I would like you to meet Jjjake,” he said, still getting used to the odd pronunciation. “Jake is a traveller, like yourself.” He was quickly gaining confidence with the unusual name. “Jake, my sister, September. Like myself, she is interested in revolutions and changing the status quo. It's time the mages recognised they are not the only citizens of Wyllmochvar, eh?”

As Jake shook shook Zjayk's hand he noticed it was somewhat cold to the touch, though that wasn't totally abnormal. "It's very interesting to see this many people fired up about this." He looked around just sort of taking in the sea of people making their way down the street. "This will go down in the history books, either as the beginning of meaningful reforms for Wyllmochvar." He then did a quick scan of the outskirts of the crowd looking for guard or people carrying weapons "Or knowing how the few love to hold power over the many, this could become a day of massacre and open revolt." Jake then looked over to the Zjayk had introduced as his sister, though how the two were related was beyond him as they looked almost nothing alike. While Zjayk looked pretty normal September seemed strange and foreign. Though at that point in his life Jake had seen plenty of strange and foreign things and had long since stopped seeing such things as anything other than a quick mental acknowledgement. "It's a pleasure to meet you September" he did a quick bow towards the woman "I'm all for the people demanding more representation in the government, it'll give me something to write a song about" He said with a big toothy grin on his face.

Watching them shake hands was interesting, no matter the time and place September had never really known her little brother to be one for physical contact.  But he had a part to play here it seemed, and it would serve them both to blend in.  At least for now.  She only nodded when the young man introduced himself.  "Pleasure.  Brother mine, I do hope this is history.  It seems this city could use a bit of shaking up, and not just by some monster trying to devour the mages," she said, looking to the crowds.  There was a power in these mortals, whether they realized it or not.  But at least in this case, they seemed to realize that they did have the power.

When the shopkeepers showed their support, September smiled.  Even for all their power, and their lofty positions, the mages and those on the council were still dependent on those in the streets and those supporting them.  It was already costly to import goods into the city, and the merchants knew it.  "I think the mages need to know certain truths they have avoided.  Like that they cannot function without the people under them," she said.  Things were about to get interesting, and September's purple eyes focused on the council building for a moment.  She would have given just about anything to have ears inside that building. 

There was a very faint shimmer for a moment around the building, and September knew that the mages were preparing for a fight.  Given the number of people in the crowd versus the council members, she knew it was likely to be a slaughter.  At least, that's what they would expect.  September however was more than willing to tip the scales in favor of chaos.  "Little brother, I have an idea…  Though I do not think you will like it very much.  But it will help these people with their goals," she said, nodding her head towards the building.  Even though she did not have her bow, there were still spells she could call upon.  And anything to unsettle those in power held a great appeal to her.

The crowd was now firmly split into two columns on either side of the canal. Mendean glanced down and saw men and women riding the barges, some doggedly ignoring the throng of land lubbers, while others waved and smiled. Many of the protestors were doing the same. So far the feelings of camaraderie were buoying everyone along with positive feeling, but the lord of chaos knew it would take one small spark to ignite the fire of anger in such a large group of people.

By now they had made their way halfway down the broad bisected thoroughfare. He sensed the presence of the authorities, tasted the tension in their mental states. But they were under orders to stay back for now. The mages who controlled Wyllmochvar were powerful, but they were in no mood to test the limits of their power unless it was absolutely necessary.

Raising an eyebrow at the minstrel, Mendean realised his attempt at speaking the man's name had caused confusion. Now he believed Mendean's name was 'Zjayk'. The god suppressed a laugh at the misunderstanding, but in all fairness he had not ventured his own name. It was an easy mistake to make. For a moment he considered correcting the man, but decided against it. It was as good a name as any other. Besides, Jake would forget all about Mendean once this was over. The mental fog surrounding the god would see to that.

The familiar tang of protective magics alerted Mendean that something had changed. His sister was talking about fighting, but he knew it would serve little purpose. Setting herself against the combined might of the mages of Wyllmochvar was a bad idea at any time. Besides, there were women and children in this crowd. Whole families. He could not guarantee that none of them would be harmed, should conflict ensue.

“I would like to avoid bloodshed if possible, dear sister. This town has had its share of tragedy in recent years. Besides, I don't want my father's legacy to be blood-soaked, even though he might not have had a problem with that,” Mendean whispered to September. He looked at the arm of a fellow protestor emblazoned with the key and the eye of the kljutsotsu. How strange that something so familiar to him had become a significant part of the lives of others. Divinity, yes, but politics? His feelings were mixed about this latest development.

Three quarters of the way down Josipo concourse, he sensed a disturbance in the minds of those at the front of the crowd. They had met with an invisible force, preventing them from getting any closer. He noticed a number of barges had stopped also. The mages had drawn the line. The people were unhappy. It was only a matter of time before those in the crowd who were of a magical bent began to assault the shield wall with counterspells of their own. He turned to Jake.

“Something's halting the crowd. We had better get in closer to see what's happening. You may get your song material after all.”

And then he turned to September. “The situation is escalating. I know you feel it too. Come, let's quicken our pace and see what we can do to help.”