Barron was annoyed for the entirety of the trip to Innsmouth, staring daggers into Adriana’s back as they traveled. When the young noblewoman tried to strike up conversation with him, perhaps sensing his anger, he simply ignored her and walked on. He had simply asked her if she had any sway over the soldiers of Innsmouth and she had responded back at him with the haughty arrogance of one born of privilege. What good was being a princess if your authority held no sway over the commonfolk – wasn’t that the whole purpose of their supposedly elevated station? Adriana could not even argue that the soldiers of Innsmouth should come to their aid versus the encroaching demonic hordes, much less order them to do so? Barron never held the nobility in high regard, but the realization that they were little more than privileged figureheads held in place by the illusion of power and the taxes of the small folk made him despise them all the more.
All that petty annoyance washed away as soon as the group arrived back in Innsmouth; the town was in an uproar and there was a palpable sense of fear and uncertainty in the air. Clearly the guard they had saved a few days before had alerted the populace as to what was approaching. At least that was something.
Adriana tried to calm the crowd, assuring the masses that everything was going to be OK, the words weighted with her aura of entitled authority. Barron rolled his eyes in exasperation. Sodding worthless nobles, always serving empty platitudes upon silvered tongues.
As he was turning away from the bratty princess, the mysterious “farmer” Livia sidled up beside him and whispered in his ear, hey Prince Charming, can’t speak a word when you’re full of ‘ludes. Say you’ll be alright come tomorrow, but tomorrow might not be here for you.” Barron stared at her quizzically as she slipped away into the crowd with the grace of a panther, not the clumsy gait of a farmer. The giant orc Osamu flashed Barron a cruel, toothy smile and promptly followed behind her, trailing Livia with a protective air.
Her words danced around in his head as he pondered their cryptic meaning. Was she flirting with him? Doubtful. Her words were laced more with venom than honey. Was it a warning or a threat? Was she implying that she knew about his dust habit? A warning like that had no weight to it, not in a City like this were lawlessness was the norm. Nor had he hardly made much of a secret about his dependence on the yellow lotus, either. His constant headaches had abated in the recent months, but after a few hours without the anodyne numbness that the drug generously imparted upon him, the pain came screaming back. The dust soothed the pain and dulled the sharp edges of the bladed anger that threatened to overwhelm him in inopportune moments. Sure it slowed him down and clouded his mind, but that was a small price to pay, wasn’t it?
He watched as Livia moved further into the crowd and he had nearly lost sight of her before the the intent behind her message hit him. A farmer? He almost laughed. She hadn’t exactly lied, she did work with plants, only hers were small and yellow and of the illicit variety. She was flowered! A duster…Gods, how had he been so storm-addled to not see it earlier. And then the full force of her threat grew into focus. He had foolishly let her know that he had seen through her farmer ruse from the moment he saw her…he had done it to build a sense of camaraderie, but she had seen it as a threat. And to protect herself and her secret, she had placed her product upon someone in their group, and was threatening to turn them in if he did not allow her to continue upon her merry way.
He had no intention of outing her, but now that she had blatantly threatened them and the group he felt that old anger begin to rise up within him. He was a creature of the streets and, despite the perceived lawlessness of such a life, there were rules to this game, as any player knows. Threats, however idle, had to be answered. He quickly scanned the crowd and made eye contact with a few of Yima Bak’s young crowlings, scanning the bustling crowd for easy marks for their feather light fingers. Barron hissed at one - was his name Karl? - and motioned the boy over.
Karl and a couple of other boys looked at him quizzically but slinked over to him quickly, their eyes shining with the possibility of easy coin. Barron slipped a golden Crown into each of their hands, each of the coins effortlessly disappearing into the many folds of their clothes. “See that tusker over there?” Barron whispered, indicating to the hulking red orc moving through the crowd. “The gal with him…that’s yer mark. There’s three times this much coin as this waiting if ya if you let me know where she rests her head tonight.” The crowling’s eyes crackled with greedy enthusiasm. “Careful though, she’s flowered and skilled, trade off tails like you were taught. And check the tusker, and be watchful for shadows.”
The kid’s eyes positively glowed with excitement at the seriousness of this request and the lure of easy coin, and Barron watched as the trio disappeared into the crowd after their quarry, pleased by the skill they displayed in doing so. When he had lost sight of the group of them, Barron turned to follow after the haughty princess, who was still shouting empty words of encouragement to any who would listen. Barron idly drummed his fingers on the hilt of his daggers as he followed. He wasn’t sure exactly what he would do when he found Livia again, but there was a price to pay for such a threat and he was just the one to collect.