(514-08-02) This Is Madness!
Summary: Some thieves rile the marketplace and fighting breaks out!
Date: 514-08-02
Related: None
amalthea martyn rowan steffan 

What happens when you cross a petty thug with an elderly woman who seems to be shopping innocently at one of the stalls? A commotion. You get a commotion. The bent old lady yelling in her thready voice that he stole her satchel, the big brute shouting back that he didn't touch anything! People surrounding them look to be in various states of anger and confusion, taking both sides and generally not paying attention to anything else around them, as the beautiful day turns to hot evening, clear and dry.

Amalthea hasn't quite reached the fray yet, the stablemaster being on the outskirts of the market and, like a moth to the flame, headed over to see what's going on.

Also present at the market, Martyn has also starting to make his way over towards the commotion. Looking a bit curious about what it is that is happening, he steps closer to the people present. "What happened?" he asks someone.

Amalthea catches sight of the approaching Martyn, coming from the opposite direction as she is. She lifts a hand to him, being unable to shout over the din just yet. The din continues on unabated, perhaps even more heated, as the shopkeepers get involved. Those around Martyn offer conflicting views, too. "Well, I heard that that big /brute/ tried to knock the lady down and steal her purse!" This doesn't go over well with the man next to her, and he spits back, "Ain't no such thing happened! /She/ knocked into him and her goods /spilled/! Yer blind as a bat!"

Looking around, Martyn notices Amalthea, offering a wave to her as well, before he turns to the two giving their views on the commotion. "Wait, wait. Let's just stick to what we know for certain first. The two of them collided?"

Rowan is in the market once again! Passing through, as he often did, to whatever destination he intended to go. His squire, Hefin, is accompanying him this time - acting as a human pack mule, with his arms full of sacks and other goods. Labor builds character, the Wylyes like to say, though it was not the Wylye who was laboring.

He slows when the yelling reaches his ears and he frowns.

"He collided into /her/!"

"No, she knocked her scrawny old arse into /him/!"

Aaaand they're off. The man and woman aren't even paying attention to Martyn anymore as they bicker back and forth about who saw what and who is right, adding to the growing argument centered around the old lady and the brutish looking man by the stands who seem to be doing nothing to discourage the growing din. Someone shoves someone, and another man, caught in the crossfire, stumbles his fat bulk into poor Hefin and his load.

Amalthea, for her part, hasn't seen Rowan yet, only the raised arm of Martyn. She pauses a moment, looking for a way to get through the bickering crowd. Her lower lip is nibbled by her teeth, fraught with indecision.

"Ah…" Martyn replies, shaking his head a bit at the bickering. Stepping back, he looks around, before he tries to make his way through the crowds, over in Amalthea's direction. He hasn't noticed Rowan yet either. "Excuse me…" he mutters to someone as he starts moving past them.

Rowan checked his orate of 3, he rolled 7.

Hefin yelps and the bags he was carrying tumble onto the ground. Rowan's frown deepens and his arm shoots out to grab the youth and push him back behind the Wylye, so the squire does not unwillingly become a part of what looks to be an impending physical altercation. If he sees Thea, it isn't apparent: his focus is on the bickering. And what he manages to see.

He grunts and turns to the man who bumped into his squire. "STOP. NOW." Not exactly elegant, but forceful nonetheless.

In town along with his brother, Steffan had separated from the older de Wylye for a short period of time to see to his own business, and not the funny kind since the younger is usually prudent and proper in his decisions. When he finished speaking to who he needed to in Sarum, he had left and was in search of his brother. He had caught sight of his brother further down the street and started following at a casual pace, no need to run to catch up. That is until he spots the crowd that Rowan had just stepped, having trouble with a larger man who had bumped into Hefin. With the de Wylye heir calling out a command at the mannerless man, Steffan can already see a potential problem brewing that involves his brother and begins to move at a swifter pace to catch up, Rowan's safety being paramount.

There's a sudden surge of the crowd between Martyn and Amalthea, caused by Rowan's authoritative shout and the squeals of alarm it results in. The willowy Dinton is jostled in the proceedings, and down she goes on her rear hard, losing sight of the knight she was on her way to greet, trying to protect her sides from the feet of panicked strangers.

The fat man that just apologized to Rowan's squire? He's looking back, equally panicked. His bulk looks a little lopsided, for those paying attention, his tunic very obviously crammed with… something. Or some things. And he embraces it protectively while he tries to elbow his way through the crowd.

The crowd closest to the two who started the disturbance by the market stalls? They're getting rough. Two men have come to blows over what they saw happen with the old lady and the brute, sending ripples of panic spiralling outwards through the unwary masses.

Pausing as he sees the Dinton lady fall down, Martyn glances around for a few moments, before he works more forcefully on reaching the lady, trying to push people away if he has to. No easy task, given the state of the crowd. Still, he tries to be polite about it, even as he's forcefully pushing his way through the crowd. "Excuse me!" and "I'm sorry!" is frequently heard as he works his way through the crowd now, trying to reach the Dinton so he can help her up again.

It was an interesting dilemma: Rowan was attempting to protect Hefin, while Steffan was moving to protect Rowan! No doubt his younger brother's arrival will be swift, but Rowan has caught onto the fat man's plot, and he was now adamant to stop him. He turns to Hefin and commands him to stay put before he begins after Mr. Chubby, weaving between people instead of pushing them over. He didn't need to get them even more riled up.

Reading the situation, Steffan sees that his brother has decided to chase after someone in particular and grumbles a curse under his breath, quietly saying, "Why Rowan. Not your business!" But since his older brother is involved, the younger is forced to assist and he tries to intercept the larger man who has panicked and is now running. The course charted was accurate but getting there, but the younger de Wylye was not able to get past some of the people in the crowd. He will need to take some time to work through the crowd.

There's Thea, on her hands and knees now, struggling to get up while still cradling her sides protectively again the many feet surrounding her. "Ouch! Ow! Hey!" And then the seas are parting and there's a knight she recognizes. In his wake, however, people are aaaaaangry. Nobody likes to be shoved, even with a lovely polite sentiment expressed as they get the rough nudging. Two of the men he pushed? They're following Martyn, and they're riled, cracking knuckles as they descend.

The ungainly man Rowan is chasing after can't help but notice the brave Wylye chasing after him. He tries to escape, but Rowan moves seamlessly through the angry mob without inciting them further, rapidly closing the distance on the man. No scuffles break out around Rowan, but they are not so kind to Steffan. Before the other knight can reach his brother… a peasant woman shoves another lady right across his path. "I saw it with mine own eyes! Ye highbrow lot of ye, always tryin' ta get one over us! Clear as day, the old hag started it!" She turns on Steffan, ready to face him with all her homely fury.

Rowan checked his dex of 14, he rolled 2.

Steffan checked his str of 13, he rolled 3.

Rowan checked his orate of 3, he rolled 1.

When some unknown peasant woman tries to get in his face, an annoyed expression fills Steffan's features as he looks down at the unpleasant looking woman. With a visible look of disgust, he extends a hand and pushes the woman away. Hand meet side of face, side of face meet a knight's strength, the result is the peasant being pushed away, clearing the path for the younger de Wylye to give chase again. It appears a lowly commoner will not be getting between himself and his older brother's safety.

"You okay there, my lady?" Martyn offers to Thea, reaching out to help her up. Glancing over towards those men following him, he shakes his head. "I don think you ought to reconsider this, my friends…" he offers to them, while still keeping most of his attention on the lady now.
Long distance to Rowan: Amalthea laughs! Well if you were just going to knock him into unconsciousness, go to it!
You paged Steffan with 'Can check STR or Dex again to win through!'

You check your valorous at 10, you rolled 7.

Steffan checked his str of 13, he rolled 11.

The older Wylye catches up to Chubby, having far less bulk to weigh him down! Instead of attempting to grab the much larger man into a hold or headlock - which seems like an incredibly poor idea to him - his hand shoots out and grabs the back of the fleeing man's tunic. He abruptly stops and pulls back, aiming to either make the man land on his bum and potentially have all he was carrying spill onto the ground, or make him lose his tunic and expose him that way!

"I said, 'STOP'!" Sir Rowan de Wylye spats out once again, this time a hint of an unspoken threat underneath his tone. His brown eyes flicker briefly to regard the storm now unfolding around him - this was bad. "ALL of you!" Not that a skinny man who stands at 5'5" can really do much against such numbers…

Amalthea, for her part, doesn't look scared at all. In fact, now on her feet, she stands beside Martyn, glowering like a banshee. She doesn't answer his question, she simply shouts. "You louts! No good brutes! HOW DARE YOU!" Anger burns a slow fire in her belly, nerves giving way to a sense of right, of valor. "If you do not cease and desist, you will ALL face accountability before the Earl! Every. Last. One. Of. YOU! This is madness!" Her anger is enough to deter one of the men, but the other advances on Martyn with a sneer, ready to lob a punch in retribution for the earlier shove.

THUD! The sound of the bulky man fleeing Rowan can be heard as his considerable rear end hits the ground. He doesn't say a word, looking dazed and confused as various filched goods tumble out of his tunic, since his hands are too busy trying to keep from falling over. No one helps him, that much is certain, they're all too busy staring at the de Wylye lord, slightly awed by his presence and command in that moment. Two men who were fighting even stop, looking slightly humbled. The calm starts to spread, a little.

Not near Steffan, though. At least he has one less peasant to deal with! The lady he shoves goes sprawling face first, leaving the knight's hand covered in righteous spittle. The way to Rowan opens up.

Gross! Now Steffan will have to visit one of the higher class establishment to properly wash off the spittle and cleans himself of the peasant filth that has no doubt gotten onto his clothing, not just his hand. A glare is shot at the woman who is falling over, then no more care is given as he quickly turns his attention back to where the older de Wylye is, the path opening after he had forced his way through. Closing the distance between himself and Rowan, the younger de Wylye sees that his brother had apprehended the right person, evidence clearly spilled all over the ground. The sharp ring of steel of his blade being drawn can be heard and now pointed at the bulky man, "Do not move! You are under arrest in the name of Earl. The guard will soon be here to deal with you." The blade should be intimidation enough to prevent the criminal from fighting back, at least that is what Steffan is attempting.

You make a check for Mob Awareness at 5, you rolled 18.

Amalthea's familiar voice now snags Rowan's attention and he looks her way in alarm. He had the attention of the people in his immediate vicinity, at the very least, and the familiar sound of metal scraping metal has him beholding Steffan's timely arrival. "Brother…" He murmurs with some relief before gesturing at Hefin, who was watching everything unfold with wide, anxious eyes. "Pick up what you can, Hefin." He points his chin to the stolen belongings now strewn across the market floor. The young lad obeys, though he cannot handle everything in lieu of his own load.

That momentarily handled, he stalks over towards the gathering around Martyn and Amalthea. It is unlikely he'll get there in time to stop them from throwing a punch or two at the Baverstock, but he's coming!

Martyn checked his dex of 12, he rolled 5.

Grinning momentarily as he hears Amalthea's outburst, Martyn focuses more on that man wanting to punish him. Not wanting to throw the first punch, the Baverstock instead grabs hold of the man, trying to hold him so he won't be able to punch. "Not such a good idea, to get into a fight with me," he offers to the man, offering him a friendly grin. "Why don't we just stop this, hmmm?"

The fat man does not move. In fact, he wets himself. He is no valorous thief, to stare bravely in the face of imminent danger. When confronted with Steffan's steel, he loses control of his bowels and starts to beg, even as the pee trickles its way to Steffan's boots. "I didn't mean nothing by it, sir. Promise. Here! Here's all the stuff back! I was just helpin', is all! Helpin' my friends over there," he nods his quivering jowls to the old lady and the brute who continue to incite riotous behavior near the market stalls. "I'll just take myself away now. Promise! Don't arrest me! I've got a wife, an' brats to feed!"

The mob surging around Amalthea and Martyn are spoiling for a fight, now that the first punch is thrown. They don't lose heart when Martyn grabs the man, either, making his way neatly out of the way of a beefy fist. "Hit 'im again, Ike! Knock 'is teeth outta 'is head, an' we'll grab the girl! Not pretty, but she's fiesty enough to be a bit o' fun!" It spurs the man, Ike, on, and he struggles against Martyn's hold.

You make a check for Ike dex at 13, you rolled 3.

The fat man draws Steffan's ire with his piss and begging, the whining highly irritating the noble's ears. A deathly glare is drilled at Chubby with a narrowed gaze, "I care not about your wife or brat. If you move an inch from there, I will remove one leg. If you move again, I will remove the other. No shut your mouth, scum." That is when he notices Rowan moving /again/, and in the direction of danger /again/. "Brother! What do you think you are doing!" When the squire arrives, he takes over in ordering Hefin around, "Hefin, watch this man until the guard arrives to take him into custody." Then he gives the fat man another withering glare, "If I found out you've fled when I get back here, I will hunt you and your family down." With that, he turns to chase after the de Wylye heir again, seeing the mob beginning to surge. With a loud voice, one he usually uses when training the militia back at Wylye, he calls out to he mob to try to put them under his authority, "In the name of Earl Robert! Cease and desist or you will all be thrown in the stockades!"

"You people… Stop!" Martyn growls to the mob, sighing as Ike breaks free. Glancing back towards Amalthea, then back to the man. "If you do what you are considering, I'm certain the Earl would let the whole lot of you hang…" Throwing a punch at Ike, trying to knock the man out so he won't be causing trouble. As he hears Steffan's call, he lets out a bit of a breath.

Martyn checked his str of 13, he rolled 10.

Steffan checked his orate of 10, he rolled 1.

You make a check for Ike dex at 13, you rolled 9.

Martyn rolls 2d6 and gets (4 5) for a total of: (9)

Rowan's initial desire is to pummel the crap out of Ike, but Martyn is in the midsts of doing so. Or trying to do so. As Steffan joins them and brings his threats, he changes his trajectory towards Amalthea in an attempt to try to persuade her to get out of harm's way. "Thea, you need to get out of here," he urges. "We will handle it, but it's more difficult if you're in danger…"

Hefin, in the meantime, puffs out his chest and tries to look intimidating and confident as he stands vigil over the thief and the goods. All five feet of him.

You check your reckless at 10, you rolled 7.

The rotund thief in the puddle of his own piss does not move. Whether it's because Hefin is especially intimidating, or because Steffan and Rowan are, the world may never know. But he stays. And stinks. And folks gather round, given a new spectacle, but one that does not incite their fury. Slowly, this part of the crowd calms.

The part around Amalthea and Martyn, and now Rowan and Steffan? Does not calm at all. Especially when Martyn lands his first punch, enough to stun Ike, but not knock him down. He comes back for more!

Amalthea, her gaze falling on Rowan, shakes her chestnut head wildly. "Martyn might be hurt! I have to stay! Rowan, you must help him!" It's all plea… until Thea stoops to pick up a rock near her foot. It's predictable, what might happen next!

You make a check for Ike str at 14, you rolled 11.

Martyn checked his dex of 12, he rolled 10.

Amalthea rolls 2d6 and gets (3 3) for a total of: (6)

Rowan checked his dex of 14, he rolled 4.

You check your dex at 14, you rolled 16.

Rowan's eyes widen when Amalthea grabs a rock and it doesn't take him another second to guess at what she intends to do. Both of his hands go up to seize the rock before it goes on it's next journey. "Nonono!" He exclaims. "Violence makes this worse!" They were, after all, pissed off that Martyn ran them over in the first place! "Thea, please… you can tend to his wounds when it's been resolved!"

Taking a hit from Ike, Martyn stumbles back a bit, but remains standing. Overhearing Rowan, he is unable to hold back a comment. "Violence makes this worse? Why don't you go hug them, then?" It's said rather drily as he steps back a bit towards the Wylyes and the Dinton, eyes on Ike to see if he's about to attack again. "Any good ideas of how to calm them down?"

Since his attempt to calm the crowd doesn't seem to do much as they appear to be incited by the brawling between Martyn and some common ruffian, Steffan looks displeased. However, he sees that his brother is still in relative safety and actually managed to pull Lady Amalthea from the mess, while preventing her from throwing a rock. "Brother, please take Lady Amalthea to safety. Who knows when the guard will arrive and when this mob will rise up again. I will protect you and her as best as I can." That is the scope of his responsibility, unless Rowan orders him into the fray.

The crowd pushes and shoves to get a closer view of the fight going on between Martyn and the redheaded peasant, Ike. Many of them, peasants themselves, cheer on the latter. They brush up against everyone in the way, including Steffan as he gives orders to Rowan, who has a rock in his hand, and Amalthea in his sights. The Dinton lady sets her chin. "I'll go nowhere until I know my friend is safe. If you want me to go, you should /help/ him!" There's a beat, and she turns pleading golden eyes up at Rowan. "/Please/, Rowan? I beseech you."

Ike, for his part, is ready to launch another attack, coming at Martyn with beefy fists of fury.

Rowan checked his honest of 16, he rolled 13.

Rowan checked his orate of 3, he rolled 6.

You make a check for Ike str at 14, you rolled 10.

Martyn checked his dex of 12, he rolled 17.

Amalthea rolls 2d6 and gets (1 3) for a total of: (4)

His gaze narrows into a glare at Martyn's remark, though he's still turned towards Amalthea. "I suggest you make smarter friends," he asides to the lady beseeching him to help the fellow who just mocked him. Rowan doesn't look terribly pleased at Amalthea's insistence to stay, either, but if she didn't listen to him now it was unlikely she would heed any further insistence from him. He begins to stalk in Ike's direction. "You have three seconds to cease, lest you want to be beaten in front of all your friends." His glare fixates on Martyn again as he approaches. "You can stand back and let me and my brother handle this, if you can't handle it."

Steffan checked his prudent of 16, he rolled 13.

Still trying to sidestep the attack from Ike, Martyn doesn't quite succeed, getting hit in the face, which combined with him stumbling slightly backwards makes his lip start to bleed a little. Not as it would from a hard hit, but a minor tear in it. Stepping backwards a bit more as he hears Rowan's words, he raises one hand to his lip. "He's all yours…"

The banter between Rowan and Martyn does not please Steffan, neither does Amalthea's insistance on staying here either so what is the most prudent thing to do? To step in himself with the weapon in his hand. However, he isn't the type to start cutting down unruly peasants unless they pull a weapon themselves. So before Rowan can step in himself and put his own body at risk, the younger de Wylye is already in motion. He is approaching Ike and is ready to step in once he sees an opening between the brawling pair to knock the man unconscious with the pommel of his blade.

You make a check for Guards just at 20, you rolled 15.

You make a check for Ike dex at 6, you rolled 9.

You make a check for Ike dex at 7, you rolled 19.

Steffan checked his sword of 15, he rolled 5.

Steffan rolls 5d6 and gets (4 2 2 6 5) for a total of: (19)

Amalthea looks stung, to say the least, at Rowan's comment about her choice of friends. Yet, she watches him go stomping off to protect Martyn anyway, and her expression softens. She doesn't pick up another rock, perhaps in deference to his acquiescence. She's so amor-filled, she doesn't even notice the arrival of the guards, who begin to deliver justice in the name of the Earl, quieting the crowd with their inexorable presence, rounding up the thieves who tarry too long, and the one who's pissed himself and sitting under the watchful gaze of Rowan's brave squire.

Ike, torn between wanting to trounce Martyn soundly, and defending himself against Rowan, chooses wrong. It gives Steffan the gap he needs to do exactly as he has threatened, and do it efficiently, if most brutally.

Martyn steps back, Rowan steps forward, Steffan sneaks aside, and the guards converge upon them seemingly all at once. A good thing, to be sure, given how the whole situation seemed to snowball. Rowan exhales deeply, clearly relieved that he did not have to bloody the man after all… even if he completely deserved it. He makes no move to stop Steffan from executing his knock out maneuver; in fact, he happily watches his brother lay the smack down on Ike with deadpan impassiveness. "Thank you, Steffan. You can lecture me later." Evidently he anticipates such!

Hefin returns to his knight once the guards take the thieves off his hands, positively glowing at finally being useful, in spite of still being used as a human pack mule. Rowan smiles at him faintly, then turns back to Amalthea. "Do you want an escort, m'lady, or will Sir Martyn be needing your attention?" Curiously he does not ask Martyn himself.

Nodding a little at himself, as he removes his hand from his lip, Martyn lets out a bit of a breath as the man is knocked down, and as the guards have arrived. He takes a few breaths, as he looks between the others, before simply nodding. "Well done," he offers to Steffan, then offers a quiet smile in Amalthea's direction. "Thank you."

You check your prudent at 10, you rolled 13.

You check your reckless at 10, you rolled 5.

"I /will/ lecture you later, brother, but for now it appears the guard has arrived and have the situation under their control." Steffan says as he looks down at the collapsed ruffian who pulled Martyn into a brawl. At the other knight's compliment, the younger de Wylye inclines his head to the Baverstock as if accepting his thanks in the matter. "I do suggest we move to a less crowded area so the guards can finish dispersing the crowd." He does wait to see how Amalthea will answer Rowan, noting the tension in the air but speaking nothing of it. Instead, he turns his attention to Rowan's squire, "Well done hefin."

Ike, thus KO'ed by Steffan, is rounded up quickly by the guards. The latter earns a nod of thanks from them as they move off with their bundle.

Amalthea, moments earlier filled with adoration for her betrothed, now watches him through guarded lashes at the curt question. "You might," she points out, "ask him yourself." She looks between Martyn and Rowan, and then says, perhaps more than a little recklessly, in front of the small crowd still gathered, "Please, for my sake, /please/ find a way to get along. I do not wish to be the thorn that comes between you two." Her expression is wistful, crestfallen, as she watches both men.

Rowan arches one brow at the Dinton lady. "I already know what he'd prefer. I was asking what you wanted to do." He shakes his head. "I will stay out of his way, if I can manage it. It is not my intention to sabotage your friendship with Sir Martyn, but I am not pretending to like him. Right now? I don't." He speaks bluntly and evenly. "We ought to go. I will leave him to you."

Hefin smiles brightly back at Steffan when he's complimented. "Thank you, Sir Steffan!" No one's getting him down, tension be damned. Rowan himself begins to depart from the marketplace and Hefin soon follows suit.

"I'll be fine…" Martyn replies, letting out another sigh, before he hears Amalthea's words, nodding a little. He looks about to say something when he hears Rowan's words, studying the man rather carefully for a few moments, before he offers a brief nod. "One day, things will be better," he offers to the man, before he goes quiet again, watching as the other man heads off.

Steffan doesn't appear to be affected by the tension in the air that he may have trouble cutting with the blade he just sheathed. He does look at his brother, to Martyn, and then finally to Amalthea. It appears that he was about to offer some prudent words but the checks himself, remaining silent. This isn't his fight and unless they ask him of his opinion or his help, he will remain out of it. There is only a slight shake of head from the younger de Wylye as he appears to be deciding whether to follow his brother or not.

The unruly mob has been dispersed. Even the small group of gawkers around Amalthea, Martyn, Rowan, and Steffan have drifted away, seeking more salacious gossip than this. Noble love triangles hardly compare to the all-out brawl in the market place they just witnessed, nor the immense wonder they now hold for Steffan and his single-handed, supremely blithe KO. They follow the man adoringly.

Amalthea watches Rowan go without a word. But rather than stay to tend to Martyn, the Dinton, looking sick to her stomach, begs off with the excuse of needing to get back to work, even though she scurries off in the opposite direction, scrubbing furiously at her eyes.

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