Vivian "Ice" Whitcove (icetenari) wrote in heretherebe_ic, @ 2011-07-15 12:17:00 |
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Their primary project for the past month had been the scrolls: the ones that would be fliers and posters to announce the reopening of the magic school. It had been high priority work, standing only under other projects that ... well, paid more, if they were being frank about it. She had known then for months that the school was reopening its magical wing. Anyone with an ear to the ground or who visited the taverns or other local gossip holes had no doubt been exposed to those rumors as well, though the fliers only started going up around town a couple of days ago. It was funny how she could almost feel how the air of the place had changed. There was suddenly an underlying, faint tension in people. Some people. Not all people. She could almost pick out the ones who didn't give a damn either way, the ones who thought it was a grand idea, and the ones who were terrified by the idea of it. While she hoped everything went well, she was no fool. There would be bumps, obstacles along the way, and some people would no doubt be driven to the point of violence. Why else would they have the precaution of sending soldiers out with the messengers? They expected people to take issue. And why not? You spend twenty years telling someone that something is bad and instilling fear in small children with tales of the necromancer who tried to take over the world, and then to turn around and say that very thing is now perfectly acceptable and even encouraged? No, it would not go easy. There were many people alive now who only knew magic as a thing to be feared. Who felt shamed and persecuted for having magic. There were bound to be bitter people, people seeking retribution for the wrongs they'd suffered. As evening began to fall, she closed up the store. She had intentions of making her way to one of the local taverns to get something to eat and to hear what the gossip-mill was churning out at this point. It was more curiosity than a drive to be social that prompted those plans; otherwise, she'd be content to retreat to her little cottage and spend the evening quietly by herself. Stepping outside of the small shop, she locked up with the keys she'd been entrusted with. Sliding them into her pocket, Ice made her way along the street. A small crowd gathered around one of the posters drew her attention, and she stepped over to stand near them. She peered between heads and over shoulders to glance at the scroll. It wasn't one of hers, but she recognized the hand. She listened to the people for a moment before she moved away from the crowd, ambling slowly down the street toward the tavern. There was another poster nearer the building, and another knot of people. She lingered here again, listening. |