[IRP] When Strength is All You Have Left, Is That Strength All You Need?

[Andy]

Ambrose had stopped again and leaned against the wall of an alley. He saw an armored man and woman heading towards him, further into the backstreet, and the man called out, asking for a match. He dug in a pouch on his belt and pulled out one of his. He still had many, but not so many that he could give them out willy-nilly. "Aye, here's one. Save it for later, though. By the clouds, it's going to rain soon," he told them, handing the match to the shorter man, pointing at the deep grey clouds above. The smell of rain, of wetness, had begun permeating the air perhaps half an hour ago. He readjusted his heavy and worn stormcloak.

"Either of you know what's going on? A city of this size should rightly be deafening around the market squares, but they're not," Ambrose asked the two strangers. He wasn't aware that he was now near the front gate, and that likely neither of them knew a thing. Nor was he aware that he was in the presence of nobility. "What are these cursed nobles up to now?" he growled in a low rumble.