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[Nh'bdy]

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At the stroke of midnight a field outside of Brit erupts into flames, dislodging a large amount of earth, sending flames and what appear to be shimmering sparks flying into the air. The display coats the morning ground in pockets of smoke around the crater, measuring approximately three feet deep, and five in circumference. Owners of the pumpkin field leap out of bed, only to find that the initial explosion has fire radiating out of it in some manner of design, apparently lamp oil, forming some crude manner of symbol not visitable from the ground, five nearby pumpkins in the path of the flames erupt into loud reports. Later, a one of the keepers of the field will comment it "Looked like a bee" when viewed from a nearby roof. The event goes mostly noticed, however whispers escape into the town by that morning.
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Work in Progress.
"What do you call a fish with four legs? A stool pidgeon! Bwuagh bwuagh bwuagh bwguagh!"
~Malorn

[Nh'bdy]

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"The Fifth-V & IV"

As the clock strikes ten, explosives placed on the support structures of "River's Gate" bridge in Brit erupt into flames, boats below the bridge. Reports can be heard Brit wide as the ashes begin to fall, the city rushes to survey the wound, moments afterward the bridge known as "Virtue's Pass" has a similar incident. A crowd gathered on the bridge disappears in the eruption. The city sits in awe as cobalt smoke rises from the incidents.
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Work in Progress.
"What do you call a fish with four legs? A stool pidgeon! Bwuagh bwuagh bwuagh bwguagh!"
~Malorn

[Nh'bdy]

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Apon the hour of eleven, the flames that had been kept from spreading are joined by a shower of rock and sparks, glancing up river four darkly robbed figures are seen pelting the bridge with hand held explosives. The fire lines redirect to the newest incident.
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Work in Progress.
"What do you call a fish with four legs? A stool pidgeon! Bwuagh bwuagh bwuagh bwguagh!"
~Malorn

[Cear Dallben ZOG]

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~Cear to a wayfarer~

I wasn't there, but a Monk told me it happened.
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[Arahim]

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Arahim took a rooftop seat at the hour the masked anarchist called Nh'Bdy, had told him to.

He recalled his many meetings with him. His conversation was challenging. His ideas varied.

Arahim's thoughts sometimes amused, or even echoed the masked man's, and it was somewhat unsettling.

As fires painted the night, and scattered life in its wake, arousing actions, suspicions, and a patented form of chaos, Arahim frowned. Painted a red-gold flickering, he stood and leaned forward, watching the city heave forth it's populance, curious and afraid.

Ramifications sped through his mind, left an imprint, and spiralled on.

Stonemasons and architects would find work rebuilding bridges.

Common folk would have a difficult time calming their children.

Nobles would wag their tongues, and make boastful promises, but do nothing.

But most significant, a growing mass of regular, everyday people would lose faith in a Protecterate whose duty it is/was/should be to makes their lives better, and safeguard them from unrest.