for @undeadmessiah
In times of strife, of battle stress or resource strain, the people of the Labyrinth operated akin to a machine. Arms lifting over arms that lowered, baskets of bread exchanged for baskets of laundry, coin long forgotten as part of the process. Mercury wove through his people with surprising ease -- less any supernatural instinct of his own, more the people’s understanding for their lord and how he moved.
“In the wake of tragedy,” Mercury began, pausing as a man gently pulled him to avoid some laughing children. He nodded his thanks before continuing. “Those of the maze come together like nothing Metia has ever seen.” The tactician offered an elbow to the other once they were free from the crowd -- he knew his way around from memory, but so much activity usually meant a crate or barrel out of place. “Do you come for aid, or rest on some journey?”
Appearances need to be kept, at least.
