It is not wisdom that draws Anatoly to the site of disaster, not bravery or fear or anguish. It is not the mongers hawking fish and gossip from this side of the land to the other that drew his attention. It is not the religious sort screaming for the end of the world (“Look upon Solis and despair, for he is consumed at his height! Weep upon the rising dawn that Oriens has been bested! Vespera hangs her weary head and laments the final loss of her godly kin! Caligo take us all!”) for that only makes him laugh.
No, it is the potential that pulls him here. Disaster will always draw a crowd, will always stir emotions high until the people are frothing with the desire to act. Now the religious are blaming Caligo and he turns that around and over in his head until the idea has physical weight, considering how to use it. Now they are looking for someone to blame and he considers how best to point fingers that will have all of Novus shifting.
The sea is frothing, all angry waves and scuttling crabs (cleverer creatures than the horses that mill about the beach, staring out into the sea like it will make a difference). The sky is indeed as black as all the tales tell, but they miss the sparks of lightning at the epicenter, the flashes of molten red and gold just barely visible through the smoke.
Let this disaster be whatever the portents claimed it to be. Let it be the raging of gods. Let it be the altar of sins. Let it be believed. Anatoly will stir the whispers and the crowds and wait.
No, it is the potential that pulls him here. Disaster will always draw a crowd, will always stir emotions high until the people are frothing with the desire to act. Now the religious are blaming Caligo and he turns that around and over in his head until the idea has physical weight, considering how to use it. Now they are looking for someone to blame and he considers how best to point fingers that will have all of Novus shifting.
The sea is frothing, all angry waves and scuttling crabs (cleverer creatures than the horses that mill about the beach, staring out into the sea like it will make a difference). The sky is indeed as black as all the tales tell, but they miss the sparks of lightning at the epicenter, the flashes of molten red and gold just barely visible through the smoke.
Let this disaster be whatever the portents claimed it to be. Let it be the raging of gods. Let it be the altar of sins. Let it be believed. Anatoly will stir the whispers and the crowds and wait.
***STAFF EDIT
@anatoly has rolled a 3! He has been awarded +40 signos
