Chaos ruled the streets of Kevlon an hour from the murder of their sacred law. Doubt sprung in the hearts of the faithful, and the low-lives stuck their heads out of the gutter, their lust for power stoked by chaos, inflamed by Hamleth's death. Yet quiet sat the duke on his veranda, admiring hope burning with his city.
The city gates were closed; nobody was allowed to leave Kevlon, but not even the soldiers guarding the dragon-hide gates wished to live in a place with no god. Morale was crumbling amongst such guardians, and seeing it so, the criminals had set up shop. Smuggling people out of the city, but whether they ever truly made it out or ended up in some basement as future slaves, nobody could know for sure.
