The leaders of the recent attacks on Mahaja merchants in Amber City awake one night to find their beds surrounded by men & women in brown leathers. Before the man can scream his mouth is covered by a hand out of the dark and one visitor whispers, "We don't want any more a'this rioting. Go to work, make babies and live a long life." The hand tightens, squeezing, squeezing, "ANY more riots happen to the Mahaja and we'll kill you - whether you led them or not. Someone else gets the bright idea to start something and you all got an alibi - we'll still kill you."

With that each leader is knocked out and the visitors leave.

Word of the threat spreads like wildfire among the back alleys. The ugly feeling that has been hovering over the city seems to swell, the pressure in the air increasing with each mouth the story passes from. There's a faceless, almost voiceless murmuring...the dirty Madjis are threatening good, decent Amber folk and their families in their beds now.

Whenever any dusky-skinned person passes on the street, they can feel the eyes on them, boring into them and the dirty muttering behind them.

Violence simply hangs in the air, like gunpowder waiting for a spark.

This text is copyright © ??; "Amber" is copyright © Roger Zelazny; "Amber" the diceless RPG is copyright © Phage Press. No copyright infringement is intended.

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