Checks, Balances, Rituals & Murder

"Nero was corrupt," Martius opined. "He got what was coming to him.
"I won't argue the point," Callidorus concurred, "but it is troubling to have the mark used in that fashion."
"Gah. Fuck 'em," Martius shot back. "Let the Guardsmen worry over it, chase after shadows."
I walked into the small tavern, hidden in one of the meaner warrens of the Street of Brands District. The blonde slave, Noemi, not yet collared but fully imbonded, was at my side. The men grunted their acknowledgment of me as I sat around the table, but continued their conversation. They paid little attention to the blonde girl, which was indicative of the importance of this meeting.
"It is troubling that an Assassin would do something so ritualistic," Callidorus answered.
"Well it certainly wasn't one of the bald ones," Martius replied. "Unless they specified it was done that way."
"We cannot afford to let up," I interjected. "But we must be prudent in our activities."
"Prudent?!" Martius answered sharply. "Are we not reactionaries?"
"Martius, calm down," Callidorus answered. "There is no need to be rash."
"We must increase our activity!" Martius asserted.

"I agree that we must continue," I answered, "but I, for one, do not wish the murders of Bronte or Valois pinned on me."
"There is no proof!" Martius exclaimed.
"They will not need proof," I answered. "The mark will be enough."
After a time, we agreed it was time to adjourn and I bid the fellows well, bringing the blonde girl at my side up by her hair. I was stopped at the door by Callidorus.
"I cannot control Martius, Poet," he said to me. "He is angry. He lost much with the last increase."
"I am doing what I can," I promised. "I intend to file another repeal and then I will apply for restitution on behalf of the People."
"No, no..." he started. "Nobody here blames you. I did not mean to...let us talk another time."
Callidorus paused and glanced at Noemi. He offered the girl a smile and then wished me well.
There was much on my mind when I left the tavern with the unmarked door in the Street of Brands District. Men like Martius are well-meaning, but hot-headed. It is something we cannot afford. The memory of our faction and the respect it garners has been usurped by others, repurposed. It is troubling. The murders are, doubtless, connected. The People's endorsement is tenuous at this point. They will rally as the tide starts to turn against the elite or they will retreat to a pragmatic, 'safe' stance, putting further faith in the establishment that abuses their trust. Either extreme is troublesome; blind ambivalence or a violent revolt, but I have come to understand the path between two extremes is no solution. Society requires checks and balances. Every man has his part to play, his performance to deliver. It is paramount to discern just where I stand on this stage, before the entire house comes down in a pile of shattered timbers.