A power vacuum widens as militias tighten checkpoints and factions sharpen their knives.
Before dawn, the bells that once rang for commerce tolled for grief. Lord Protector Anivar Daoran lies dead, and every alley in Phlan suddenly has ears. Black Fist patrols have doubled at the gates; wagoners report 'inspection delays' that feel a lot like extortion. At Valjevo Castle, aides refuse to confirm who now signs orders - though new seals have already appeared on proclamations. Merchants whisper that the city will soon choose between unity and occupation by quieter means.
What it means: The council's rivals will seek proof, leverage, or scandal. If you have a clean sword-arm and a cleaner conscience, you may be employed soon - by someone.
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