Tyrien's assurances are met with continued nervous glances and mutterings, as the frightened citizens seem disinclined to believe that well-armed people carrying corpses aren't a threat.
Kalgor's decision to use their implied threat to clear the party's path is more successful, but in their heightened state of fear, the crowd doesn't part so much as it stampedes.
"Undead plague!"
"Nobody touch them!"
"Nobody breathe!"
"We'll all be zombies by nightfall!"
Men and women shove and push each other in a panicked effort to put as much distance between themselves and the bodies they now fear are undead. Some are more successful than others, while the smaller and weaker find themselves falling underfoot. A small child cries through the press of flesh and fear, while a raggedy woman screams "My baby!"
"Make way!"
A wave of black armor enters the mottled, dirty tones of the crowd, as Rylidak and the Crows under her command quickly force order on the near-mob. The half-orc woman reaches down to rescue the small child from the feet of fleeing citizenry, and quickly returns him to his mother, then turns her eyes and sword in the direction of the disturbance, clearly braced to stand against the unholy terror which has destroyed property and people alike.
The mix of rage and fear falls away as Rylidak catches sight of the party. Her sword point falls to her side and she sighs in relief. Then she looks back and forth between the still-fearful crowd (now at least marginally under control with Crows scattered about them) and the lot of you, draped in Dark Creepers and body-filled bedrolls.
"Clearly you're good at the killing," she says, raising an eyebrow, "Subtlety? Maybe not so much. And you're headed the wrong direction if you're looking for the cemetery."
