The Arena Riots ( open, gamewide )

[civilobedience]

Who: The Militia, the city, and you.
What: The Arena Riots.
Where: The Arena, Griss Twist.
When: Newdi, Eliaderen 1. (Monday Oct 1st)
Notes: Companion post for questions and plotting is here.
Warnings: Violence, police brutality, disturbing content and imagery, graphic death.

It's apparent even before dawn that something out of the ordinary is happening. Canton sheriffs are roused from their sleep or pulled away from their work to be told that on no uncertain terms, today will be a day that they do not leave their neat lines on the map. That their individual offices will be responsible for all crime and unrest within their jurisdictions, with no help; the powers that be offer no details, but the creeping feeling in their presence suggests no questions would be tolerated anyway – the implication that they'll all be watched is a strong one. In Mog Hill, Sheriff Norrington proceeds as he always does under such orders. In Mafaton, leadership is stoic but one deputy laughs, sharp and bitter, while the Emissary of the Council merely checks his watch, unseen underground. Sir Hellsing is pulled away from her dinner in the Guild Hall, a Sobek Croix deputy anxiously relaying the news. The sound of shattered glass disturbs the pre-dawn silence in Flyside, a brick hurled by some faceless figure into the front window of Thames – and nothing else.

From the Spire, hooded Militiamen move quietly and uniformly south, to Griss Twist. They are followed by wagons, full of prisoners.

Comments

[kalenedral]

Kalenedral has been here all morning, doing whatever it is that sadistic 'freed' Scourge might do with an early-morning arena group full of willing combatants. Which probably involves beating on each other, but hey, that's just how the Ebon Blade say hello.

When the militia show their faces (so to speak), and not just to watch, he lets out a soft, disappointed sigh and brackets his rune-blade. "Another time," he murmurs to whomever he'd been crossing weapons with, calmly ducking their last swing as he collects Limbface from the sidelines, and departs.

He remains in the area, albeit not inside the arena grounds, for some time. After all, Kalenedral hasn't been forbidden against sating his curiosity, only from getting involved or interfering. When he sees the wagons full of prisoners being driven into the preparation area, he shakes his head.

Just as well he left; fighting frightened civilians was never his idea of a good time. Even in the Scourge, at least outside of proper battlefields, he'd been known to let the unarmed and unarmored run from him so long as they didn't attack him. Those brave (and foolish) few who had, he'd fed to the ghouls without so much as batting an eye.

...No, had he remained, he knows who his primary targets would have been. The militia are armed and armored, and---

Ah, his thoughts are affecting Limbface too much. The ghoul has begun to sidle toward the arena.

"I am afraid not," Kalenedral's quiet voice is unnecessary, of course; his minions can understand him without words. But it's become a habit, due to dealing with the living, who always seem to find their wordless communication frightening.

Limbface stops mid-step, "No kill?"

"Not today," Kalenedral sounds disappointed even to his own ears, "follow me."

Shadowmane is summoned, and he hauls himself onto her saddle while musing to himself that for all so many people seem disconcerted by his ghoul, none of them have yet to see him in action. How will they react once they know that Limbface is nearly as dangerous to tangle with as his Master? It's all cute legos and chairs and shiny things until it's business time, and then... ah, well, they both change to some degree, do they not? An unsheathed weapon is different than one in its scabbard. Perhaps it's only appropriate.

Well, no one will find out today. Certainly not here, if so. Shadowmane's white-fire hooves bear him away, Limbface running along behind, even as the first screams pierce the air.