|Info:|| +4 |
-10% War Weariness for team
No from Civics for team
+1 for every Unhappy Citizen
-10% to Crime Rate
|Special:||Adds 4 to the Armageddon Counter when built|
The citizens marched into the city plaza picketing and demanding the liberties their neighbors possessed. They chanted and screamed at the palace as Flauros watched from his balcony. For hours they demonstrated, becoming bolder as the day went on, and more citizens joined.
The Moroi stood their posts, they didn’t threaten or seem aware of the horde of violent protestors before them. The citizens toppled statues in the plaza, destroyed benches and shook the palace gates and still Flauros waited.
A wave of euphoria struck the crowd, they had risen up and Flauros hadn’t responded. They were not powerless, they weren’t afraid, Flauros was afraid of them. This thought intoxicated them, generations of the Calabim have suffered without complaint or voice, complacent in their fear. But their fear was gone now, they were a new people united against their cruel aristocracy.
The sun dipped into the horizon, bathing the protestors in the reds and oranges of early night. Lengthening the shadows of the buildings until they reached out across the plaza like dark teeth on the worn granite cobblestones. For a heartbeat the angry wild cries of the protestors stopped as the shadows covered them, there was silence in the plaza. Then came the screams.
In the morning, where there once was graceful statues and benches there was now a giant pillar of granite, iron and blood. Hundreds of barbed chains were woven around the tower and held fast by those chains were all those that protested the day before. Most were torn bodies ripped to pieces and hung on the chains, but a few still lived and writhed within its grasp.
Flauros would often stand on his balcony and admire what he called the Rose of Prespur. With its thorns and blood stained top it almost seemed as such. Regardless of its artistic merits the people of Prespur never protested again.