Under the cover of night, a handful of youth dispersed with a variety of tasks. One would walk a road, identified by his eerie benefactor, and every ten paces paint a yellow line, maroon for the twenty-marks. Another drew crude sketches of apparently Dwemer figures stepping, shitting, and generally preying upon the people. Without orders one lass went so far as to break the windows to shops after hastily painting 'Your Land is Ours, Red-skin Scum'. The Dark Pilgrim watched awhile from dark alleyways and in the shadow of the guard. When the occupiers' law came round, the young scattered a drop of ink in a pond. A few gave chase, but all for not. Satisfied the brash lot could protect themselves, Shamoun took his rest.
Sleep came and went and like the sun inching above the horizon, so too did the Pilgrim creep along the rooftops. The rumbustious youths from the night before had done their job splendidly. Shop and barkeeps and merchants of all sorts came upon their places of business to prepare only to find chaos. Despite the gentle whoosh of the breeze rocking the tall palms, Shamoun heard many curse occupation. As he crept the length the rooftop, crouched all the while, he watched as the agitated bunch conferred with one another. The conversation started with wide gestures and expressions that said without words 'you wouldn't believe'. Each newcomer opened the same way only to find a dozen stories similar to their own. A deep anger surrounded them that the Pilgrim suspected even a man without senses could feel. When the group had swelled to a little over two dozen, Shamoun climbed down the back of the building onto the roads.
Shamoun emerged from an alley a proper mess. His long braids hung loose, swinging as he jogged toward the group. Beads of sweat rolled down his brow and darkened from the dirt on his cheeks. The Pilgrim bent forward, his hands rested on his knees, and took a series of quick, wheezing breaths. One day this would take no acting, Shamoun thought with a grimace.
"Take a breath, brother. There's no need for such exertions," a shop-keep instructed, his anger for now subsided.
Swallowing hard, the Pilgrim brushed his braids and shook his head. "I fear you are wrong. The guards have taken prisoners, they're parading them through the streets."
"Hardly new," another snorted. "Political dissidents are imprisoned. Make no mistake, I do not approve, but to keep your head down than be arrested. Likely them who destroyed our shops anyway!"
Shamoun stood upright, but maintained a hump at the base of his neck. He shook his head once more, "You think our sons and daughters political dissidents? They took my boy from his bed! Blamed orders. Said we lived here at the leisure of our 'Lords and Masters', that they could make and do as they pleased. Our children are taken, businesses destroyed, and you blame our young? Pah!" Spitting on the ground, the Pilgrim turned on his heel and stumbled further down the road. After five paces he began to doubt his plan. Alternative ways to rouse the masses pooled in his mind until a voice broke the thoughts.
"Brother! Brother, we believe you. On what road have the bastards taken our kin?"
Not an hour later, Shamoun arrived to an unremarkable intersection. The buildings here were no taller or shorter than others, nor was territory an issue. He walked the dusty streets wide with his braids bound back tightly and his black, Alik'r head covering drooping low so that it cast a shadow over his face. For now the streets were quiet and though they were wide enough for the busiest of days, for now he spotted only three others. Standing at the corner of each intersection, the figures rested each in their own way without any mind to one another. Shamoun stopped at the remaining empty corner and leaned against a wall. Behind him, a stick figure cartoon of a fat Dwemer warrior with absurdly small genitalia assaulting a child, while below and far more subtle, a simple maroon line. He smiled within himself, waiting.
What began as a hum had grown into an outright roar. Perhaps a hundred voices echoed into the intersection, none of which content. Shamoun and the others glanced about as people trickled into the center of the meeting. Many appeared red in the face from frustration or shouting, but so far none had raised a weapon. When a decent group formed the four figures joined them. From within the mass, they drew the mob out so that they reached each corner of the intersection like a blockade. The squeak of oil-deprived wheels queued Shamoun and his company to begin their work. Each did their part in sharing their incendiary stories, pointing out the anti-Redguard graffiti, and eventually, taking arms. The Pilgrim picked up a palm sized rock from among the many scattered throughout the road, courtesy of the youths the night before. He tossed the rock to a particularly animated member of the mob and raised a fist. They cried out as the guards escorting their prisoners rounded the street. Without a word, the mob charged.
Men, women, and beastfolk surrounded the troop of guards at once. Shamoun wove through the crowd as stones flew in an arch from the rear of the mass into the center, presumably atop the guards. He watched as blind throws sent shots of blood into the air as other dissidents caught fell. Metallic pinging put a smile on a his face though. When the Pilgrim finally caught sight of the guards he ten paces away, but separated by four lines of people standing shoulder to shoulder. Only four of the guards had worn metal armour and they were the ones standing. The others had likely caught blows to the head early on, now no more than a mash churned under the heels of the mob. He saw the flash of steel as a soldier swung his scimitar, slashing a club wielding woman at the waist. Somehow the sword seemed to snag, maybe on another person, and Shamoun grimaced as the very woman brought the club down against their helmet. The thud sounded through the shouts and ring of steel, and either from confusion or pain, the soldier collapsed. He watched the remaining soldiers form a tight triangle against the pulsing crowd. When those amongst the mob stepped, the guards cut air and snarled. Resigned to death, but on their own terms.
Shamoun struggled two rows closer to the action and placed a hand on his dagger when a sharp clang rang out. In protecting themselves, the guards had left the trailer holding the prisoners unprotected. Chains fell from the gate, but as the prisoners escaped and formed into the crowd, the guards made their move. All three lunged forward at once with broad strikes. Those in the first crowd stumbled backward, their chests, faces, and shoulders gashed wide with show of blood. Shamoun fell back in the mess from a man taken by fright. The man lashed out immediately, but the Pilgrim caught him in a bear hug. Suddenly, the man pressed against him guard. The pressure began at the chest, then moved down near his groin. Shamoun balled himself beneath the man so that his head and feet were covered. He felt warmth on the back of his neck where he'd felt the chest, but now, something like heavy and wet blanket. The feeling sent chills through Shamoun, and taken by that, he pushed the body aside with all his might. He lost his breath as three weights fell atop of him, but after a second shove he felt the cool air.
A breeze made the moist on his face hard and thick. The Pilgrim shuffled onto his hands and knees, just tall enough that those around no longer mistook him for the road. He caught the glimmering steel and a modest ring of bodies. In a few moments the guards had reduced the mob by a third. Shamoun rose to his feet, heavy from the blood and tears of those who'd fallen atop of him and unsheathed his dagger.
"We need to keep the mob roused before reinforcements arrive. Can you handle them?" came a voice from beside the Pilgrim. He recognized them as one of the three hooded figures before, his fellow conspirators in this business.
"Gather up whatever weapons you can," Shamoun instructed, the two walking toward the guards as they fell another rioter. "If the next batch come with Dwemer arms the streets will run red with innocent blood. Go."