Familiar Faces, Worn out Places

[Shang Tsung]

The Spartan shook his head as the mob tore into the building in front of him. A small assortment prior to the attack, the guards placed outside town hall melted like snow in summer before the wave of rioters. A few of them even went so far as to throw away their weapons, but those who did not were bludgeoned and beaten into unconsciousness as the angry, confused men and women of Darkshire flooded into their town’s nucleus.

Even as he heard the smashing of glass and wood inside the structure, Atelos knew that his part in these machinations wasn’t yet concluded. Stepping over the groaning, half-conscious form of the female soldier, he retrieved his shield and moved through the shattered frame of the town hall. As he made his way down the main arterial hallway, the rioters were disemboweling the offices that lined both sides of the corridor. He heard screams and the sound of dull impacts, but glances showed that no one was being murdered. The people who had stormed the building were letting out their anger without giving into their bloodlust.

Try as he might, Atelos couldn’t suppress a faint smirk as Dobson’s words from earlier sounded in his head.

”They’ll get angry and break things, but the people of Darkshire aren’t savages. They’ve endured this long in the Moors because they’re not the same as the creatures that prowl the night.”

Making his way down the main hallway, Atelos continued on the path planned out for him. He had a specific ‘time table’ (the sorcerer had such frivolous words sometimes) to follow. Picking up his pace, the Spartan jogged across the large central room that served as the meeting hall and entered the network of back hallways that would eventually connect him to the mayor’s private quarters. While they figured that a number of the councilmen would be able to slip away during the fracas, Boone had to been captured.

Trudging up the stairs, Atelos rammed through the locked door at its apex and entered the next hall. How long had it been since he’d traversed this path just a few short days after returning from the Frozen Fields? With each thud of his boots against the wood, he wondered just how many people found themselves in such a situation as this.

When he came to the large oak door at the end of the hallway, Atelos smacked his armored forearm against it a few times in short succession. On the last blow, the unlocked door sighed as it swung open, revealing a partially light apartment.

“Mayor Boone?” The Spartan shouted in a tone somewhere between a demand and an honest question. “Are you in here?”

From the unlit kitchen, Atelos heard a cough and turned to see the man running Darkshire. Since their last meeting, the mayor’s condition—whatever it was—seemed to have worsened to the point that even the heavy makeup he wore made it hard not to see how gaunt and skeletal he looked. Despite a decrepit-looking body, the man’s eyes burned hot as he stared at the small medal that adorned the Spartan’s breastplate. “Hello, Defender Atelos. Are you here to defend your city?”

Even with the thunder of several boots in the hallway outside his apartment, Mayor Boone still managed to find a few morsels of sarcasm to throw at the scowling man standing before him.

In response to the question, Atelos only gave the truth as he moved forward to ensure the man did not escape:

“Yes.”
***

Just a few steps behind Atelos, Dobson Skendor’s youth had all but vanished from his stern features as he marched toward the mayor’s office. Even now, the majority of the town council would be apprehended and off toward holding cells within garrisons proven loyal to his faction. Once the mayor was removed from the equation, they could wash away the whole edifice of corruption that had laid Darkshire low for the last several months.

With any luck, the transition would be smooth and involve only limited violence.

The people deserved as much.