Tzânalon to the Wolves

A cold sun stretched their shadows as they dragged the man through the streets like a sack of black tubers. The excited buzzing of the masses filled the air. Some cheered - some sang. Some yelled derogatory terms at the captive. Spit and pebbles pattered down on the unfortunate creature like hail as he slid along the hard gravel road in a procession at once festive and gruesome.

His eyes were cast down as the wind blew in his face to move the messy strands of fur and hair that had been orderly mere hours ago. Blood dripped from his mouth and left stains on the ground that were overshadowed by the stains of dirt and mud on his once glamorous red satin coat. The silver pins and embroidery thereon had long ceased to gleam; not a spark of glitter was left on his jewellery, which sat on bound and grazed hands. Yet despite his miserable appearance, his sight invoked no pity; there was nothing but disgust in the eyes of the people.

His wardens walked with rapid steps without regard for his well-being, and ere noon had come, they had reached the square in front of the town hall - with its lush facade -  where the tree, the headsman, stood. Gently swayed the rope as it waited to carry out its task once more, but the judge was yet amiss. Free of mercy in light of the situation, they heaved him unto the podium where they pinned him down so he could not run.

And waited.

An influx of onlookers had been flowing towards the venue ever since its main attraction arrived and order was fragile. Not much longer now would the wolf folk of the Gammit be able to bridle its rage - to subdue its hunger. The conversing among them became louder, and the more time passed, the more the chatter transformed into an expression of chaos, escalating quick and quicker, threatening to explode, to burst forth in physical form if something did not happen soon.

Then, suddenly, the wait was over.

Slowly, one by one, the voices died down until all was silent and the illusion of calm spread like a blanket across the square. From a quiet alley cast in shadows, she had arrived - Tjâmi Em'kari, the fiery one, bringer of justice and the revolution. And with her, the hammer of judgment would fall. All eyes were on her as she made her way through the throng toward the gallows. Where once there had been chaos was now a nigh-complete absence of sound or movement despite the continued presence of the previously wild masses. The sudden silence was suffocating more than it was welcome. A new feeling had come over the place; a certain eeriness.

Her long red hair trailed behind her in uneven strands - it had seen better days, as had her face. Her uniform was that of a commoner, with only a green ribbon - neatly tied around her neck - to indicate her status, yet her presence was greater than she. With not even a whip, she could tame the people. She could give them what they wanted. What they needed. What they finally deserved. With large steps, she climbed the podium. The confidence of a leader radiated from her expression, though on the face of the prisoner, where it would have belonged, it was nowhere to be found. Quietly, she motioned the wardens to let him stand so all could see him. If she had any concerns, she knew not to show them.

"Baron Phöros III of Hyâr-djao", Tjâmi began her speech. Her voice was loud and firm. "We, the people, have collectively and by the grace of the spirits that be in the land found you guilty of crimes including but not limited to: the systematic oppression of your subjects along with your fellow aristocracy; exploiting honest citizens of goodwill for your own personal gain; ignoring the will of the people in decisions of region-wide importance and concern; neglecting to ensure the safety and defence of those you are obliged to safeguard by law; conspiring with fellow nobles with the goal of further enriching yourself at the expense of the commoners; and failure to respond to the demands of the People's Movement, which enjoys the full and unrestricted endorsement and consent of the people. For these crimes against wulvarkind and all that Tzânalon stands and ever has stood for, you shall be tried by those you have wronged, and their word shall decide your fate."

As she finished, she took a deep breath and turned to the crowd. As usual, the people had started to become visibly uneasy from the delay, shuffling around, whispering in patches, looking up to her with impatient gazes that could scarce hold still. They knew well that the speech was but a formality. They wanted to see justice, as they always did, and she knew exactly what they longed for.

"People of Tzânalon!" she exclaimed. "What shall be the price that this traitor to his own people will pay for his misdeeds?"

It did not take long until all mouths present unleashed a shout in unison.

"DEATH!"

It reverberated in a thousand voices all across the square and through the streets of the city. The young and the old, even the children cried the verdict with unbound fury. Too long had the people been in chains.

"DEATH!"

Windows flung open and those not already out on the streets chimed in to strengthen the collective voice.

"DEATH!"

Tjâmi rashly acknowledged the sentence as she had done on many occasions. The outcry had been louder than ever before. She knew that on this very day, history would be made, here and now. "So the people has spoken, and death it shall be! The traitor must pay the highest price for his misdeeds, by the grace of the spirits."

"Please", the baron uttered, his voice shaking as he fell on his knees, pleading for his life, though he knew it was forfeit. They were the first words to leave his scratchy throat since he had been brought to court. "I've... I've got family!"

Tjâmi looked deep into his eyes, visibly unmoved. Before her knelt a man, not a baron - not a tyrant any longer. Reduced to his most primal state, crawling and begging at her feet and no more than a beast led to the shambles, he was truly a pathetic sight to behold.

"You won't", she slowly responded and bared her fangs, though it brought her no pleasure. A terrible deed was to be done as many terrible deeds had been done in recent times, but she knew there was no way around it if the people was to be free. The people would be free, and if the skulls and bones of the aristocrats had to pave its way to paradise, then that was how it had to be. For want of even the chime of a bell, a bird of prey cawed on the tall roof of the town hall when the masses pounced on the doomed creature as hungry wolves on their juicy prey. The midday sun watched as they finished the grim work with threefold huzzah.

Hyâr-djao was theirs.