Six radicals sense the winds changing at last, and spearhead a civil war, in an effort to seize control of the Government and implement their own ideas. However, against this background of warring factions, they find themselves fighting the Government, each other, and themselves...
Everyone could feel the tension that summer. The sky was dark and overcast with clouds for four days, and the older ones took it as a sign of a turn of luck. In the Country the peasants flexed their calloused, overworked hands on pitchforks. The air was electric. The stage was set.
In the City, the People were waking up. They looked around at their grubby, cramped houses in the suburbs, and their high rents, and their miserable jobs, their miserable lives. They watched as policemen patrolled their poorly-lit streets, when they could be bothered. Their thin clothes felt the slightest breeze in winter and overheated them in summer. The streets were narrow and primitive, their ancient cobbles dirty.
With the aid of a few thinkers, the People began to look to the comfortable middle-class homes and the marbled Church and gilded Court of Justice.
Anger spread throughout the lower class like a disease. It came in from the Country and was amplified in the City, where almost overnight, production virtually stopped and capital faltered. Underneath the plush mattress of the aristocracy and seat of Government, the People restlessly plotted.
The rulers probably noticed too that something was about to happen, but they ignored it, or dismissed it. The Capital City remained as normal, going about its daily business, the houses around the stone grey castle sitting as always against the grey-purple sky, the wind blowing the golden cornfields and the leaves of the trees, and the air filling with the peaceful rustling sound, and rain just beginning to fall.