That certainly was not happening here.
The crowd certainly was out to claim what was rightfully theirs, but it was nothing so noble as to fight for their rights as an oppressed people. These were not workers tired of poor wages, no, this was far more terrifying. A crowd of angered gamblers who felt they had been cheated.
This was not the first time she had seen the streets of Ul'dah come to life, whether out of anger or happiness. Nor would it be the last. But it was certainly a sight to see. Winttrach leaned over a bit further to get a better view.
Merchants hurriedly picked up their stalls, leaving behind that which could be considered the least valuable. Which for some of the stalls, had meant items that could still fetch a hefty amount of gil, assuming they weren't destroyed in the process. The crowd moved without much regard for the stalls. If it seemed something was in the way, it was thrashed aside in a wave of people, which usually left something in pieces against a wall.
The few guards that had tried to stop the procession were quickly swept up in the crowd. Whatever authority they had on a good day, including the risk of angering the syndicate, was being ignored. Quite a few guards had found themselves caught up in the commotion, having lost their own bets on the fight from earlier.
The fight was rigged, as would be obvious to anyone who could make out the garbled screams of the horde. Again, not the first time Winttrach had seen such. She had been offered a similar bargain on more than one occasion, and each time refused. Never in her wildest dreams could she have put on the spectacle from earlier.
At best fixed matches were overdone theatrics. A put on bout that was made to look as legitimate as possible. Give those who weren't in on the trick the idea that everything was above board, allow them the show they want. Send them home thinking they still had a chance, even when there was nothing of the sort. She had seen those matches. Those where the clear winners were taken down at the last minute in a fight they should have won. It certainly wasn't honest, but if they needed the paycheck, who was she to judge.
This had not been that. This particular fight had been advertised across all of Thanalan. A risky maneuver for a rigged match, but not entirely unusual. The pair doing the fighting weren't so far apart in skill as to make either losing suspicious, though there was a clear favorite. An up-and-coming rookie, one not short in skill at that, against a grizzled veteran. The latter was meant to lose.
And lose he did. He lost in the most dramatic fashion possible. She had seen bards with less skill in theatrics than he who took the dive in Ul'dah's gladiator arena today. Each blow was treated as a mortal wound, even though no so much as grazed the veteran. The audience had sat there dumbfounded, herself included, as the match progressed, until even the rookie was left with his jaw flapping in the breeze.
When his opponent refused to continue with the bout, the veteran fell over with all the dramatic fair he could afford to give. Before the crowd could react, the veteran had sprung up from the ground and strode over to his opponent, and began wildly shaking his hand. The rookie had looked from the veteran, to the crowd, and back, and bolted for the fighter's quarters.
Now the fruit of that labor was storming through the streets, and was beginning to round the corner out of Winttrach's sight. Turning back from the ledge, she started the long trek home. She gave it a few days before the rabble died down, though she was forced to wonder if anyone would manage to collect their winnings.
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