Chaining the Giant

You are Giants. Bow to no one. It was a simple message, scrawled in red paint boldly across the sheer, white wall of the Cylinder of Initiates. The delka, painted under cover of darkness on that same wall, was long since white-washed. This message, a message for the People of Ar, was done with an indignant attitude, at midday, facilitated by a well-rehearsed scuffle on the avenue that fronts the power base of the White. Punches were thrown, guardsmen distracted, and a crowd of apparent onlookers shielded the front wall of the Cylinder while the defacement took place. It was meant to be a blow to the dogmatic, the carnivorous, shaven-headed fear-mongers of the Temple. Let them see that superstitions and pragmatism will not prison all low men in cages of their own fear. Giants. The men of Ar are Giants. Lay your chains upon them at your own peril.
Most disturbing is that the inevitable has occured. A serpent's hiss tells the tale of more than happenstance, but of intricate orchestration. As chaos begins to reign, the strings of the puppet masters pull tauter. The mob rule may play directly into the hands of the elite. On one hand, it is a fine thing, a just thing, for the People to proclaim sa'ng fori, but I wonder if the chains are about to break, finally, or simply be replaced by something far more constricting, pervasive and inescapable.