CoA

A voice, magically enhanced and of horrifying tone blasts across Kled, "Surrender in the name of King Kalak the Almighty, pitiful swine, and no harm shall come to you!" The crowd seems even further panicked and their pace is quickened. Bodies slam into you, heavy dwarves nearly knocking you off your feet. Then, the rumbling begins anew.

Astorus:   Doing the best I can to keep my balance by dodging as much dwarves as possible I walk along with the rest of the crowd. Shortly after starting walking I start looking for some place where I could concentrate enough to use my psionics.

I spot an empty hut which seems the ideal spot and head for it, still having a hard time keeping my balance. Before entering the hut I try to look behind me to find out more about the cause of this tumult and to get a better perspective of the situation.   After entering the hut I start focussing on my nexus and feel the mental energy starting to flow. I concentrate myself on the colors in my surroundings and use the energy to adapt myself to these color and slowly what my body fade out of sight. < using my Chamelion Power >   Trying to maintain this state I look out of the doorway, standing as unmoving as possible, and study the scenes on the street.

 It doesn't take you long to conceal the entirety of your body from prying eyes.  The energy that pours forth from the axis of the three energies within your body, physical, mental and spiritual hides and protects you, altering the colors of your skin to match that of the walls.  You think the citizens in the streets probably wish they had your power.  The pitiful wretches are being driven like cattle and you quickly discover why.  Peering through the open air windows you see a pair of riders at the end of the throng.  They pass the hut in the briefest of moments, as they are charging at a breakneck pace, but you manage to gather what they appear to be.  They are huge and burly forms, probably human or mul, but the chitinous helmets they wear make their exact identities impossible to decipher, as their faces are covered.  They each wear sleeveless leather jerkins, but their armor appears quite useless as no one appears to be counterattacking them.  They hew at the defenseless populace with long polearms, tipped with a vicious spike, hacking at the backs of the knees or the buttocks.  Those slow enough to be caught in the rear of the crowd are mercilessly cut down and left to bleat and writhe, suffering torn tendons and lacerated muscles in the dirt.  Even the crodlus seem to be bellowing with glee and charge without fear behind the screaming populace.
As the riders pass and the doppler effect reduces the noise emitted by the dismayed populace, you feel briefly safe, but you do not have time to sigh in relief, as the threat has not passed.  Voices, not the pained moans of the wounded, but harsh forceful voices, barking and spitting orders.  You can hear the hard words of what appears to be some manner of commander, "Search the buildings!  There will be no survivors!  Kill those who resist!  Leave those too injured to walk!"  Whoever or whatever he is, he's growing nearer.