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The Fall of Civilization
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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 4832871" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p>The celebration is truly epic.</p><p></p><p>The people of Fandelose have triumphed over a seemingly numberless horde. They have held out against all odds, and although it took almost six years, they have driven off the foe at last. Heshwat the Eviscerator, who had made a daily practice of torturing captives before the walls, now stares sightlessly from the top of a pike, mounted atop those self same walls. The Six-Fingered Hand has been driven back- at least for now. </p><p></p><p>General Argos announces a great festival, open to everyone in the city. There will be food and entertainment aplenty, and everyone is invited. A small force will remain on watch, and there are scouts in the outlying areas, so even if a tattered remnant Hand force manages to make an attack, the city should have plenty of warning. </p><p></p><p>And almost everyone is there- almost the entire city. People bring food and drink to contribute, and there is plenty to be had by all. Even after half a decade of siege, the people of Fandelose have never been driven to deep hunger. </p><p></p><p>Our heroes are acclaimed as main heroes of the war. They are the Defenders of Fandelose, the Heroes of the Wall. The Dragon walks with them, and all of them have made names for themselves. </p><p></p><p>But of course, nothing is ever all good. </p><p></p><p>The soldiers grumble. None of them have received any pay yet, and it’s six years overdue- more, in some cases. And the Bronze Council is still not back in power. There are definitely... areas of tension yet to be fully resolved. Areas that have been safely ignored for nigh on six years, while much more immediate concerns threw themselves at the gates over and over again. </p><p></p><p><em>Not tonight.</em> No, let tonight be for tonight- a celebration of victory, a collective triumph for all of Fandelose’s people. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>It takes little time for the party to become separated by the roar of the crowd, the temptation of different performances, different food and drink, different people. To her delight, Vann-La finds herself swept into Lar-Gonn, the Kree sergeant that has fought beside (and beneath) her since the initial engagements by the Black Gorge. They have been courting for several years, showing the legendary elven patience, but tonight is the night. She lets herself be seduced by Lar-Gonn’s delightful little morsels called <em>chocolates</em>.</p><p></p><p>In the morning, he will give her the rest of the bag.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Wandering through the massive press of people, Torinn is surprised to stumble upon General Pythock, his face painted with makeup, orating to a collection of citizens. Torinn smiles at the general, and is not surprised to see his answering sneer. </p><p></p><p>Pythock, of course, is the general that was in charge when the party first reached Fandelose, a month or so ahead of the Six-Fingered Hand, when General Argos had been imprisoned in the Black Tower, framed by Millbury. Pythock had gained his position by virtue of his aristocratic roots, and had made a very poor impression on the party. <em>In fact, I don’t think he had been to work at all between when we got to the city and when we got Argos out of the tower,</em> muses Torinn. </p><p></p><p>Yet when the dragonborn edges close enough to hear what Pythock is saying, he is astonished to hear the man taking all the credit for the victory against the Hand and for making the plan that sent the party after the enemy leadership!</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” Pythock says, rolling his eyes in Torinn’s direction, “those on the walls are usually the ones acclaimed by the folk who see only the men fighting, and don’t know about the meticulous planning that goes into such things, planning done by people such as myself.”</p><p></p><p>“And General Argos, of course,” Torinn says loudly. He notes that the crowd around the... discussion... is growing larger. </p><p></p><p>“Of course,” Pythock sneers. “Generals, and marshals, and those wise enough and smart enough to make decisions. Those are the <em>real</em> heroes of this battle.”</p><p></p><p>”You’re no Argos,” Torinn sneers back.</p><p></p><p>“It’s the Dragon!” someone in the crowd gasps. </p><p></p><p>“It was the people of Fandelose, more than anybody, who won the day for the city. And us- myself, Kratos, Ligir, Heimall, Hkatha, Loridell and Vann-La, plus our cook.”</p><p></p><p>“Of course,” Pythock says disdainfully. “Your slaying of a few dozen kobolds and goblins makes you an essential part of the victory.”</p><p></p><p>”No, but our slaying of Heshwat the Eviscerator does.”</p><p></p><p>“A shame you couldn’t finish off the enemy leadership. Too bad some of them escaped you- or was it the other way around?”</p><p></p><p>“One of them escaped us,” Torinn replies, “and not for long.”</p><p></p><p>They argue back and forth for some time, trading insults and barbs. Their debate grows more and more heated, until, after one particularly cutting remark from Torinn about Pythock’s harlot-painted face, the general bursts out, “I’ll put you in the stockade for that!”</p><p></p><p>“Ma’am yes ma’am!” Torinn replies, standing at attention.</p><p></p><p>General Pythock glares at the dragonborn. “Justice must be served,” he growls.</p><p></p><p>“Justice must be served!” Torinn answers.</p><p></p><p>“Your service,” splutters Pythock, “has been exemplary, but your insubordination...”</p><p></p><p>”Well, sir,” Torinn retorts sarcastically, “as soon as you get to your desk, you can draw up charges against me.” <em>And since you’ll never bother going to work, it will never happen.</em></p><p></p><p>“Oh, believe me, sirrah, I shall!” </p><p></p><p>But of course, Pythock never does.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Everyone has a great time. There is plenty of food and drink, and stronger, stranger things find their way into the party. Ligir makes brief contact- again- with a group of gnomes, but it is fleeting, although the brownie that they give him leaves him hallucinating for most of a day. </p><p></p><p>Heimall, on the other hand, overhears some drunken bigots plotting a final solution to “the gnome problem.” “I’m sure that if they hadn’t been pulling strings behind the scenes the whole time,” says one of the bigots, “we’d have won this war in less than a year!”</p><p></p><p><em>Were you paying attention at all?</em> Heimall wants to scream. Instead, he just moves on to another table.</p><p></p><p>The feasting goes on through the night, and none of our heroes go home alone. Even Torinn, the only dragonborn in the city, finds himself in the arms of a young maiden that night- or at least, a young woman.</p><p></p><p>A young woman that just happens to be Bridget Willow’s daughter. </p><p></p><p><em><strong>Next Time:</strong></em> On leave, our heroes decide to keep working... as they go in pursuit of Morl, the Goblin King!</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 4832871, member: 1210"] The celebration is truly epic. The people of Fandelose have triumphed over a seemingly numberless horde. They have held out against all odds, and although it took almost six years, they have driven off the foe at last. Heshwat the Eviscerator, who had made a daily practice of torturing captives before the walls, now stares sightlessly from the top of a pike, mounted atop those self same walls. The Six-Fingered Hand has been driven back- at least for now. General Argos announces a great festival, open to everyone in the city. There will be food and entertainment aplenty, and everyone is invited. A small force will remain on watch, and there are scouts in the outlying areas, so even if a tattered remnant Hand force manages to make an attack, the city should have plenty of warning. And almost everyone is there- almost the entire city. People bring food and drink to contribute, and there is plenty to be had by all. Even after half a decade of siege, the people of Fandelose have never been driven to deep hunger. Our heroes are acclaimed as main heroes of the war. They are the Defenders of Fandelose, the Heroes of the Wall. The Dragon walks with them, and all of them have made names for themselves. But of course, nothing is ever all good. The soldiers grumble. None of them have received any pay yet, and it’s six years overdue- more, in some cases. And the Bronze Council is still not back in power. There are definitely... areas of tension yet to be fully resolved. Areas that have been safely ignored for nigh on six years, while much more immediate concerns threw themselves at the gates over and over again. [i]Not tonight.[/i] No, let tonight be for tonight- a celebration of victory, a collective triumph for all of Fandelose’s people. *** It takes little time for the party to become separated by the roar of the crowd, the temptation of different performances, different food and drink, different people. To her delight, Vann-La finds herself swept into Lar-Gonn, the Kree sergeant that has fought beside (and beneath) her since the initial engagements by the Black Gorge. They have been courting for several years, showing the legendary elven patience, but tonight is the night. She lets herself be seduced by Lar-Gonn’s delightful little morsels called [i]chocolates[/i]. In the morning, he will give her the rest of the bag. *** Wandering through the massive press of people, Torinn is surprised to stumble upon General Pythock, his face painted with makeup, orating to a collection of citizens. Torinn smiles at the general, and is not surprised to see his answering sneer. Pythock, of course, is the general that was in charge when the party first reached Fandelose, a month or so ahead of the Six-Fingered Hand, when General Argos had been imprisoned in the Black Tower, framed by Millbury. Pythock had gained his position by virtue of his aristocratic roots, and had made a very poor impression on the party. [i]In fact, I don’t think he had been to work at all between when we got to the city and when we got Argos out of the tower,[/i] muses Torinn. Yet when the dragonborn edges close enough to hear what Pythock is saying, he is astonished to hear the man taking all the credit for the victory against the Hand and for making the plan that sent the party after the enemy leadership! “Yes,” Pythock says, rolling his eyes in Torinn’s direction, “those on the walls are usually the ones acclaimed by the folk who see only the men fighting, and don’t know about the meticulous planning that goes into such things, planning done by people such as myself.” “And General Argos, of course,” Torinn says loudly. He notes that the crowd around the... discussion... is growing larger. “Of course,” Pythock sneers. “Generals, and marshals, and those wise enough and smart enough to make decisions. Those are the [i]real[/i] heroes of this battle.” ”You’re no Argos,” Torinn sneers back. “It’s the Dragon!” someone in the crowd gasps. “It was the people of Fandelose, more than anybody, who won the day for the city. And us- myself, Kratos, Ligir, Heimall, Hkatha, Loridell and Vann-La, plus our cook.” “Of course,” Pythock says disdainfully. “Your slaying of a few dozen kobolds and goblins makes you an essential part of the victory.” ”No, but our slaying of Heshwat the Eviscerator does.” “A shame you couldn’t finish off the enemy leadership. Too bad some of them escaped you- or was it the other way around?” “One of them escaped us,” Torinn replies, “and not for long.” They argue back and forth for some time, trading insults and barbs. Their debate grows more and more heated, until, after one particularly cutting remark from Torinn about Pythock’s harlot-painted face, the general bursts out, “I’ll put you in the stockade for that!” “Ma’am yes ma’am!” Torinn replies, standing at attention. General Pythock glares at the dragonborn. “Justice must be served,” he growls. “Justice must be served!” Torinn answers. “Your service,” splutters Pythock, “has been exemplary, but your insubordination...” ”Well, sir,” Torinn retorts sarcastically, “as soon as you get to your desk, you can draw up charges against me.” [i]And since you’ll never bother going to work, it will never happen.[/i] “Oh, believe me, sirrah, I shall!” But of course, Pythock never does. *** Everyone has a great time. There is plenty of food and drink, and stronger, stranger things find their way into the party. Ligir makes brief contact- again- with a group of gnomes, but it is fleeting, although the brownie that they give him leaves him hallucinating for most of a day. Heimall, on the other hand, overhears some drunken bigots plotting a final solution to “the gnome problem.” “I’m sure that if they hadn’t been pulling strings behind the scenes the whole time,” says one of the bigots, “we’d have won this war in less than a year!” [i]Were you paying attention at all?[/i] Heimall wants to scream. Instead, he just moves on to another table. The feasting goes on through the night, and none of our heroes go home alone. Even Torinn, the only dragonborn in the city, finds himself in the arms of a young maiden that night- or at least, a young woman. A young woman that just happens to be Bridget Willow’s daughter. [i][b]Next Time:[/b][/i][b][/b] On leave, our heroes decide to keep working... as they go in pursuit of Morl, the Goblin King! [/QUOTE]
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