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(Cydra) The Final City
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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 7583405" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p>“GAH!!!” Mad Max howls, fingers digging intSar the thigh of his third leg. “What is this thing?? Get it off of me!” The new leg kicks alongside his others, and Mad Max falls to the floor as he loses his balance. </p><p></p><p>“But it's your leg,” says Morsado. </p><p></p><p>“It's not- it's not my leg...” Mad Max groans in confusion.</p><p></p><p>Sarec pokes a finger into the new leg. “Can you feel that?”</p><p></p><p>“Of course I can feel that, it's my leg!” Mad Max gives a moan of despair. “What's happening to me? I'm a freak! I can't go on like this!”</p><p></p><p>“Why not?” Hungus asks. “It should make you more stable.”</p><p></p><p>“Are you crazy?” he splutters. “I have to get rid of this thing!”</p><p></p><p>The others try to convince Max to stay the course, but to no avail. He won't listen. Instead, he declares that he will return to the city and try to get help, perhaps from the Black Temple, whether the others come with him or not.</p><p></p><p>“You could die on your way out if you go alone,” Bix points out. </p><p></p><p>“I don't care! My leg!”</p><p></p><p>“Fine,” Sarec says. “We'll go back to the city, at least for now.”</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Mad Max is a soldier in the army. When the party reaches the city gates, the guards on duty know him- and are shocked to see his new extra limb. For his part, Max is embarrassed, ashamed, and tongue-tied on the subject, and just rushes the party through the checkpoint without talking about what happened, despite the questions of his fellow soldiers. </p><p></p><p>Upon returning to the city, the adventurers head to the Black Temple, home to the priesthood of Vandreu the Townsaver in the hopes that the high priest there might be able to do something about Mad Max's third leg. “Maybe a <em>remove curse</em> or something,” muses Morsado. He shakes his head in consternation. “I really don't know what will work.” </p><p></p><p>The black priests agree to try in return for the party's help monitoring an upcoming protest. The farmers are marching in four days, demonstrating against the law that prevents them or their children from leaving their farms for other work. With the way tempers have been running lately in the city, the potential for violence is high. Nobody wants to see another riot. The damage to property and citizens alike would be terrible, and might force a major crackdown by the army. If that were to happen, who knows where it would lead? Nobody wins when the city fights itself. </p><p></p><p>“Watch for an elven agitator with white hair,” the priest says. “If you see him, don't engage, but watch him. Let us know what he does and says. On the subject of the leg, though, I must warn you, I don't know if we will have any success.”</p><p></p><p>Mad Max moans in despair.</p><p></p><p>“Do what you can,” Rorin says. “We'll help with the protest either way.”</p><p></p><p>The priest is right: their efforts amount to nothing. “The touch of Chaos is permanent,” their patriarch remarks dolefully.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Mad Max hurries away alone. For the next few days he shuns his friends and duties. He tries to work up the nerve to sever the leg himself, but he can't do it. He just can't. Despite everything, it <em>is</em> his leg.</p><p></p><p>He learns to walk on it, to run with it. He has his clothes refitted to accommodate it. He returns to work and files a report to explain his absence. He is upbraided by his superiors, but hardly hears them. His only solace is in drink and smoke. This new leg, his or not, is profoundly unnatural, and he doesn't know if he will ever get to used it. </p><p></p><p>He is a freak.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>“All right, listen up!” the sergeant shouts. “The damn farmers are marching again! They're planning on coming across the bridge and into the Bronze District, and by Holthro's fist, they are a bunch of envious, venal bastards! There are a lot of nice homes and businesses packed with valuables on their route, and we all know how much they like to break windows and set fires! So our job is to make sure they don't cause any trouble!”</p><p></p><p>Mad Max doesn't really listen. He marches alongside his brethren, but he can't focus. He's half-drunk and very stoned. And he is a three-legged freak. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>The city's Upper District is sometimes derisively referred to as the Rice District these days. During the war, it was converted into large rice fields in order to feed the city. Cut perpendicular to the river, canals water the rice, and roads snake around them. </p><p></p><p>At the moment, one of these roads is filled with a throng of singing, shouting, marching people. The city's farmers, or at least several thousand of them, are on the move. Seen from above, it is like an army of ants entering a river as one, forming a single squirming communal mass that slowly extends itself like a salient, crossing the bridge that leads toward the Bronze District, which is the city's center, home to the army's citadel, to the banks, to the rich. </p><p></p><p>A mass of soldiers awaits them, grim, threatening. The air is heavy with the threat of spilled blood. Spectators fill the roadsides, filled with that strange eagerness to see things go horribly wrong that almost inevitably grips bystanders at times like this.</p><p></p><p>In the crowd, Bluebeard awaits his target. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>The tread of the farmers grows louder as the bridge fills with them. The clouds above are like faces staring down with furrowed brows and angry cheeks. In the vanguard of the mob is a rabble-rousing farmer who constantly shouts enflaming words. “We're not going to take it any more!” and “We have rights!” and “The army must give up its power!” A cart laden with sacks of rotting tomatoes and apples follows close behind him, two old women distributing the fruit as they go.</p><p></p><p>On the street not far ahead of the rabble-rouser, an uneasy Carl Hungus turns to Morsado, Bix, and Rorin. “I don't like this. I don't know how we're supposed to keep violence from happening, especially if Farmer John there won't shut up.”</p><p></p><p>“We could ask him to shut up,” Bix suggests.</p><p></p><p>“Are you kidding?” Rorin gestures at the farmers pressed around them. “We'd get torn apart. This is not a good scene.” He looks up at the surrounding buildings. “If the protest wasn't moving, I'd take to the rooftops, but there's no point unless the farmers hold still.”</p><p></p><p>The rabble rouser is exhorting the farmers to stand up for themselves, to refuse to let the military intimidate them. The farmers are bristling. The soldiers are growing angry. The crowd is starting to grow feverish with anticipation. The tension in the air is palpable; it can be smelled, and the aroma grows stronger as the front of the mass of farmers reaches the Bank of Fandelose.</p><p></p><p>Bix nudges his companions. “Look over there, in the farmers. Near the bank's left wall.”</p><p></p><p>He has spotted a white-haired elf.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Bluebeard scans the crowd. </p><p></p><p><em>There!</em> </p><p></p><p>Bluebeard is a Grey Brother- an assassin. He is here, in this throng, for a reason. He pushes his way through it and moves in closer to his target. He surreptitiously draws a dagger.</p><p></p><p>The mood is growing fouler still. He takes a moment to assess the farmers, the soldiers, the crowd. The first rotten tomato flies. <em>This is going to turn into a riot any minute,</em> he thinks. <em>I'll make my move when it does.</em></p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>The tomato splatters off the shield of a soldier. She grimaces but doesn't respond. Then more tomatoes begin to fly, pelting them. </p><p></p><p>Mad Max is roused from his reverie when a squishy apple splatters against his breastplate. “Who did that?” he roars, and rushes toward the farmers. </p><p></p><p>He is the first soldier to break ranks. A sergeant yells something at him, but it is lost in the noise of the protest. Mad Max brings out his axe. </p><p></p><p>“Oh no,” cries Hungus. He shouts, “Don't do it, Max!”</p><p></p><p>Heedless of anything, Mad Max charges the farmer who threw the apple at him and, in a single mighty blow, decapitates him. The blow carries through, cutting into the person next to the farmer-</p><p></p><p>A child. A boy of ten.</p><p></p><p>In a spray of blood, the child falls. </p><p></p><p>Mad Max draws back in horror, shocked. The mob explodes in anger. The discipline of the army begins to disintegrate.</p><p></p><p>Bluebeard makes his move.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Afterward, after the farmers have been bloodied and broken and driven back to the Upper District, a dozen bodies lay in the streets. The city is in shock. </p><p></p><p>Mad Max is thrown into the Black Tower, awaiting trial. </p><p></p><p>Hungus, Bix, and Morsado lost track of the white haired elf. </p><p></p><p>A whistling Bluebeard collects his fee and returns to the Anthill Apartments to bask in the praise of his Uncle. </p><p></p><p><em><strong>Next Time:</strong></em> Hungus sets out after the Hacker again!</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 7583405, member: 1210"] “GAH!!!” Mad Max howls, fingers digging intSar the thigh of his third leg. “What is this thing?? Get it off of me!” The new leg kicks alongside his others, and Mad Max falls to the floor as he loses his balance. “But it's your leg,” says Morsado. “It's not- it's not my leg...” Mad Max groans in confusion. Sarec pokes a finger into the new leg. “Can you feel that?” “Of course I can feel that, it's my leg!” Mad Max gives a moan of despair. “What's happening to me? I'm a freak! I can't go on like this!” “Why not?” Hungus asks. “It should make you more stable.” “Are you crazy?” he splutters. “I have to get rid of this thing!” The others try to convince Max to stay the course, but to no avail. He won't listen. Instead, he declares that he will return to the city and try to get help, perhaps from the Black Temple, whether the others come with him or not. “You could die on your way out if you go alone,” Bix points out. “I don't care! My leg!” “Fine,” Sarec says. “We'll go back to the city, at least for now.” *** Mad Max is a soldier in the army. When the party reaches the city gates, the guards on duty know him- and are shocked to see his new extra limb. For his part, Max is embarrassed, ashamed, and tongue-tied on the subject, and just rushes the party through the checkpoint without talking about what happened, despite the questions of his fellow soldiers. Upon returning to the city, the adventurers head to the Black Temple, home to the priesthood of Vandreu the Townsaver in the hopes that the high priest there might be able to do something about Mad Max's third leg. “Maybe a [i]remove curse[/i] or something,” muses Morsado. He shakes his head in consternation. “I really don't know what will work.” The black priests agree to try in return for the party's help monitoring an upcoming protest. The farmers are marching in four days, demonstrating against the law that prevents them or their children from leaving their farms for other work. With the way tempers have been running lately in the city, the potential for violence is high. Nobody wants to see another riot. The damage to property and citizens alike would be terrible, and might force a major crackdown by the army. If that were to happen, who knows where it would lead? Nobody wins when the city fights itself. “Watch for an elven agitator with white hair,” the priest says. “If you see him, don't engage, but watch him. Let us know what he does and says. On the subject of the leg, though, I must warn you, I don't know if we will have any success.” Mad Max moans in despair. “Do what you can,” Rorin says. “We'll help with the protest either way.” The priest is right: their efforts amount to nothing. “The touch of Chaos is permanent,” their patriarch remarks dolefully. *** Mad Max hurries away alone. For the next few days he shuns his friends and duties. He tries to work up the nerve to sever the leg himself, but he can't do it. He just can't. Despite everything, it [i]is[/i] his leg. He learns to walk on it, to run with it. He has his clothes refitted to accommodate it. He returns to work and files a report to explain his absence. He is upbraided by his superiors, but hardly hears them. His only solace is in drink and smoke. This new leg, his or not, is profoundly unnatural, and he doesn't know if he will ever get to used it. He is a freak. *** “All right, listen up!” the sergeant shouts. “The damn farmers are marching again! They're planning on coming across the bridge and into the Bronze District, and by Holthro's fist, they are a bunch of envious, venal bastards! There are a lot of nice homes and businesses packed with valuables on their route, and we all know how much they like to break windows and set fires! So our job is to make sure they don't cause any trouble!” Mad Max doesn't really listen. He marches alongside his brethren, but he can't focus. He's half-drunk and very stoned. And he is a three-legged freak. *** The city's Upper District is sometimes derisively referred to as the Rice District these days. During the war, it was converted into large rice fields in order to feed the city. Cut perpendicular to the river, canals water the rice, and roads snake around them. At the moment, one of these roads is filled with a throng of singing, shouting, marching people. The city's farmers, or at least several thousand of them, are on the move. Seen from above, it is like an army of ants entering a river as one, forming a single squirming communal mass that slowly extends itself like a salient, crossing the bridge that leads toward the Bronze District, which is the city's center, home to the army's citadel, to the banks, to the rich. A mass of soldiers awaits them, grim, threatening. The air is heavy with the threat of spilled blood. Spectators fill the roadsides, filled with that strange eagerness to see things go horribly wrong that almost inevitably grips bystanders at times like this. In the crowd, Bluebeard awaits his target. *** The tread of the farmers grows louder as the bridge fills with them. The clouds above are like faces staring down with furrowed brows and angry cheeks. In the vanguard of the mob is a rabble-rousing farmer who constantly shouts enflaming words. “We're not going to take it any more!” and “We have rights!” and “The army must give up its power!” A cart laden with sacks of rotting tomatoes and apples follows close behind him, two old women distributing the fruit as they go. On the street not far ahead of the rabble-rouser, an uneasy Carl Hungus turns to Morsado, Bix, and Rorin. “I don't like this. I don't know how we're supposed to keep violence from happening, especially if Farmer John there won't shut up.” “We could ask him to shut up,” Bix suggests. “Are you kidding?” Rorin gestures at the farmers pressed around them. “We'd get torn apart. This is not a good scene.” He looks up at the surrounding buildings. “If the protest wasn't moving, I'd take to the rooftops, but there's no point unless the farmers hold still.” The rabble rouser is exhorting the farmers to stand up for themselves, to refuse to let the military intimidate them. The farmers are bristling. The soldiers are growing angry. The crowd is starting to grow feverish with anticipation. The tension in the air is palpable; it can be smelled, and the aroma grows stronger as the front of the mass of farmers reaches the Bank of Fandelose. Bix nudges his companions. “Look over there, in the farmers. Near the bank's left wall.” He has spotted a white-haired elf. *** Bluebeard scans the crowd. [i]There![/i] Bluebeard is a Grey Brother- an assassin. He is here, in this throng, for a reason. He pushes his way through it and moves in closer to his target. He surreptitiously draws a dagger. The mood is growing fouler still. He takes a moment to assess the farmers, the soldiers, the crowd. The first rotten tomato flies. [i]This is going to turn into a riot any minute,[/i] he thinks. [i]I'll make my move when it does.[/i] *** The tomato splatters off the shield of a soldier. She grimaces but doesn't respond. Then more tomatoes begin to fly, pelting them. Mad Max is roused from his reverie when a squishy apple splatters against his breastplate. “Who did that?” he roars, and rushes toward the farmers. He is the first soldier to break ranks. A sergeant yells something at him, but it is lost in the noise of the protest. Mad Max brings out his axe. “Oh no,” cries Hungus. He shouts, “Don't do it, Max!” Heedless of anything, Mad Max charges the farmer who threw the apple at him and, in a single mighty blow, decapitates him. The blow carries through, cutting into the person next to the farmer- A child. A boy of ten. In a spray of blood, the child falls. Mad Max draws back in horror, shocked. The mob explodes in anger. The discipline of the army begins to disintegrate. Bluebeard makes his move. *** Afterward, after the farmers have been bloodied and broken and driven back to the Upper District, a dozen bodies lay in the streets. The city is in shock. Mad Max is thrown into the Black Tower, awaiting trial. Hungus, Bix, and Morsado lost track of the white haired elf. A whistling Bluebeard collects his fee and returns to the Anthill Apartments to bask in the praise of his Uncle. [i][b]Next Time:[/b][/i][b][/b] Hungus sets out after the Hacker again! [/QUOTE]
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