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The Fall of Civilization
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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 4796471" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p>“So how much back pay you figure we’re owed?”</p><p></p><p>The second soldier stops shoveling rice into his mouth and peers from bloodshot eyes at the first. They are in one of the city’s mess halls, where food is provided for the soldiers. Several dozen men and women are scattered amongst the tables, chowing down on the rice and chicken available. After a few moments, the soldier grunts, “Don’t have my sums,” and keeps eating.</p><p></p><p>“Just sayin’,” the first soldier sighs. “I ain’t seen a copper since this all started.”</p><p></p><p>A shrug. “Nobody else has either.” <em>Nom nom nom.</em></p><p></p><p>The first soldier sighs again, puts down his battered tin bowl and stares off into space. “Wasn’t like this in the old days,” he says.</p><p></p><p>“Would you shut up? I’m tryin’ to eat.” </p><p></p><p>“Yeah, well, I’m just sayin’. We could stand to see a little pay. It’s been four years.”</p><p> </p><p>“Listen, you idiot, you’re alive. Once we get outta this mess, I’m sure the general will make everything right. He always does. Now would ya shut up and let me eat?”</p><p></p><p>“I’m just sayin’, is all.”</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>With the spring comes a renewed offensive. Massive waves of Hand troops come rushing forward, more scorpions lobbing stones, more rabble trying to scale the walls. Again the Imperial Pikemen and the now-veteran peasants of Fandelose push back ladder after ladder. Pikes pry goblins from the blood-slick walls, and the superior range of the Imperial archers keeps the Six-Fingered Hand’s goblin archers under withering fire, preventing them from playing a decisive role in the battle. </p><p></p><p>Siege towers rumble forward again, but again the artillery of the city pummels them badly. Before they can reach the walls, most of them are destroyed. The catapults fire on the enemy scorpions again, as well, once more demonstrating their superiority.</p><p></p><p>Atop the inner wall, General Argos watches impassively. His adjutant, Colonel Jaxe, predicts, “We will throw them back again with minimal losses.”</p><p></p><p>“Perhaps,” Argos says brusquely. </p><p></p><p>“You suspect this attack has more to it?”</p><p></p><p>“So far,” the general replies, “our enemy has shown a great willingness to sacrifice many of his troops against us. He knows that he cannot take us with the tactics that he has employed so far. So why is he doing it again? He does not have as many towers as last time, either. I cannot believe that Heshwat the Eviscerator is a fool; therefore, there <em>must be</em> more to this attack. Ahh, there we are.”</p><p></p><p>Jaxe turns and follows the general’s gaze. On the field of battle, a huge mantlet is moving forward, carried by ogres. Beneath it, they have a huge ram.</p><p></p><p>“He has enough towers,” General Argos nods, “that we cannot focus on the ram. Colonel, ready men and oil in the gatehouse. I fear that they will take the outer gates.”</p><p></p><p>From his position, it is easy for Argos to see the Dragon fighting on the outer wall, bellowing directions at his men, striking down a group of hobgoblins that attains the wall and then grabbing their scaling ladder and pulling it up rather than pushing it down. <em>He’s clever,</em> thinks Argos. <em>An excellent example to our other officers. He is such a colorful figure that the men couldn’t help but focus on him.</em></p><p></p><p>On the outer wall, the defenders continue stabbing at the enemy as they rise up the walls. Others fire crossbows or pour pots of boiling oil on concentrations of the foe below. Already there are several fires on the field, corpses and gear burning alongside the few scraggly bits of grass and brush that have started growing since the last major battle. Heimall gives a warning cry, pointing out the oncoming mantlet, and the archers change their focus, starting to fire into it. But the top of the mantlet is covered in thick hides soaked through with water. Arrows stick in it uselessly; those that are aflame sputter and go out, failing to ignite anything. Only the arms and legs of the ogres carrying the great shield are vulnerable. </p><p></p><p>“Shoot their hands and arms!” cries Loridell. </p><p></p><p>Ogres roar as their hands and arms begin to suffer beneath the onslaught of missiles, but only so many men can fire upon them- for another wedge of elite hobgoblins has attained the wall. Several fan out, firing crossbows to keep the Imperial soldiers at bay, giving their fellows more time to scale up to the top. </p><p></p><p>Heimall and Torinn lead the assault against them with a roar, leading a small squad of pikemen in a heedless charge forward, and they manage to throw the enemy back down the wall. As the last of them fall over the edge, the Dragon drops his spiked chain and grabs the scaling ladder. Two of his men scurry to help him draw it up.</p><p></p><p>Then the entire section of wall shakes as the ogre-wielded ram slams into the outermost of Fandelose’s triple gates. Several men are cast from their feet, crying out in surprise. Then a wave of arrows from the rabble closest to the wall flies overhead, arcing back down. A peasant screams as an arrow takes him in the eye, whirling about like a dancer for a few seconds before falling in a spreading pool of blood. Another arrow sinks deep into a pikeman’s thigh, whistling past the man in front of him. Still more strike home as the defenders scramble for the cover of the merlons.</p><p></p><p>On the ground below, one of the ogres holding the mantlet collapses from blood loss, but another- hidden under the protective shield- takes his place. Still others swing the ram again, and the gate bends inward with the impact. Again, the nearby sections of wall shudder. Chunks of masonry fly free from the area immediately surrounding the gate and a spiderweb of cracks suddenly runs along the stone at the edge of the bronze gate. The ogres draw the ram back and swing it again.</p><p></p><p><strong>BOOM!</strong> </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>“You got much left?” Ligir gasps to Hkatha. </p><p></p><p>The tiefling shakes his head. “I need to rest before I have much left.”</p><p></p><p>Captain Ligir nods. “Then let’s try this!” He plucks a bead from his necklace and hurls it down at the mantlet. When it hits, it explodes into a burst of orange flames. The mantlet helps protect the ogres, but all of them are singed by it. </p><p></p><p>“That gate won’t hold much longer,” Vann-La shouts grimly. “We need to get some men down there!”</p><p></p><p>“Once they’re through the first gate, they have the gatehouse above them and men in between the outer and middle walls,” Heimall replies. “Hopefully there’s going to be hell to pay for them.”</p><p></p><p>The wall shudders again as the ram impacts on the gate once more, shooting several bolts out of the stone with the impact. Large pieces of rock and mortar crash down around the ogres, several bouncing from the mantlet. The gate still hangs, but only barely. More goblin archers are inching forward.</p><p></p><p>A catapult shot smashes down, pulverizing several of them before they can loose another arrow.</p><p></p><p><strong>BOOM!!</strong></p><p></p><p>Finally, the outer gate falls. </p><p></p><p>With a roar, the ogres rush in, dozens on kobolds and goblins on their heels. </p><p></p><p>“Uh-oh,” Vann-La says.</p><p></p><p>But the ogres find more than they bargained for beyond the gate. 20’ ahead is a second gate, even stronger than the first. As they start to rush towards it, the big brutes find themselves slipping, unable to maintain their balance. </p><p></p><p>The rush of rabble following them immediately finds themselves faced by the same problem, and in a moment they are careening off of each other, unable to keep their feet. </p><p></p><p>The ground is covered in grease. </p><p></p><p>From each side, pikes suddenly sprout from arrow slits, stabbing out viciously at the invaders. After only a few seconds, just enough to cause total chaos amongst the Six-Fingered Hand troops slipping and sliding on the slick floor, the pikes withdraw.</p><p></p><p>From murder holes in the ceiling, flaming oil pours down, all over goblins, ogres and kobolds. They scream in pain and panic, and then the grease ignites, and what was total chaos becomes complete and utter pandemonium. The hapless invaders are not able to retreat until it is too late due to the press of troops behind them, pushing forward.</p><p></p><p>The pikes stab out again, and this time they keep stabbing as more and more rabble are pushed into the killing zone. Now arrows are being fired from above, from most of the murder holes (though two of them have flames from slicks of oil that block their use by the defenders, and one has actually had a terrible mishap that is even now resulting in the death of three of the defenders by fire).</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Atop the inner wall, a messenger hands a scroll to the general. He reads it, then grunts. “We have turned this to our advantage. They cannot push through the gates, and in fact the bodies of the dead are blocking their access to the middle gate. But the press is so great that more and more of them are being forced in to die at the pikes of the Fourth Legion.”</p><p></p><p>After several hard-fought hours, the Hand forces that have managed to ascend to the outermost wall are finally thrown back. Beneath the gatehouse, in between the first and second gate, the corpses of the Hand dead fill the area almost to the floor of the gatehouse.</p><p></p><p>Once more, the Six-Fingered Hand falls back.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Wounds are bound. Those too seriously injured to fight are removed to various sites set up for chirurgeons to work. Even as exhausted as he is, Torinn makes a point of spending some time spreading Lester’s healing love around. </p><p></p><p><em>This was the mostly costly of their attacks yet,</em> thinks General Argos. <em>They are growing desperate. If they can launch a few more attacks like that, we will lose too many men and women. They replace their numbers so quickly compared to us! We must be careful to fight defensively, and we must make the survival of our warriors of paramount importance. </em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>But our position is untenable in the long term. We can hold them for a time- for a long time, obviously- but we cannot </em>win<em> simply by holding them at bay. We will be like a cliff facing the sea- it will wear us down over time, slowly, unless the ocean itself recedes. </em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>No, we must strike back. But we cannot do it yet- not until the warforged have paved the way. And it will take time- time that I must buy Fandelose. We must hold on until NC17 and his warforged have finished with their preparations. To move before then would be foolish, and would only result in our destruction.</em></p><p></p><p>The general stares, brooding, at the seething army of humanoids encamped not far from the walls. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>No-one can deny that Kratos is a hero now. In the middle of the fourth year of the siege, he marries Livia, with no objections from either her family or her lady. </p><p></p><p>“I can provide for your family,” he tells his new wife. “<em>Our</em> family.”</p><p></p><p>The marriage comes just in time, for Livia is with child.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>In addition to all of his military duties- which, surprisingly, his aristocratic origin does not lessen at all- Hkatha must still deal with the affairs of his estate, administrating much more directly than he would prefer. Since he fell deeply into debt to daVoi’s faction- especially that traitor, Millbury- he has had something of a dearth of servants. Only one man remains in service, an old butler who worked for Hkatha’s father up until his tragic and untimely death by fire several years past. The butler, Jeve, has nowhere else to go, no friends and no kin, so he has stayed on and tended a basic garden to feed himself when the master is away.</p><p></p><p>Now Jeve walks in with a look of distaste on his face. “Sir,” he says, “one of your... acquaintances is here. A fellow named Vyth.” The butler sniffs disdainfully. </p><p></p><p><em>Vyth?</em> Hkatha is surprised. He has not heard from the fellow since almost a year before the siege began. Vyth is a dealer in exotic narcotics and similar items. Hkatha has done business with him on several occasions in the past; <em>Expensive but reliable,</em> he thinks. Aloud, he says, “Show him in.”</p><p></p><p>With another disapproving sniff, Jeve obeys.</p><p></p><p>Vyth is a wiry balding man whose face shows the deep lines and old pock marks of heavy addiction. His eyes dart around constantly, as if he doesn’t trust anything to be as it appears. He greets Hkatha like an old friend- which is surely an exaggeration- and paces around while he talks. </p><p></p><p>“It seems like it’s only a matter of time, you know,” he says. “Until they take the city, I mean. And, well- I don’t want to be here when it happens.” He faces Hkatha. “Look, I know this might be a sensitive subject- but I believe the stories.”</p><p></p><p>“The stories?”</p><p></p><p>“About your family.” Vyth hesitates, then plunges ahead. “They say that the Ilmixie line has had terrible dealings with... things. From other worlds. That you all tend to sorcery and... well, I just think that you can help me escape before the city falls.”</p><p></p><p>Hkatha studies Vyth for a moment, a frown slowly creeping on his face. “Why are you so sure that they’ll take the city, Vyth? We’ve held out so far. Why are you concerned now, when you haven’t come to see me once before this?”</p><p></p><p>Vyth gulps. “Nothing, I swear,” he says, pacing again. “Look... I just have a feeling. Maybe treachery from within...”</p><p></p><p>Hkatha rises, his eyes flaring red with menace. “What do you know, Vyth?” he demands softly. </p><p></p><p>Vyth stiffens. “I... all right, a guy approached me about betraying the city from within shortly before the siege began. I said no, of course- but if he talked to me, he must have talked to other people too, right? So someone must have said yes.”</p><p></p><p>“Who was it?”</p><p></p><p>“One of the daVoi lackeys. Millbury.”</p><p></p><p>Hkatha scowls. His brows draw together in anger and he lets out a growl. “Don’t worry, Vyth,” he snarls, “the city isn’t going to fall. And I <em>will</em> help take care of you. But keep your eyes open for anything, any of Millbury’s contacts, <em>anything,</em> and you let me know immediately if you see anything.”</p><p></p><p>“I will.”</p><p></p><p>“For now, get out of here. You’ll be safe enough in the city, so long as you stay on my good side.”</p><p></p><p>“All right.”</p><p></p><p>After his old acquaintance leaves, Hkatha broods for a long time.</p><p></p><p><em><strong>Next Time:</strong></em> A midnight attack on the rice fields!</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 4796471, member: 1210"] “So how much back pay you figure we’re owed?” The second soldier stops shoveling rice into his mouth and peers from bloodshot eyes at the first. They are in one of the city’s mess halls, where food is provided for the soldiers. Several dozen men and women are scattered amongst the tables, chowing down on the rice and chicken available. After a few moments, the soldier grunts, “Don’t have my sums,” and keeps eating. “Just sayin’,” the first soldier sighs. “I ain’t seen a copper since this all started.” A shrug. “Nobody else has either.” [i]Nom nom nom.[/i] The first soldier sighs again, puts down his battered tin bowl and stares off into space. “Wasn’t like this in the old days,” he says. “Would you shut up? I’m tryin’ to eat.” “Yeah, well, I’m just sayin’. We could stand to see a little pay. It’s been four years.” “Listen, you idiot, you’re alive. Once we get outta this mess, I’m sure the general will make everything right. He always does. Now would ya shut up and let me eat?” “I’m just sayin’, is all.” *** With the spring comes a renewed offensive. Massive waves of Hand troops come rushing forward, more scorpions lobbing stones, more rabble trying to scale the walls. Again the Imperial Pikemen and the now-veteran peasants of Fandelose push back ladder after ladder. Pikes pry goblins from the blood-slick walls, and the superior range of the Imperial archers keeps the Six-Fingered Hand’s goblin archers under withering fire, preventing them from playing a decisive role in the battle. Siege towers rumble forward again, but again the artillery of the city pummels them badly. Before they can reach the walls, most of them are destroyed. The catapults fire on the enemy scorpions again, as well, once more demonstrating their superiority. Atop the inner wall, General Argos watches impassively. His adjutant, Colonel Jaxe, predicts, “We will throw them back again with minimal losses.” “Perhaps,” Argos says brusquely. “You suspect this attack has more to it?” “So far,” the general replies, “our enemy has shown a great willingness to sacrifice many of his troops against us. He knows that he cannot take us with the tactics that he has employed so far. So why is he doing it again? He does not have as many towers as last time, either. I cannot believe that Heshwat the Eviscerator is a fool; therefore, there [i]must be[/i] more to this attack. Ahh, there we are.” Jaxe turns and follows the general’s gaze. On the field of battle, a huge mantlet is moving forward, carried by ogres. Beneath it, they have a huge ram. “He has enough towers,” General Argos nods, “that we cannot focus on the ram. Colonel, ready men and oil in the gatehouse. I fear that they will take the outer gates.” From his position, it is easy for Argos to see the Dragon fighting on the outer wall, bellowing directions at his men, striking down a group of hobgoblins that attains the wall and then grabbing their scaling ladder and pulling it up rather than pushing it down. [i]He’s clever,[/i] thinks Argos. [i]An excellent example to our other officers. He is such a colorful figure that the men couldn’t help but focus on him.[/i] On the outer wall, the defenders continue stabbing at the enemy as they rise up the walls. Others fire crossbows or pour pots of boiling oil on concentrations of the foe below. Already there are several fires on the field, corpses and gear burning alongside the few scraggly bits of grass and brush that have started growing since the last major battle. Heimall gives a warning cry, pointing out the oncoming mantlet, and the archers change their focus, starting to fire into it. But the top of the mantlet is covered in thick hides soaked through with water. Arrows stick in it uselessly; those that are aflame sputter and go out, failing to ignite anything. Only the arms and legs of the ogres carrying the great shield are vulnerable. “Shoot their hands and arms!” cries Loridell. Ogres roar as their hands and arms begin to suffer beneath the onslaught of missiles, but only so many men can fire upon them- for another wedge of elite hobgoblins has attained the wall. Several fan out, firing crossbows to keep the Imperial soldiers at bay, giving their fellows more time to scale up to the top. Heimall and Torinn lead the assault against them with a roar, leading a small squad of pikemen in a heedless charge forward, and they manage to throw the enemy back down the wall. As the last of them fall over the edge, the Dragon drops his spiked chain and grabs the scaling ladder. Two of his men scurry to help him draw it up. Then the entire section of wall shakes as the ogre-wielded ram slams into the outermost of Fandelose’s triple gates. Several men are cast from their feet, crying out in surprise. Then a wave of arrows from the rabble closest to the wall flies overhead, arcing back down. A peasant screams as an arrow takes him in the eye, whirling about like a dancer for a few seconds before falling in a spreading pool of blood. Another arrow sinks deep into a pikeman’s thigh, whistling past the man in front of him. Still more strike home as the defenders scramble for the cover of the merlons. On the ground below, one of the ogres holding the mantlet collapses from blood loss, but another- hidden under the protective shield- takes his place. Still others swing the ram again, and the gate bends inward with the impact. Again, the nearby sections of wall shudder. Chunks of masonry fly free from the area immediately surrounding the gate and a spiderweb of cracks suddenly runs along the stone at the edge of the bronze gate. The ogres draw the ram back and swing it again. [b]BOOM![/b] *** “You got much left?” Ligir gasps to Hkatha. The tiefling shakes his head. “I need to rest before I have much left.” Captain Ligir nods. “Then let’s try this!” He plucks a bead from his necklace and hurls it down at the mantlet. When it hits, it explodes into a burst of orange flames. The mantlet helps protect the ogres, but all of them are singed by it. “That gate won’t hold much longer,” Vann-La shouts grimly. “We need to get some men down there!” “Once they’re through the first gate, they have the gatehouse above them and men in between the outer and middle walls,” Heimall replies. “Hopefully there’s going to be hell to pay for them.” The wall shudders again as the ram impacts on the gate once more, shooting several bolts out of the stone with the impact. Large pieces of rock and mortar crash down around the ogres, several bouncing from the mantlet. The gate still hangs, but only barely. More goblin archers are inching forward. A catapult shot smashes down, pulverizing several of them before they can loose another arrow. [b]BOOM!![/b] Finally, the outer gate falls. With a roar, the ogres rush in, dozens on kobolds and goblins on their heels. “Uh-oh,” Vann-La says. But the ogres find more than they bargained for beyond the gate. 20’ ahead is a second gate, even stronger than the first. As they start to rush towards it, the big brutes find themselves slipping, unable to maintain their balance. The rush of rabble following them immediately finds themselves faced by the same problem, and in a moment they are careening off of each other, unable to keep their feet. The ground is covered in grease. From each side, pikes suddenly sprout from arrow slits, stabbing out viciously at the invaders. After only a few seconds, just enough to cause total chaos amongst the Six-Fingered Hand troops slipping and sliding on the slick floor, the pikes withdraw. From murder holes in the ceiling, flaming oil pours down, all over goblins, ogres and kobolds. They scream in pain and panic, and then the grease ignites, and what was total chaos becomes complete and utter pandemonium. The hapless invaders are not able to retreat until it is too late due to the press of troops behind them, pushing forward. The pikes stab out again, and this time they keep stabbing as more and more rabble are pushed into the killing zone. Now arrows are being fired from above, from most of the murder holes (though two of them have flames from slicks of oil that block their use by the defenders, and one has actually had a terrible mishap that is even now resulting in the death of three of the defenders by fire). *** Atop the inner wall, a messenger hands a scroll to the general. He reads it, then grunts. “We have turned this to our advantage. They cannot push through the gates, and in fact the bodies of the dead are blocking their access to the middle gate. But the press is so great that more and more of them are being forced in to die at the pikes of the Fourth Legion.” After several hard-fought hours, the Hand forces that have managed to ascend to the outermost wall are finally thrown back. Beneath the gatehouse, in between the first and second gate, the corpses of the Hand dead fill the area almost to the floor of the gatehouse. Once more, the Six-Fingered Hand falls back. *** Wounds are bound. Those too seriously injured to fight are removed to various sites set up for chirurgeons to work. Even as exhausted as he is, Torinn makes a point of spending some time spreading Lester’s healing love around. [i]This was the mostly costly of their attacks yet,[/i] thinks General Argos. [i]They are growing desperate. If they can launch a few more attacks like that, we will lose too many men and women. They replace their numbers so quickly compared to us! We must be careful to fight defensively, and we must make the survival of our warriors of paramount importance. But our position is untenable in the long term. We can hold them for a time- for a long time, obviously- but we cannot [/i]win[i] simply by holding them at bay. We will be like a cliff facing the sea- it will wear us down over time, slowly, unless the ocean itself recedes. No, we must strike back. But we cannot do it yet- not until the warforged have paved the way. And it will take time- time that I must buy Fandelose. We must hold on until NC17 and his warforged have finished with their preparations. To move before then would be foolish, and would only result in our destruction.[/i] The general stares, brooding, at the seething army of humanoids encamped not far from the walls. *** No-one can deny that Kratos is a hero now. In the middle of the fourth year of the siege, he marries Livia, with no objections from either her family or her lady. “I can provide for your family,” he tells his new wife. “[i]Our[/i] family.” The marriage comes just in time, for Livia is with child. *** In addition to all of his military duties- which, surprisingly, his aristocratic origin does not lessen at all- Hkatha must still deal with the affairs of his estate, administrating much more directly than he would prefer. Since he fell deeply into debt to daVoi’s faction- especially that traitor, Millbury- he has had something of a dearth of servants. Only one man remains in service, an old butler who worked for Hkatha’s father up until his tragic and untimely death by fire several years past. The butler, Jeve, has nowhere else to go, no friends and no kin, so he has stayed on and tended a basic garden to feed himself when the master is away. Now Jeve walks in with a look of distaste on his face. “Sir,” he says, “one of your... acquaintances is here. A fellow named Vyth.” The butler sniffs disdainfully. [i]Vyth?[/i] Hkatha is surprised. He has not heard from the fellow since almost a year before the siege began. Vyth is a dealer in exotic narcotics and similar items. Hkatha has done business with him on several occasions in the past; [i]Expensive but reliable,[/i] he thinks. Aloud, he says, “Show him in.” With another disapproving sniff, Jeve obeys. Vyth is a wiry balding man whose face shows the deep lines and old pock marks of heavy addiction. His eyes dart around constantly, as if he doesn’t trust anything to be as it appears. He greets Hkatha like an old friend- which is surely an exaggeration- and paces around while he talks. “It seems like it’s only a matter of time, you know,” he says. “Until they take the city, I mean. And, well- I don’t want to be here when it happens.” He faces Hkatha. “Look, I know this might be a sensitive subject- but I believe the stories.” “The stories?” “About your family.” Vyth hesitates, then plunges ahead. “They say that the Ilmixie line has had terrible dealings with... things. From other worlds. That you all tend to sorcery and... well, I just think that you can help me escape before the city falls.” Hkatha studies Vyth for a moment, a frown slowly creeping on his face. “Why are you so sure that they’ll take the city, Vyth? We’ve held out so far. Why are you concerned now, when you haven’t come to see me once before this?” Vyth gulps. “Nothing, I swear,” he says, pacing again. “Look... I just have a feeling. Maybe treachery from within...” Hkatha rises, his eyes flaring red with menace. “What do you know, Vyth?” he demands softly. Vyth stiffens. “I... all right, a guy approached me about betraying the city from within shortly before the siege began. I said no, of course- but if he talked to me, he must have talked to other people too, right? So someone must have said yes.” “Who was it?” “One of the daVoi lackeys. Millbury.” Hkatha scowls. His brows draw together in anger and he lets out a growl. “Don’t worry, Vyth,” he snarls, “the city isn’t going to fall. And I [i]will[/i] help take care of you. But keep your eyes open for anything, any of Millbury’s contacts, [i]anything,[/i] and you let me know immediately if you see anything.” “I will.” “For now, get out of here. You’ll be safe enough in the city, so long as you stay on my good side.” “All right.” After his old acquaintance leaves, Hkatha broods for a long time. [i][b]Next Time:[/b][/i][b][/b] A midnight attack on the rice fields! [/QUOTE]
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