“Sometimes I feel like I'm surrounded by idiots!" Commander Winston
Chapter 48: The Flowers in the Attic
Three hours after the catastrophe in an entryway to the inner Kingdom, a guard spoke from his chest attempting to create a calm amongst the chaos, when his community needed it most.
“Everyone keep calm, the higher-ups are sorting everything out! What matters most is that we are all safe here! You have made it to the bunker under Wall Street and that’s all that matters!” A brown-haired Dwarven Guardsman, just a random number in the ranks had been forced to pacify the Citizens of Fallohar. The "Citizens" who had chosen to follow proper protocol. Thousands who'd convinced themselves over the decades that there was safety in numbers, that there was safety in Fallohum.
The Guardsman along with his Dwarven brethren were bound by duty to stand up to any threat that put the city in danger. They had to keep calm when the city descended into madness, If the soldiers fell so would the kingdom. So, this [Guardsman of the Gates] took it upon himself to stop the people from panicking, appropriate action under the circumstances. What the scar-faced man didn’t tell them was that if access wasn’t granted into the inner city the citizens of Fallohar including himself would all be sitting ducks. “They” were all sitting ducks the Protectors and the Protected, and while this [Guardsman] speaking out of turn had something to say the people did as well.
Hundreds of people amongst the thousands fearing for their lives would voice their anger and frustration, what else could you do standing in a dimly lit tunnel?
“Take that armor off! You don't deserve the honor!”
“Please let us in!”
“Please, I don't want to die!”
“Get off me, you're on my leg!”
“Where’s my baby, I know you monsters took him!”
“Does anybody have any food!”
“Please, Guards!”
“Anyone missing a kid!”
“The Gods will judge you all!”
“The Gods don’t care about us!”
“I can still hear it!!”
“Just let us in!”
“Have mercy!”
“I’m starving!”
“Does anybody have spare clothes!”
“Are you bastards going to lock us In here forever!”
Fives of thousands were currently stuck in a tunnel on the outskirts of Fallohar city waiting to be transferred into the inner Kingdom. Being high leveled could only get you so far.
They were all desperate and fearful of the voice of the Witch, the voice of the Goddess, the voice of the whisperer. Most chose to enter the descending tunnel with nothing but word of mouth, telling as to where the tunnels lead.
If only the people knew that the voice belonged to a child. A not-so-normal dark olive girl with black hair and hazel eyes, the picture of innocence. Maybe then they could’ve found the murderer, denounced the goddess, and beheaded the witch all before another order of death and desire exited her woeful mouth.
The citizens were acting appropriately or accordingly towards the unseen hand that had snuffed out thousands of lives in less than a few minutes. Minutes that felt like seconds to Adena. Unaware that she was being possessed by an even greater threat to the city at the time. Who’s to say they shouldn’t worship the ground she walked on for waking the sleeping, Kingdom? The cruel winter had seeped into the expansive caverns long before the oblivious girl had arrived.
Now that they had been given a wake-up call would the citizens notice the food shortages, the missing people who had fallen prey to the Dravine- the king who had sold them false hope, sweet lies, and an endless dream? Yes, they would eventually Fallohar the outskirts of the Kingdom would start to get a grasp as to what was happening on the inside. Mainly because this was the first time in hundreds of years that this means of survival had come into play, the citizens of Fallohar would have to voyage into the Kingdom beneath the city.
“We advise you all to get into lines!” One guard.
“There’s no rush. The threat has been dealt with.” Two guards.
“You all are safe from harm.” Three guards.
“If you are injured, stand in the line to the far left of the tunnel in an orderly fashion. Some doctors and healers can tend to your wounds.” Over fourteen guards had used these same lines to soothe the frightened and injured, those trampled in the stampede toward the tunnel.
Understaffed, unprepared, and unmoved by the pleas of Fallohar citizens. It begged the question how much does a Kingdom's Ruler rub off on its law enforcement?
The Guards patrolling and confirming citizenship were the same guards who shied away from defending the city from monsters rumored to be at the city gates. The cowards, in their dark blue steel armor with an emblem of snow falling on an anvil, were readying to close the first Gate to the inner kingdom.
Slowly but surely these thousands that made up every margin of the city would raise their voice in protest. How long could the people sit and watch as they were given scraps at the table? When the warmest and finest of meals, housing, and healthcare had always been promised if they'd just swear to live under Fallohum's rules and regulations.
The scene was dire, after hours of waiting for an entryway into the Kingdom. Everyone had grown even more tired and weary. The guards in the escape tunnel to the Inner Kingdoms were on their last leg, yet to receive word about the city's safety.
They wanted to go home and rest. They had tried following the protocol used by Mindel the first. Sadly, it had been almost a hundred years since Mindel the Second rallied these men to do their utmost best.
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Chapter 48: The Flowers in the Attic (Part II)
He dug his right hand through the torso of a [Snow-Golem], not caring enough to find its ice crystal core. A two-armed gray-skinned brute had finished cleaning up at the front gate of Fallohar.
The scuffle had helped him let out some of the rage he had built up over the years. And now that Gatarn was outside of the city's cavern he yelled in elation, finally able to vent some anger on something that wouldn’t blow his cover of dependable, trusting, and the slightest bit insane. Gatarn was an Adventurer after all a bit of insanity came in the job description.
Though the Golem was made of snow It could feel pain, move, and scream just like any other living breathing thing. Magic and its mysterious ways gave life and possibility where it didn't previously exist. Mana allowed a ten-foot humanoid-shaped pile of snow to get up and wander the snowy plane aimlessly. Magic and mana go hand in hand, the same Mana Gatarn breathes in to keep his body from deteriorating from lack of nutrition and exercise.
Whatever helped maintain a healthy mana realm, Gatarn was up for taking it into his body. "Arhhhhh!" That would be the sound of an Ice Golem getting its snow innard gouged out and consumed by the Barbarian until he had his fill.
The mana found in Fallohum was of the best quality. But Gatarn still missed the days of Old. Even now, past the front gate of Fallohar on the Icy inclined front lines he was thinking about how nothing could compare to his prime years. A puny snow golem would never bleed, beg, or take its own life out of sheer fear. And that is precisely why he was growing bored of defending this front, It was unbearable being around those beneath him.
He had so much rage built up over the past century just for a second he had almost gone on a rampage in front of his guildmates. Getting ready to call it a day, Gatarn was ready to head back into his hell. The hell he perceived to be the Fallohum as a whole, a means to an optimal end. The switch had long been turned on. No longer could Gatarn come to terms with his mortality to care for the lives who cling to him out of necessity. The comrades fighting beside him on the frontlines as snow continued to fall were the same sacks of meat that he deemed truly irredeemable. He'd mentally reduced Fallohars Guardsmen of the gates to that of cattle needing to be put down.
Gatarn paid no mind to the Half-Dwarf he'd ventured past city gates with. Geatran heard the wailing voice of his assistant who he hadn't even noticed was injured but the words fell on deaf ears.
“Guild leader please help me! I'm all out!” Quat whimpered for a health potion because he was unable to feel below his waist. The Half-Kin whose skin was turning a bit bluer than normal from his jade complexion was about to find out why his Guldmates turned down the job as Gatarn's assistant.
Glaring high into the night sky covered by dark snow clouds Gatarn breathed in a light blue sheen observing his surroundings. What could be going through the head of the Hall's longest-running Guild leader? To Quat, Gatarn must have looked to be analyzing the situation.
"He's out of potions, the time it would take to find me assistance!" Maybe this is what was going through Quat's mind as he had his arse plotted in the snow, this we may never know. However, that wouldn't have made sense seeing as Gatarn has a small space inventory like most Elvenoids.
“Quat was it?” Gatarn spoke, taking one step closer in his gladiator sandals, blasphemous attire for the freezing weather, but so far Geatran showed an immunity toward the unforgiving weather of the Icy plane.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“The potion sir! Please!” The Dwarfman of low birth screamed desperately hoping the rumours were false about Gatarn. The things you'd ignore for the slightest improvement in status when living in Fallohar. Quat prayed to not be right about the man he had spent a couple of years now working under.
Having forgotten his assistant's name, Gatarn called Quarric by the name "Quat" used most in ridicule. Gatarn thought it ridiculous for a Dwarf to fuck an insectoid resulting in the green skin short-statured two-antenna'd disappointment that was Quarric, not that anything to do with race.
“Sir, I can't feel my legs! Please!!” Walking closer to the man who had been working with him for ten years now, after the disappearance of his first assistant. Gatarn's eyes fell on the man's legs that didn’t have a drop of blood on them.
“It looks as though you have already used a potion. I don’t seem to recall any healers who could heal a cripple.” In tears, his assistant smashed his fist against the fallen ice golem he had slain and crawled over to for safety fearful of what could attack him from the snow with his back unguarded.
“Please, sir! Help me!”
“I’ll do the best I can.” Saying that Gatarn turned away from Quat and kept walking. He had already decided to leave the now crippled Quat alone in the snow to die.
Gatarn took his time walking back to the first gate of Fallohar. He thought about killing Quat by walking over his body and hearing the sound he would make but it was simply beneath him. He would rather spend his time playing with the other Ice invaders to further his strong and dependable reputation.
Losing count of the Monsters he had killed at the front lines Gatarn grew bored having decided to focus his efforts back on unsealing the Dungeon.
Gatarn was a physic reinforcer, a Fighter, a Warrior who had the stats and skills to be where he needed to be at just the right time. He'd be where he needed to be when it served his inner desires to kill and conquer that is. It was instinctive to know when the time to act was, but the time wasn't now.
He'd have to use that which he thought to be envied by the Gods to get the timing right.
Something more than a weapon It was his tool, a testament to time. Feeling his underarm tattoos tingle with excitement Gatarn decided to give his other two arms a stretch. He couldn’t recall the last he'd taken on his real stature, letting his two extra limbs get some air.
A few bone-cracking sounds later Gatarn was flexing in the cold air. The Front Lines couldn't get any worse in his thirty-minute absence.
Far enough from the city's Main Gate where no one could see him. Closing his eyes and letting the wind whip across his chest he cracked his bones to relieve more of his pent-up stress. Only two thoughts were on his mind though Gatarn fought hard to think about something else. "Patience," he'd keep the virtue for now.
“Is that him?” Gatarn heard, not budging a giant finely cut muscle as he spotted two Dwarven gatesman spotting him under a snow hill.
“Leader Gatarn!” At that shout, the person whoever they were had been beheaded by the back of a huge hand. Gatarn only allowed the worthy to look at his true form and no one was worthy. He was pissed having someone gaze at his herculean stature.
And that life just like Quat’s had found and served its purpose. “Time to get back to work,” he stated unaware of how long he'd been standing in the snow.
A few bone-cracking sounds later, there was nothing in the spot Gatarn had previously stood in except two overly large footprints. In ten minutes, Gatarn had made his way back to the city's entrance ready to walk the tunnel. Gatarn grinned thinking about leveling up in the soon-to-be unsealed Dungeon of Depth.
Missing the smell of battle and war while laying waste to monster invaders Gatarn had finished "Protecting" the city with an hour to spare.
The city frontlines had been taken care of Gatarn sought to return to the city heading for the sealed dungeon. On his way, he walks amongst city guards. No one currently on duty stationed at Fallohar Main gate would dare try to order the giant gray-skinned man around, neither would they say a word about what ruthlessness they'd seen.
Gatarn momentarily stopped to smell the blood of the monsters and men crushed to a pulp underneath his feet, the remains still covering his body. His eyes rolled over in satisfaction. Not caring in the slightest about being drenched in the blood of both Dwarven and Beast-kin. He had an excuse being that they were in his way. How else could he clear out Ice Denizens with small men and furred mongrels barring his path?
So Gatarn finds his way behind Fallohar's first gate, a blockade against all Intruders. A silver gate able to stop someone like him from breaking into the city under the right circumstances.
He had smelled something most savory in the air, this was what he'd been waiting for something to occupy his time before getting back to the main course.
The smell of fear and desperation. A hound runs from one scene to the next in search of prey. He traveled a couple of miles an hour on foot, with nothing in his way except abandoned carriages, carts, and the occasional corpse. He had a clue as to where his nose was taking him. And that clue turned out to be wrong as he followed a few stragglers coming from the opposite direction of his Hall.
This is how he ended up in the lower tunnels in time to rally the people or sow discord, opinion depends on the perceiver. What reason would a giant gray-skinned warrior have for entering the tunnels to the inner city? Why convince the people to speak of the dissatisfaction and fear that was plaguing their restless minds of course?
High level [Citizens], most reaching and ranging from level one hundred and up. The majority of the Kingdom had already unlocked a second class. It was common knowledge to pick up a skill to spot lies and misdirection. Gatarn through the gentle nudging of Ideas and the careful misalignment of suggestion had no intention of lying. Why give hope when he'd known for a fact this Kingdom's future was hopeless?
"Hope is such a fickle thing."
The citizens had hope. They "had" hoped, before being deliberately lied to about being granted access to the inner cities. Even now as everyone’s lives were at stake, someone higher up on Fallohum's societal food chain denied the less financially endowed Citizens access. There was no escaping to Fallohan, or wherever their next stop was in the expansive Kingdom.
Gatarn knew of this escape tunnel as he'd known of the next. And this particular protocol was one he'd played a hand in making. The Admissible was accepted by all in Fallohar, even the people. Although his stature stood out unlike any other, the man’s class allowed him to walk among men as he had once done before time and time again.
After walking into the hole on Wall Street. He'd whisper to men and women as if he had never fought a day in his life. Some "Citizens" would feel a gust blow past them only to find a gray-skinned Half-Man at their side acting the part of the commoner. In Fallohar city Dwarves were not all equal, If a Dwarf is living on the outskirts of Fallohar he or she is seen as "less" which makes them more in the eyes of a Citizen.
A Stone can be thrown out of the Inner Kingdom for various reasons the most "Common" being wealth. Who were you to trust in Fallohar if not a Stone or the Man sharing the same color as the rock itself?
Gatarn whispers on your shoulder, Gatarns gets in your head, Gatarn speaks of the worst. There's nothing worse than ending up in a grave or buried in a collapsed tunnel counting your breaths, dead.
“Let our voices be heard. If we stay here, we will all die. These guards are citizens as well speak up, we're the ones who their supposed to serve and protect.” He had even spoken words to the guards that held a considerable weight. Those few words were among “What type of king do you serve?”
He didn’t care who would recall talking to him, about the consequences of starting an uprising. Gatarn only cared about getting to the Dungeon in time to see its re-opening. And this time he'd be able to venture into the depths without a hitch.
If someone came searching for him in the tunnel on Wall Street he'd be nowhere to be found. The Giant gray man was gone with the wind as quickly as he'd come. He'd walked as the common man for long enough it was time he put back on the mantle of the Admissble. The pot of steaming shit about to spill over had been stirred enough.
[Citizens], they were all citizens from [Guardsman] to [Chef]. How could a [Shopskeeper] or [Prostitute] survive without safety? In a dimly lit tunnel that could span for miles.
A [Citizen] could not survive in these conditions. They needed to live a life constantly in motion by taking on an active role in Fallohars society.
Sitting in a Tunnel waiting to die just wouldn't do.
A [Citizen] is a class that is both broad and common because there are no requirements for unlocking the class. It is easy to level and simple to live with. Inclusive to all, people are fine with becoming a long-term [Citizen] because a problem of one becomes the problem of many.
[Citizens] always had something to talk about with each other. Some of these topics would revolve around the different and unique benefits the class could give in later stages. How the class [Citizen] often helped support a second class.
Carrying on these, [Citizens] had one thing in common. They were sick and tired of being lied to. Death was at their door and a new life would be staring them in the face.
“Let us in!”
“Let us in!”
“Let us in!” Citizens of all sorts chant. The chanting went on for hours, and the stomach growls after a few more.
Fear grew into anger, anger into anarchy.
The inner kingdom had multiple gates one after another. No one was entering without authorized permission.
[Guardsman] were lining the people up unafraid of what everyone present needed to happen.
[Commanders] and [Guardsmen] were told to never let the people of the outer city get into the inner kingdom. Almost a hundred years ago maybe those orders would’ve been carried out. When a king's word held some weight.
Even though they had gotten word that the monster threat was taken care of an hour ago. The city was still on high alert because of the voice of death and desire.
That night two-thirds of Fallohar City’s citizens were allowed into the inner Kingdom.
The higher-ups had a change of heart [Commanders], [Gatesmen], and [Guards] had a bone to pick with the King who had abandoned them long before their time of need
One-third of Fallohar city’s citizens were made up of [Adventures] and [Mercenaries] most who could hold their own were lined up for the sealed dungeons opening.
At the city crossroads, the tunnel on Wall Street to be exact. The Main tunnel on Wall Street is sealed cutting the inner Kingdom off from Fallohar.
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Inside the tunnel, citizens move in hopes of finding protection and securing a more stable life. A doctor had made it his job to see a missing child.
“Hey, how about you come with me, I can help you find this Father of yours. We can maybe find you some clothes while we’re at it.”
Thousands of Beast kin and hundreds of dwarves were trying their best to keep calm and be cautious. In high spirits, the only thing on these people's minds was gaining access to the inner city. They had nothing but a long walk and high hopes for the future.
The downside of being a [Citizen] of fallohar city, was that most of the classes related to being a citizen were hierarchical.
It was a Class that often skipped out on giving points to intelligence and combat-related Aspects of the system menu. [Guards] and the like didn’t only have the superiority but the upper hand altogether when being compared to a [Citizen]. If the kingdom Fallohum stayed on its current path brick by brick the castle and everything surrounding above as below would fall with only a select few still on top. The quick-witted and well-informed would have a clue as to where the kingdom would be headed, but knowing and planning to do something about the kingdom's current declining state are two different things.
Entering the Kingdom of Fallohum was a difficult task. And after you've achieved citizenship why would you ever want to leave?