---Surface of Argwyll---
---Lucent, Capital of Westerweald---
The pearly streets of Lucent were awash with confused citizens.
For yesterday, an army of Greycloaks had marched through its gates, led by none other than the Master of the Greys herself, Caliah Argent. She and her forces had overturned the guards and practically blockaded every district of the city within merely six hours of stifled conflict.
Those who resisted were beaten and cuffed. The process of pacifying the city had been less than a trifle for the warriors of the Greys. Even the hardiest veteran of Argwyll would run home to his mama with his dick between his legs rather than take on the monster slayers themselves.
The people barked. They complained. They grumbled and they wept that their city was now becoming little more than a forward base for the Greys. But they put up with it. As Commander Carliah always said, the people of this world owed her Order their lives. The very fact they were even able to draw breath in this realm was owed to the Greycloaks.
And in Kaedmon's name, they'd purify this land. This time, for good.
At the height of the commotion, the Commander walked briskly through the palace gates alongside a man who wore his grey cowl over his face. Those men, women, and children that remembered the old hero of their age knew his walk, however, and whispers started running down the crowds that the Lightborn had returned to the city – this time as a conqueror.
But it was not him who appeared on King Lysandus’s balcony that day and delivered a solemn decree to the people of the Capital city:
“Citizens of Lucent!” Caliah Argent began. “The Fifth Archon lives.”
Murmurs of discontent. People swarmed together and collective gasps traveled through the city streets. Even the tavern goers were forced outside by the hubbub, talking in drunken slurs about how they knew that the day of reckoning was coming – they had known people who had died in the Battle of Grenbelm forest. Only the Archon could slay a hundred men in cold blood like that.
And it was still out there. Which meant...not even Lord Artorious could stop it alone?
Yet more people hesitated as they heard the news. Naysayers in the crowd began to spread countergossip: The Bounty...it had vanished days ago, hadn't it? So the Archon must be dead, right? Was this all just some elaborate ruse for the Greycloaks to make a political power-play?
A quick glance at the serrated weapons of the immortal warriors told such naysayers to hold their tongues. At any rate, the grim countenance of Lord Artorious as he stepped beside the Master of the Greys told those people the truth: this threat was still real, and this time the devil had landed in their territory.
“In accordance with Krea’s Commandment,” Caliah continued. “I am declaring a state of Martial Law. All auspices of Lucent’s armed forces will henceforth submit themselves to the authority of the Greycloaks. All men and women of able body shall submit to a routine of rigorous training in preparation to defend this city from the emerging threat of the Archon and its hybrid forces. All hybrids in the city will submit to detention and interrogation immediately, under penalty of a long, agonizing demise. Any human who refuses to answer this call, or who is found harboring hybrid citizens in an official capacity or otherwise, shall be dealt with in the same manner.”
Ripples of anger weaved their way through the crowds. A few unruly voices rose up to verbalize their distaste – but a swift beating from the Greys stationed at regular intervals on the streets put an end to these rabble rousers. After the first few beatings, even a simple look from the cloaked warriors was enough to cow any dissenting humans into submission.
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After all, who could argue with the servants of a God?
And almost as soon as she had made her proclamation, Carliah turned and marched right back into the castle, only giving the people one more vow:
“This time, the world shall be spared a century of darkness. With your cooperation, we promise you a final nail in the coffin of the Archon legacy. We promise you safety from all monster incursions now and forever. We promise you the fulfillment of the Lightborn’s sacred mission. Stand with us, men and women of the West, and we shall break the back of this invasion before it sweeps through Argwyll!”
As she left, she allowed herself a small grin of satisfaction as a choir of cheers followed her. The people of the civilized world were so easy to corral, when you told them exactly what they wanted to hear.
“See that, Pendragon?” Carliah said as she and Artorious made their way back inside the palace. “That’s how you get people on your side.”
“Those are the same people we are oath-bound to serve and protect, Carliah,” he replied. “They are not merely tools to be used and discarded.”
“Pfft, don’t act as if you don’t enjoy having power over the sheep,” the Master of the Greys scoffed. “You’ve been loving their attention all these years, haven’t you?”
Artorious said nothing.
“Now, onto more pressing matters…”
Both Greycloaks returned to the throne room where the blubbering King was still crying over his guards being sent on their merry way by the team of Greycloaks who had barged their way into his palace, told him he no longer had any authority here, and informed him they would be assuming defacto leadership over his entire realm.
“Y-you cannot do this!”
“Yes, I can,” Carliah told him bluntly, barely even acknowledging him as she passed him by. “Need I remind you that Krea’s Commandment gives the current Commander of any regional Greycloak chapter the authority to conscript the services of any town or city in the event an Archon rises. Lucent’s walls are solid, defensible, and its status as capital city allows us to project our power far beyond these walls. A general mustering and hunt are already underway. Soon, this new fledgling Archon will have nowhere to hide, and we will kill this invasion in its crib.”
She bent down to smile in the King’s tear-filled face.
“You’re welcome,” she said.
But King Lysandus wasn’t about to take this sitting down. Without warning he rose, drawing the ceremonial broadsword at his hip and rushing the Master of the Greys with a crazed battlecry of “YOU TRAITOROUS BITCH!” on his lips.
And before he had even unsheathed an inch of his sword, Artorious had disarmed him and knocked him down with the blunt end of his new rapier – an onyx rapier that threw deep shadows across the throne room’s walls.
The King looked up at the former guest in his court, his mind flashing to the banquets held in this shining hero’s name, where he had simply scoffed at each noble-born guest and retired without even taking the hand of a lady.
Was it possible he had hated the people of this city all this time?
"L-Lightborn Artorious..." the King mumbled. "Please...you - you must see reason!"
“Tsk,” Carliah sighed. “Another pest you didn’t just slay, Artorious.”
The Lightborn sheaved his blade without even looking at the groveling King who was currently trying to kiss his boots.
“He is human, Carliah,” Artorious replied, much to the shock of the petrified King. “He may be ignorant, dull, and a petulant child, but he is no monster.”
“Those rolls of fat dangling from his arms suggest otherwise,” the Greycloak Master scoffed. “Revok, Maresh – remove His Highness from the city and inter him in Griffon’s Watch. A short spell in the cells might just teach him some valuable lessons in humility. Perhaps the good Doctor Haylock can even find some use for one such as him.”
The pair of Greycloaks moved to obey their leaders command, casting sideways glances at Artorious before picking the King up by his flabby arms and dragging him from his own Throne Room.
“A-Artorious!” Lysandus wailed as he was evicted. “Old friend! Please – please don’t let them-!”
The Lightborn had already turned his back on the King, following his Commander downstairs to the city barracks. There, they would prepare to mobilize their forces for the all-out assault that awaited them. This time, the Archon would have no time to gain a foothold in this world. This time they'd put it down before it even made a dent in Argwyll.
...he'd put it down.
Because he had to. Didn't he?
“ARTORIOUS!” Lysandus’ wails continued. “PLEASE!”
The Lightborn ignored the screams. He’d heard much worse than those before.