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FG: Chapter 61
🕑 Added 2024-05-24 14:31:01 +0000 UTCAs Marcus and his army marched wearily through the winding tunnels back to Fleapit, the echoes of their footsteps reverberated off the damp stone walls, creating an eerie symphony that seemed to celebrate their hard-fought victory. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows on the faces of the weary soldiers, highlighting the exhaustion and determination etched into their furry features.
Yet the weariest among them was their General himself. Try as he might, he couldn’t forget the faces of those who had been lost to carry him this far. Once again, he was forced to confront the fact that he was stepping over the corpses of these creatures to grasp at the fleeting hope that he could find Mari and get home.
As his Spineripper jostled forward at the head of the throng, he turned his face to the men beside him – Skeever, ever confident and filled with pride to have his new command (already the rats were fabricating the legend of the rat that had pierced the skin of a fat God by himself) and Deekius, who seemed paler by the second. Since they had begun their trek home, the venerable Gloomraava had not said another word.
His troubles have to be put aside, for now, Marcus scribbled in his (by now very tattered) journal. Preparations need to get underway quickly if we are to make good time to link up with our new recruits at Gulchnavel. I doubt Skegga can call reinforcements from his Kobolds, now. But there is the possibility of his Yokun benefactors sending him some form of aid if we give him the chance to call upon them…and considering how three of their assassins managed to throw this entire city into chaos, I don’t like our chances if they enter this war for real.
Priority number one is finding this Silas and then Mari. If he has the power to send me home, he must have the strength to send me to her. It’s possible – of course – that Skegga could simply succumb to madness and start executing his prisoners. But for some reason I don’t see it happening. I don’t think the toad is the type. He’s too concerned with his reputation for that. And right now he needs all the numbers he can muster, even if he must know by this point that his best chance for his own self-preservation is unconditional surrender.
But then, that’s also something his pride won’t ever let him admit. He’s like a chubbier, more overconfident Hideki Tojo. And just like him, Skegga’s not the one who holds the real power here.
As they approached the gates of Fleapit, the air was filled with the sound of cheering and jubilation. The ratmen poured out of their homes and tunnels, waving makeshift banners and flags in celebration of their returning heroes. The streets were lined with cheering crowds, their voices blending together in a cacophony of joy and relief.
Marcus rode at the head of his army, his eyes struggling to keep up with the sights of all his adoring fans cobbled together in the bustling city. The foundry workers stopped their labors, those elderly rats in the black cauldron of their retirement crept out to kiss the feet of his mount, and Shrykul himself had assembled an entire array of Gloomraava to send up a chant of welcome and victory for the great army of the First Talon. The ratmen hailed him as a savior, a leader who had delivered them from the tyranny of Boss Skegga. The streets were adorned with colorful tapestries and lanterns, flags flying with the face of rats with glasses upon their brows, creating a festive atmosphere that seemed to banish the shadows of war and uncertainty that had plagued Fleapit for so long.
As they made their way through the bustling streets, Marcus could see the gratitude and admiration in the eyes of the people. Children ran alongside the procession, reaching out to touch the hem of his cloak or simply to catch a glimpse of the hero who had brought them victory. Elders nodded their approval from the doorways of their homes, their faces creased with age but shining with pride.
Finally, the procession reached the central square of Fleapit, where a makeshift stage had been erected for Marcus to address his people. As he dismounted his weary steed and climbed the steps to the platform, the crowd fell silent, hanging on his every word.
He looked to Skeever and Deekius, then returned to the crowd and almost felt his voice catch in his mouth.
After having just thought about it with Steven, this situation seemed so like that of his University back home. Except this time, the crowd was on his side.
He had to admit the adulation was infectious.
“Ratmen of Fleapit!” Marcus began, his voice strong and steady despite the weariness that weighed on his shoulders. “Today, we stand united in victory. Together, we have faced our enemies and emerged triumphant. But let us not forget the sacrifices that were made, the lives that were lost in the name of freedom and unity.”
The crowd murmured their agreement, a somber reminder of the cost of their hard-won victory. Marcus paused, his gaze sweeping over the sea of faces before him, his heart heavy with the weight of their collective losses. He had to make sure the rats knew he wasn’t simply waving their fallen Lords aside.
“What we have done today is this,” he continued. “We have sent Skegga a message he shall not soon forget: he is no God. He has hopped back home, tail between his legs, in the face of those he sought an easy victory over. Let this day stand in your memory – rats of Fleapit – this is the day your fallen Brothers have been avenged. Festicus and Verulex both look down upon us with pride, sitting beside the true God of this realm – He-Who-Festers!”
The crowd roared with the army, the cacophony of their wails mixing together so it became difficult to distinguish civilian from armed combatant who had only just cleaned the blood of their yipping enemies from their blades.
The exhilaration of the parade was such that Marcus almost forgot the point he had to make here – something he’d resolved to say ever since his little ‘chat’ with Steven. Something that, like it or not, these rats needed to hear:
“But let us also remember that it is in times of darkness that the light of unity shines brightest,” Marcus continued, his voice rising with conviction. “We have proven that we are stronger together, that we can overcome any obstacle when we stand as one. Today, we celebrate not just a victory in battle, but a victory of the spirit, a triumph of unity over division. Three Clans! One victory!”
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, their voices raised in a chorus of gratitude and admiration for their beloved First Talon. Marcus raised his arms in salute, and then pointed out both Deekius and Skeever in the crowd, urging them to join him and accept their share in the glory
But though the rats of Fleapit joined in celebrating their kin, there was another chant that they had started to take up, spurred on by the hooded Gloomraava that walked among the crowd.
“Three Clans. One Leader!” they screamed at the top of their tiny lungs. “Three Clans! One Leader! One Destiny!”
The chant became a mantra. It became a living voice that breathed even more fervent life into the crowds. The triumphant cry that echoed through the tunnels of Fleapit and beyond, a testament to the power of unity and the resilience of the ratmen who called it home.
And though he tried to ignore it, the statement was not one so easily brushed aside.
One leader…
With the thought lying heavy in his heart, Marcus looked down at his hands before he left the stage for an audience with King Shrykul.
On impulse, he saw that they had both balled into fists.
