Tyrant's Grasp

Twisted the pained expression on his face into an angry grimace, Krodas raises his voice to match Hrendar's and shouts, "You would lead us to ruin for nothing, Hrendar! I do indeed question my warchief, for you're no warchief of mine if you'd throw all our lives away on a pointless suicide run!" Looking around to the assembled band of orcs, he makes a show of removing the armored padding from around his chest and laying it on the ground, stripping down to his loincloth before turning to face Hrendar again.

"You inspire no confidence, Warchief Hrendar. You squander precious lives the Broken Horn can ill afford to lose, and admit to doing so in order to accomplish nothing but a pointless end to our tribe in the name of vain glory while claiming that to die in a rout rather than drive our enemies fleeing before us is the way of our Lord in Iron. You shall not go unopposed in this. I challenge you to single combat for control of the Broken Horn."

Victor raises an eyebrow. "And I guess you have an inkling why they'd be panicked," He says, equally low. "Since you seem to be taking the news that help won't be coming in stride," He adds, casting a glance towards the others. "Maybe it is for the best we have a little talk."

Hrendar glowers at Krodas as the assembled orc crowd murmurs. They're surprisingly divided on who they want to see win, but all seem content to honor the challenge, leaving her with little choice. "Fine," she growls, jerking her head for the rest of the tribe to form a circle and drawing her battleaxe. "Draw your weapon and face your death."

---

"I know something isn't right, and that you three likely understand more than me. Follow." Mayor Grive leads the party into her office and takes a seat at her desk. "Alright, tell me plainly. What's going on?"

"Everyone's dead, except us three and an orc who's dealing with his own situation," Victor says bluntly. "Happened last night. We don't know how or why, but it happened, and this copy of our town was made to ease the transition."

"I... see." Grive looks skeptical for a moment before casting a glance out the window, where the hanging, grinning moon sits in the sky. "I suppose that's the most reasonable explanation for why Groetus is taking up most of the sky. I thought that was peculiar." She lets out a deep sigh. "Alright. What are we going to do about it?"

Face set, Krodas nods and draws his falchion from amongst his armor.

"Well, everyone else we've attempted to tell has... spasmed, for lack of a better word," Titia explains. "They briefly turn ethereal, freak out for a moment, and then reset and it's like the conversation never happened to begin with. We consulted with the beings who explained the situation to us and they said the people may need to hear from a trustworthy authority figure."

"I see..." Grive rubs her chin. "Well, I'm not necessarily the best person for that on my own. I'll need you to sway at least one other person. You're all familiar with Arbella Tharmethion, right? She represents the merchants on the town council, and for all that I'm the official leader of the town she has far more influence than me. Between her and I, we should be able to convince everyone. But, uh, there is one other thing..." She trails off, looking out the window once more. "I... I don't think I could bear to tell the children, if I'm being quite honest. I've never been good with them, and the thought of traumatizing their young souls is unbearable to me. If you can convince them, or at least make an effort, and can get Arbella on board, then I'll organize a town hall meeting and we'll see about fixing this mess."

---

After removing their armor, the two orcs square off. Hrendar takes the initiative, charging in, but that just gives Krodas an opening to strike her midsection. Growling viciously, she grabs the blade as it's embedded in her stomach and raises her battleaxe, swinging down hard. The strike hits Krodas clean in the shoulder and tears halfway down his chest. In his pain he attempts another swing at her, but misses, unable to see through the haze of blood. With a triumphant smirk, Hrendar pulls her axe from Krodas's body and strikes again in the same spot, this time cleaving him completely in twain. The two halves of his body fall to the ground, lifeless.

After a lot of pain and a brief few moments of featureless whiteness, Krodas comes to, blinking a few times and shaking his head to clear it before standing up, sliding clean out of the two chunks of bloody meat on the ground before getting to his feet.

"I'd ask if you want to yield," he says with a slightly-sheepish half-grin and a shrug, "but you've already won, and I thought this might happen anyway. We're dead, Hrendar. You already were, and I certainly am now. Sorry you had to find out this way."

Hrendar stares at Krodas in absolute terror while the crowd murmurs in fear and alarm. Then, suddenly, one of the orcs begins to glow, brightly at first before fading to something soft and muted. This triggers a chain reaction, as each member of the tribe accepts that what's happening is real. Krodas, similarly, develops such a glow, leaving only Hrendar. She's speechless, looking around at her tribe and the clarity of their fate.

"But... but that would mean that we failed," she whispers. "That I failed. That the Broken Horn is no more, and for nothing."

Crossing to her, Krodas puts a hand on Hrendar's shoulder and smiles sadly at her. "We didn't fail. Whatever happened to Roslar's Coffer was well beyond anything we could control. I'll mourn the Broken Horn just as much as you will, but we went down fighting, to the bitter end. Hells, just now you were willing to die again for your honor and what you believed was proper, and I think the Lord in Iron will smile on you for that. Hopefully I'll be so lucky, but I'll not pretend I'm not guilty of cowardice disguised as pragmatism."

Looking around at the whole assembled tribe now, Krodas says, "We all did the best we could with what we had, and fought tooth and nail to stay above water the whole way. It may not have been bloody, and our songs may not be sung in legend, but I'll be damned if there's no glory in having fought, literally to our last breaths, to keep our tribe alive. I'm sorry for what I said, Hrendar. I hope you trust me enough to know I never intended to hurt you or wound your pride, and I hope you can forgive me."

Vic nods solemnly. "We shall certainly see what we can do," He says.

Shortly after the group departs the mayor's office and sets off to find Arbella Tharmethion.

The group finds Arbella where she would normally be this time of day, sitting near a hedge thicket alongside several other council members. They aren't, however, alone, as a muscular, middle-aged man with a broken nose is sitting with them, ranting loudly. He isn't particularly noteworthy in appearance, save for the fact that his body is pale and slightly translucent, instantly marking him as not one of the townsfolk. As you approach closer, you can hear him speak. "Yes, yes, not to worry at all dear grandaughter, everything is quite fine. Soon enough the Knights will arrive to settle things, and then you can start correcting the record like I never could."

Titia approaches slowly, making sure she's in Arbella's line of sight when she waves and calls out. "G'morning Arbella. Do you mind if we have a word? It's vitally important and... private," she shoots a meaningful glance at the outsider.

Arbella, her fellow council memers, and the outsider all look up at the sudden interruption. "Oh, Miss Julio. Come, join us. Allow me to introduce my legendary ancestor, Garrid Tharmethion. He's come back from the grave to give me an important mission, isn't that wonderful?"

"Guess we're tearing the bandage right off then," Titia grimaces. "Your ancestor, if he's telling the truth about that part, is lying. He hasn't come back from the dead. You died, and so did all the rest of you. This is all an illusion to help you get over the shock. Sorry."

The councilmembers splutter and cough at this, while the specter turns an interesting shade of pale red. "How dare you," he demands indignantly. "I am Garrid Tharmethion, soldier of the Shining Crusade, friend and confidant to your found Roslar. You would dare cast aspersion on my character with no proof!?"

"Listen man," Titia shrugs, "I don't know your story, who you are, or why you're here. I do know what a pair of Pharasma's servants told me. I also know that I really don't have patience for your bullshit right now, so whatever lie you're spinning these people, you can shove it."

The members of the council begin to murmur among themselves in confusion: Titia's family is a pillar of the community, after all, why would she lie about such a thing? Arbella, for her part, watches in growing horror as her ancestor's spirit begins to turn a reddish-gold shade, face contorting in cruel anger. "I shall not abide by this! You will not prevent me from restoring his good name!"

Tharmethion draws a rapier as Victor and Holden charge him, but when he stabs Victor in the stomach, it feels less like a pointed weapon and more like a truck hitting him and knocking him clean to the ground. Holden is able to hold his own though, and with Titia's firing support manages to slice the spirit's body in two, causing it to evaporate into nothingness.

Sighing and reloading her crossbow, Titia looks back to the council. "So, as I was saying," she continues, her tone nonchalant. "This isn't home, it's just a created version of it to stop everyone from freaking out."

Arbella frowns. "I'm sorry, my ancestor's behavior was unacceptable, but that sounds like nonsense. I think I'd remember dying."

Victor shakes his head to clear the last of the fogginess away as he picks himself back up, leaning against the shaft of his axe. "Are you sure 'bout that? The people we've talked to have proved pretty forgetful, and the forgettin' process has seemed rather quick. Possibly painful too, though they don't seem to remember that part," He says. "Besides, whatever happened, it happened last night, when everyone would've been asleep. Dunno about you, but if something killed me quickly while I was out cold, it would leave me none the wiser. Which is presumably why everyone woke up here in this fake Roslar's Coffer without realizing."

Arbella frowns, but her resistance to the idea is softened enough to open up a discussion with her and the rest of the council. By the time they're finished, the council is all resigned to their fates. "Well this is simply terrible," Arbella sighs. "I had so much left I wanted to do... ah, well, nothing to be gained from getting upset, I suppose. We'll need to make sure everyone knows the truth, obviously. I'll go speak with Mayor Grive and we can set up a town meeting."

Victor nods solemnly. "We have one more task to see to, and we shall see you there," He says, shifting his axe to his shoulder once more.

Finding the children of Roslar's Coffer turns out to be surprisingly easy, as all of them have gathered near a massive oak tree that definitely wasn't there in life. The tree is surprisingly vibrant and festive, surprising both because the Boneyard has been, thusfar, very drab and lifeless, and surprising because the tree is very clearly dead. However, its branches are festooned with colorful ribbons and pastel flowers, brightening it up significantly. The children have formed a circle around the tree and are running around it, laughing and picking up speed as they sing whatever children's rhyme fuels their game, while a large crow with white-tipped feathers sits atop the tree. Meanwhile, a young woman also enters the small field where the tree stands, and is the first of all of these to notice the party.