Chapter 110 of 120

Rampant Propaganda – 8

By Dee_DubbleYew • 3,197 words • Code: NV-oxwO4s2

There is a tension in the air, a thick miasma of fear and doubt brought on by the demon incursions throughout Prillia. Refugees wander the streets, safe from demons behind Hacksonville’s walls…but not from the criminal elements roaming these rotten streets.

The three gangs engender goodwill by supplying refugees whenever the local government can’t and set innocents down the path of crime. Well-meaning volunteers and civil servants are swamped with work, leaving only the ineffectual constabulary to manage the surging ranks of the gangs. Local politicians work day in, day out, travelling to other safe cities to help secure deals for food, weapons, and mages.

A spark of hope arrives, only to be outshined by another. The Holy Order and the Arcanoknights’ fierce rivalry threatens to light this powder keg of a city.

The Holy Order is the oldest knight order in Prillia. They trace their origin back to King Arthur and the knights of the round table, drawing power from their Outer God’s relic. Every other order has roots or is inspired by the Holy Order, including the three orders under the Empyreans of Night, Day, and Earth.

The Arcanoknights, in contrast, are a result of a newer philosophy. Instead of relics, they use a more advanced understanding of magic and potions to make their knights powerhouses. Mages and wizards make up the higher ranks of the Arcanoknights, while the bulk of their forces are knights bolstered through enchantments, potions, and other magical means. Though their methods are unorthodox, their results can’t be denied. The oldest Order is finding itself outdone by modern Knights.

There is tension between the two groups when they meet in Hacksonville for the counteroffensive. Like beacons, they chase away the darkness of the criminal underground wherever they go.

But they can’t stand to even be in the same room, let alone the same street.

You are Detective, intrepid investigator turned reporter. Rampant Corruption assigned all reporters to look out for inspiring success stories among the refugees, especially those about underdog knights.

What you’ve found so far are mostly sorrowful tales of escape, friction between refugees and natives, and this rivalry threatening to boil over into something big. Your coworkers find small pieces of hope here and there, a few even reporting on the movements of demonic forces in the Elven Forests.

You’re after something with more substance.

There’s a speakeasy disguised as an armorer’s shop a long block away from Dick’s Diner. You know the password to get inside the den of criminals partying it up like it’s 999, but they’re not your targets. You made an order for some custom gauntlets to keep the Orchid Family smiths busy while you hang by the entrance, your unblinking gaze aimed solely at the diner. Two green eyes stare back at you from behind the counter.

Her again.

If there was ever a thorn in your side, it would be Rampant. Unlucky street jockey that you are, you have another: the bulbous obstacle that is that overworked manager.

She glares at you, somehow seeing you clearly under from far away. She almost looks human. But no human should be able to meet your eyes from such a distance.

Something about that diner stinks. You can’t stay too long inside, the nagging feeling of something influencing you makes it unbearable. Your gut has never steered you wrong before.

You know they’re up to something in there, and they know you know.

But do they know that you know that they know?

You lower your trilby and avert your gaze in time to avoid the hawkish patrol of Holy Knights round the corner. You click your tongue when a group of Arcanoknights round the other corner, their bulky forms moving with unnatural grace. So close to the airship docks, it was only a matter of time before two factions crossed paths.

Silence falls on the street as the two groups slowly approach. They’re stiff; their armor is damaged from recent battles on the front.

It’s a lot like when two gangs meet. Tension envelops the road like a smothering blanket and bystanders scurry inside. Neither group of knights pause or take a different route, both too proud to stand down. As they get closer, auras of arcane and holy magic bubble from the groups.

The manager at the diner winces and closes the blinds. You note her magic sensitivity and you slide your hands into your trench coat as the two groups steadily approach. The street holds its breath as they pass each other.

The danger has passed.

“Heh.” The towering Arcanoknight at the front smirks.

“What do you mean, ‘heh’?” A Holy Knight whirls around.

All at once, the knights grab their weapons and glare at each other. There may be more in the Holy Order’s patrol, but the more heavily armored Arcanoknights range between the upper end of six feet to just below eight feet tall. Any fight between the two would surely result in casualties and severe property damage. You slowly shuffle back. Would those sent to save Prillia ultimately be the very flame that immolates Hacksonville?

A small argument grows into a tense standoff, more of each group arguing with each other as their hands tighten on their weapons.

Before anybody could get a chance to draw their swords, a minotaur stumbles out of the speakeasy, easily matching the tallest of the Arcanoknights in stature. An anxious member of the Orchid family scurries after him, his face whitening upon seeing the mess the drunken minotaur is about to walk into.

“Ann’ I says -hic!- thas’ not a manatee…tha’s mai wife!” The minotaur laughs loudly and nearly runs into the Arcanoknight instigating the fight. “Mai wiiife! Oh, ’scuse me, fella!”

The dwarf nearly pulls out his beard hair watching the minotaur try to rub his drool off the Arcanoknight’s pauldrons. The warrior seethes and almost draws his blade, but the rest of the knights are more confused than anything. You ready your camera, already wondering how Rampant Corruption will spin this.

“A minotaur?”

“Haven’t seen one since the mob bust at Seaside.”

“I heard there were some people shipwrecked here…”

“His breath stinks of old godsblood…my God, is he drunk?”

“Shhhhhh!” The minotaur stumbles around and holds his finger to his lips. “Do-don’t tell the Prillians, they’re pr-pr—”

“Dwarf!” The most senior of the Holy Knights glowers. “Explain!”

There are a few dwarves among the knights. The Orchid Family dwarf stares at them pleadingly, but they look away.

“Well, you see…” He clears his throat. “Thrumbor wanted to show off his smithing skills. And we got to talking…”

“A minotaur, capable of smithing?” The instigator scoffs, his hand still on his sword. “That’s scop.”

“Wuzzat?!” They jump at Thrumbor’s boisterous shout. “Every Minos-born minotaur has to know th-three leaves before they thing! Fighting, forging, and fu-fuuuuun times! Such is the law of stone and steel! Minos forever! Minos foreveeeer…”

Thrumbor collapses into a nearby knight’s arms and sobs. The knights look at each other awkwardly, and any chance of the fight happening defuses. The leader among the Holy Knights stares daggers at the dwarf and demands to know how the minotaur got drunk, who sheepishly replies that he let Thrumbor drink from his private stash. The mage with the Arcanoknights offers to use some alcohol as a medium to track any other potential drunkards, but the dwarves from both groups start coming up with excuses on why it’s unnecessary.

The strangest thing happens. The mage and the senior Holy Knight discuss what to do with Thrumbor and the dwarf, eventually deciding to let them off if they can fix their armor.

Instead of getting a story on a bloody brawl, you return to the press with pictures of a hungover minotaur and a very nervous dwarf working together to patch up battle damage on the two groups of armor. For the first time, you manage to surprise Rampant with a story.

She’s been busy lately. Stress eating ever stranger foods with the gusto of a ravenous rockodile. Talking with reporters, politicians, and other such folks…

“Your story is just the pick-me-up this city needs! ‘Hacksonville United: An Inspirational Story!’ Somebody get that on the second, no, front page! I need to make see if I should name drop the smithy.” She stops yelling to inhale a hot dog slathered in raspberry sauce. “What are you still doing here? Go home, Detective, you deserve a rest! You saved this news cycle from being a whole bunch of Debbie Downer stories! Now, shoo! I’ve got to talk to some folks about distribution rights!”

Debbie lets out a loud sigh from her office, tapping morosely at her typewriter. She’s a good journalist, but her stories have been far too depressing lately. You tip your hat to her and leave.

You walk through the rainy streets of Hacksonville. This den of depravity still has glimmers of hope, even as fear of demons mounts. How could the dwarf you knew, the Rampant Corruption, care about publishing inspiring stories to bring light back to Hacksonville? What’s her angle?

The Corruption you knew was the type of person to set fire to a building and sell water for a markup. These changes, this chaos? All of it started after Quinn rolled into town.

Plenty of people have come to and out of Hacksonville in the time, but your gut, surly as ever, is sure that the goblin going by Quinn is key to all of this.

You settle down into the worn couch in your apartment and pour yourself a glass. The wall before you is covered in crisscrossing yarn. Quinn, Dick’s Diner, Rampant, the gangs, the odd stone fragments…all tenuously connected.

Your door buzzes and you get up to answer, hiding your board behind a curtain. You see nothing through the eyehole except a wide-brimmed sunhat. A dwarf, perhaps? Intrigued, you open the door while keeping the chain lock.

The wide dame hides her face behind a thick pair of sunglasses, her plump body stuffed into a tight-fitting overcoat. A thick, white boa wraps around her neck tighter than a noose, hiding part of her face in the fuzz. The mysterious dame pouts and shuffles in place, her red heels likely straining beneath her.

“Detective Detective?” Her voice is airy and refined. Educated and desperate. A touch insulted, for some reason.

“I don’t go by that name anymore. Just call me…Detective.”

“I hear you’re the person people go to for answers.”

“Maybe once.” You try to close the door, but her foot blocks it. “Ma’am, you won’t find answers here. Only more questions.”

“Even if it’s about Rampant Corruption?” She tugs a lock of white hair. “Please?”

Sighing, you unlatch the lock. You’ve been running in circles around this crazy city, always brushing past answers and stepping in the hot mess of even more mysteries. Maybe this bulbous benefactor will lead you to the clue to unravel it all.

The past few days have been hectic to say the least. Your main body was occupied making Thaumirrors, so you barely had time to hop into Haven. Rumpelstiltskin has to work for once, selling nylon to Zwelle’s pirates and negotiating more summoning books with the other Pirate Lords. And you, Rampant Corruption, are dealing with the chaos of Prillia’s demon incursion.

You haven’t had a chance to stop by Haven for long enough to tell anyone what’s going on. Your poor kids are worried about you!

They’re not alone. You’re worried about the others! There’s a smaller knight presence in Camelot…but the spawn cosplaying as knights in the countryside haven’t checked in since April dropped off that demon corpse!

You’d think they’d send letters by imp. It’s not like demons would attack imps, right?

Wrong!

These demons are nutcases! All ‘Raaaagh, blood and fury!’ and ‘Gonna kill everything!’ No class, no negotiating, just blindly attacking anything that moves. Including a few of the nameless imps you sent out to scout.

From what you’ve seen, it’s a miracle they’re moving together at all. When there are no mortals around, they kill each other for sport. Seems like the only reason they move in a somewhat organized fashion is because the stronger demons at the back corral them.

The choice between getting torn apart by a much stronger demon and running until they find mortals to slaughter is an easy one.

If only Detective wouldn’t get on your case about the reporters you’re publishing the demon movements under. There are the few brave (practically stupid) reporters that you’ve rewarded with extra bonuses, the spineless ones you borrow the names of while they investigate seedier stories, and a few you had to invent when neither are possible. Thanks to the combined efforts of your reporters and imps, you’ve exposed demon movements and pumped out inspiring stories to maintain morale.

As a result, your newspaper is the most popular among the knights stationed in Hacksonville.

So long as none of them goes all Green Goblin on your chunky ass, there’s minimal risk of exposure for maximum brownie points.

Speaking of copyright infringement, the most recent group in the revolving door of lawyers waits patiently at your desk. You’ve been reading over the contract they offered for distribution rights in Seaside City. Babylon Publishing is one of the largest companies in Prillia, completely unconnected to any of the large criminal organizations.

Makes sense. Who would be dumb enough to meddle with the company with the rights to the Paragon franchise? It’s one of the longest running entertainment franchises with comic books, tabletop games, and even movies. It’s a company with enough sway to send a team of lawyers to another city during incursion lockdown.

Their team is good. The contract is nearly as extensive as Dean Sher’khan’s and twice as draconian in punishment. What kind of lawyer had a clause about ‘visiting doom upon thine bloodline for five generations should any private information about the Paragons be released without the express permission of Babylon Publishing’?

In exchange, Babylon will print and distribute your most popular franchises and collaborate with more expensive projects. Hardy Boys Publishing will distribute Babylon’s works locally and can produce official modules for their tabletop games. You even managed to sneak in a clause giving you the advantage with ‘alternative distribution methods’ and some other minor stuff in exchange for letting them take a bigger cut in the profits.

The lawyers look stoic, but their souls are practically high-fiving. They’re going to kick themselves when the Thaumirrors become popular.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I think we’ve got a long and fruitful partnership ahead of us.” You shake their hands.

“I agree.” The head lawyer is already thinking about how much he’d bilked from you. “So long as you aren’t involved in any criminal activities, of course.”

Right, the clause about staying out of trouble. No illegal activities allowed.

It technically isn’t illegal to operate an interplanar portal. Or steal ideas from a different reality. Rampant will take care not to jaywalk in the future. You keep yourself from smirking and nearly pause when you feel a weak telepathic message coming from the street. Peeking through the window, you spot the usual food stand and a growing crowd gathering by the mayor and a few other representatives as they head to the train station.

The woman manning the stand waves. She’s not the one who sent the telepathic message, but you’ve visited enough that she recognizes your face. You should probably lay off the unhealthier food if she can recognize you from your office window. She waves a deep-fried turkey leg around.

Then again...

“I’ll walk you folks down.”

You escort the lawyers to the street and take the opportunity to have lunch. Then you follow the crowd gathering at the train station. The mayor is giving a speech about Prillian camaraderie, unity, and a bunch of other stuff. You put on your news cap and write notes, even though you’ve got a few of your own reporters already here.

<Lady Quinn, thank fuck you’re here.> October stands alongside the other representatives. <There’s a thing at Seaside City, the mayor is sending us to negotiate shipments between the safer cities.>

“…suffice to say, these brave men and women have volunteered to go north with our excess food to assist Seaside in these trying times! As one of the few cities with ample access…”

<…Maybe. There’s also rumors suggesting equints and minotaurs at Seaside. An open presence will endear them to Hacksonville and possibly—>

<It’s fine, October. Just get back quickly. In the meantime, have your cute little harem invest in Silverbrood’s hotel and the minotaur’s airship.>

“…and we can show these demons that, no matter what they throw at us, Prillia is stronger, together!”

The crowd cheers at the end of the mayor’s speech, and the reporters begin asking questions.

<That’s going to be tricky. I only left a single futanari, and the girls can get…catty when left alone for too long. They’ll listen when I come back, just don’t expect them to be on their best behavior until then.>

“Mr. Mayor! Aren’t you worried that our food storage won’t be enough to supply both us and the much larger Seaside City?”

“Of course not! Hacksonville’s farms and fisheries have afforded us a massive reserve, enough to feed five cities the size of Seaside for over a year! And with the efforts of the fine Arcanoknights and the Holy Order, I foresee this demonic incursion won’t last more than three months!”

That’s so sweet of him! With hundreds of members of Purity Front captured, you’ve got a massive backlog of potential citizens that you need to have kids with. Just for him, you’ll bump one or two of his girls to the top of the list.

Once he comes back, of course. October loves sexin’ preggo bitches. You can't count the number of times him and November started a friendly debate on the finer points of economics and political discourse in Hacksonville, only for it to end with November nice and round with his imps.

“Mayor,” Someone from a smaller tabloid calls out. “What are your thoughts on the vigilante running about exposing himself to deter crime? The one known as the ‘Masked Thunderclock?’”

“Deviancy will not be allowed in our fair city!” The mayor slams his fist on the podium. “We may be assisting Seaside city, but we will have none of their lackadaisical policies regarding hooded vigilantes! No more questions!”

October gives a half-confident smile and waves to the crowd as he follows the other representatives onto the train. You stay until the train chugs off into the horizon…Damn it, now you’re worried about another one!