59 Remian's Left Foo

The wise and brave self-proclaimed 'king of the Wildlands' peeked his head out of his private den to witness a scene of absolute chaos.

People, his people, were running around everywhere.

"Aiiieeee!!" There in front of him was Abdul, garbed in only his underwear, running down the street yelling at the top of his lungs, being followed most earnestly by a Darkbok Antelope with its head humbly down and the pointy ends of its horns targeted most faithfully upon Abdul's hinter areas.

"Auuuu!!!" Beyond Abdul, the captain of today's guard shift ran the other way, shrieking as he was similarly followed by a 'faithful' manticore.

One ran left; one ran right – the pair of them crossed each others' paths and did not so much as greet each other in passing. At least their pursuers were polite enough to pause and greet each other before pouncing upon their prey and…

CHOMP. RIP.

The 'king of the Wildlands' turned away, grimacing. The following scenes of nature in action were a little too natural to be watched in the comfort of his den. The leader of the Secret Waves therefore opted to nobly abstain.

He next poked his head out the doorway to see more of his people running about like headless chickens. Well, no some of them seemed to have a few ideas, at least. Three guys running into the same outhouse from three different directions in various states of hurry.

A huge tawny boar-type Wild proved even more hurried, or at least, twice as fast in barging into that very same outhouse with marvelous, firework-worthy results. Pieces of that very outhouse went soaring freely, like eagles into the skies, like Phoenixes into the sunset, like the crew of the Secret Waves in the next street over, scattering in every direction in a phenomenal hurry, with no less than four guys exiting the outhouse very abruptly. Huh. He'd only seen three enter the privy earlier; the fourth guy must have been the original occupant, but even he was artfully evicted on short notice…

Inspired by such art, the 'king' royally resolved to duck back inside, shut the door behind him and grab whatever he could to barricade it.

There were perhaps, one or two (or fourteen) instances where people came knocking on that door screaming for his attention and assistance or just an open door. But tinged with regret, the king held on steadfastly to his resolution, assuring them only that they had his full attention and he had their welfare in mind. More than one screamed simply for an open door, but all of life was an open door, filled with opportunities, if only one had the right perception and perspective, was it not?

Oddly enough, the king's enlightened philosophies did not seem to provide much comfort to the mundane plebians. But at least they did not linger to ponder the profoundness of his revelations much longer. Some of their screams ended quite abruptly.

Such a pity that his subjects did not appreciate refined philosophies of that level! The 'king' himself opted to contemplate that very sophistry in most ardent silence, scarcely daring to taint the sacredness of this meditation with sound, trying very hard even to avoid breathing loudly.

But at last, as time passed, the screams and the screeches finally died down and an uneasy silence settled upon the land. Slowly, cautiously, the 'king' poked his head out the door yet a third time, and there appeared to be something mystical and successful about the number 'three', for indeed the third time was the charm and the occasion when the situation finally made progress into a new stage.

There were no more rampaging Wilds outside, just the dead and the dying. A rather large proportion of the structures in the vicinity had been reduced to piles of rubble. Oh well; they had been rather shabbily built anyway, and perhaps it was time to give this domain a makeover, build new houses, new structures… maybe even a statue as a monument to his own honor and bravery. How much money did they currently have in their urban development fund?

Oh right. They didn't have such a fund in the first place. But surely he could convince the people to righteously donate to such a noble cause. They could certainly donate their efforts, if not their money. Most of their money had already been spent on necessities, he knew, such as the Dream Tickets. In other words, most of their money were already in his pool.

Maybe he should set up a new fund for charitable people to donate to? Yes, that would be best. He could even send people around town to spread word of this new charity and seek contributions from as far as the western settlement. That is, if anyone there survived…

Judging from the immediate vicinity, if what happened there was anything like what happened here, survivors might very well be in short supply.

"Boss!" one of his henchmen (he forgot which one, these guys' names all sounded alike) came sneaking up, the sudden sound causing the 'king' to jump three feet into the air and letting out a resounding shout in a dazzling display of athleticism.

But at last, more and more survivors crept out of their hiding places and began looting. A few loyal henchmen, some of whom he'd never seen before today, carried out his instructions no matter how nonsensical (or at least they said they were), and order was eventually restored upon the East Side.

***

Remian found himself staring dumbfoundedly at the ruins of what used to be Frontier Town's East Side. Most of it had been leveled, and the very far edge of the ledge appeared to have, well… disappeared.

It was somewhat to be expected, perhaps, that the weight and the trampling of several Tier 4 and at least a dozen Tier 3 Wilds would prove too much for the delicate extents of the thin ledge. The far corner had broken off taking the last of the Beast Wave with it, but not before most of the East Side had been summarily demolished.

How many survivors were left? Ten? Twenty?

One particular survivor seemed to be staring at him balefully while yelling at everyone nearby to kneel and build him a monument out of their own money. Remian thought he recognized him; wasn't that the fisherman guy? The leader of the Secret Waves?

"You!" he turned to Remian, and recognized him. "Remian Vin!"

The tones of his voice made even a few of the looters and stragglers turn and gather around.

"I have tolerated your insolence long enough! It is time you acknowledge the rightful ruler of these lands and pay tribute! You and all your followers, and all your workers, will contribute every last Lir you have into the monument fund!"

"And if we don't?" Remian raised an eyebrow.

"Then all hell will break loose on those you care about!" he sneered. "I know you! You and your child-loving ways! Most men go for women, but you… you go for children! And now you've brought even more women and children to my territory! Funny thing about women and children; they are easy to entrap, easy to entice, easy to train using just a little bit of Dream Powder…"

"Shouldn't you be thinking of other things at a time like this? Such as, I don't know, taking care of your own people?"

The gazes of the survivors around them shifted from him to the leader of the Secret Waves and back.

"A few Dream Tickets will do the trick. They won't even complain afterward." He snorted.

The looks turned back upon Remian; none of the survivors contradicted their boss.

"Don't worry, I'm going to teach those kids of your manners." He sneered. "To kneel before me and to obey like good little children…"

"You're insane." Remian's eyes narrowed.

"You can't protect them forever! Not even if you just had one! A single moment, a single slip and they'll be in the palm of my hands before you know it! All it takes is one Dream Ticket and they'll be mine forever! And I have plenty of Tickets…"

"That's it. I've had it. You should leave." Remian's voice turned cold. "Frontier Town has no place for someone like you. Pack your things, you and whoever wants to go with you. I want you out by tonight."

"You want me out?" he screeched. "I am the king! These are my lands! My claim is supported by Fal'Herim! YOU must leave! Or pay tribute! Everything you have is mine! Your children, your goods, your very life! From now on, you are my slave! I will show you the folly of your insolence! I will…"

"Get OUT!" Remian snapped and something in him snapped, as he took a step forward, his left foot coming down on the ground a lot harder than he'd intended.

"I will make you suffer!" the 'king' roared with laughter. "Hahahaha! I will… Urghk!"

It was therefore, that the last thing anyone ever heard that mad 'king' say was 'Urghk'. Very abruptly, the 'king' disappeared. His house disappeared. His people disappeared. In fact, the entire East Side disappeared.

"UWAAAAAAaaaaaaaaa…" someone's screech fading away into the distance was the only clue Remian had as to what just happened to them.

It all happened so fast, Remian didn't know what to think. One minute he was yelling at an idiot, the next, he was staring at the open skies, and the skies were blue, blue as far as the eye could see.

Only then did he realize that he was standing at the edge of a sheer cliff, as if it had been cut straight down by a knife.

Hastily, Remian backed off, his knees giving way as all the strength in his legs seemed to disappear. He steadied himself with his right foot back, then…

"No! Don't!" Markus shouted. "DO NOT put down your left foot! Crawl back slowly! Bit by bit! And whatever you do, don't put your left foot down!"

"What?" Remian stared. "Why?"

"The last time you did that, the entire East Side fell off a cliff!"

Remian shook his head. "It wasn't me!"

"What are you talking about? I saw it all! You stamped your left foot and cliff broke!"

"It wasn't me!" Remian said again, stepping away from the edge…

There was a terrible CRASH! Remian froze, face pale, as the whole ground jerked with the impact. But abruptly, he realized that it was a tiny jerk compared to the sound, and it seemed to be farther away, not directly underfoot. It took a moment before he realized what it was.

"That was the East Side crashing into the river below." Markus grimaced. He crawled toward the edge and looked down. "I don't think there are any survivors."

"Are you sure? I mean… it's a river below, right? And it's supposed to be really deep…"

"Pretty sure. That was a very harsh fall." Markus peered over the edge. "And besides, see those big logs down there?"

Remian squinted. "Sort of, yeah. Why?"

"Those aren't logs."

Knowing the kind of Wilds famous for dominating the River, Remian gulped audibly and asked no more.