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Arc 8-119 (Grayskin)
🕑 Added 2025-12-10 10:53:42 +0000 UTCThere was a time that each of the guilds stood for something.
The Torchbearers, before they were elitist arsonists, were a pious group. Their name wasn’t a nod to the fire affinity of their members, but their desire to follow in the footsteps of humanity’s guiding lights, the saints themselves. They used to travel all over the kingdom, putting down dangerous manabeasts first and considering payment second.
The Shadow Wolves didn’t used to be juvenile thugs harassing honest shopkeepers. Their namesake was for the way they often acted as night patrol, before the city’s walls were strong enough to keep out all threats. Their members would camp in the wilds, crouched in the brush. Many times, the wolves hunted a threat before it could see the light of morning.
Now, the hunters—the defenders of humanity that knew no boundary or allegiance to any agenda beyond survival—were reduced to a ragtag bunch gathering beneath a cloth roof outside of their prized city. It wasn’t Grayskin’s first time attending a meeting of guilds. Since he first received his hunting name, a tradition only the Steelskins persisted in, he’d been a favorite for mediating relations with the other guilds; their doctrine preached calm attitudes, but being able to endure the rigors of diplomacy didn’t equate to a talent in it. Grayskin was good at condensing the rambling agendas of the other representatives into something simple for his straightforward superiors to act on.
He didn’t know where to begin untangling the agendas in the cramped room. Probably because the people involved didn’t know where to begin themselves. Since the destruction brought on by the Menace, the guilds had fractured worse than a pane of glass in the face of a rock. The divide between the rebels and the Traditionalists had been the last thread connecting them to centuries of order and discipline. With both camps ravaged and their leaders vanquished, one way or another, all that was left were a hundred men with a thousand thoughts, all of it simmering in a sea of danger with no target except for themselves.
He was one of the few leaders amongst the rabble, though he had no idea what he was leading. The noble, Lourianne, released him, hoping he’d be a calming influence on the group calling themselves the CFQ, but he didn’t know how well he could accomplish such a goal; they welcomed him in the manner they welcomed everyone, including any random man with a mind to decide his future, but that didn’t mean they trusted him. Rather, he felt more than one suspicious gaze watching him. Grayskin didn’t have many friends in the New Quest.
That didn’t mean he was without any. The survivors of the Traditionalists were happy to see him. Most of the named hunters were gone, either dead from the raid or having leapt from what they saw as a crashing wagon. However, some remained, bound to the city regardless of its future.
Thomasson the Bold leaned against one of the shabby stone walls, conversing with the men around him, though the jovial demeanor didn’t reach his eyes. He’d also spotted Jeanne the Drowning Rogue at the back, obscured by the copious shadows. They wouldn’t support him unilaterally, but they were united in their goals: to preserve what remained of the city. They were reliable, which was more than Grayskin could say for any other in the room.
“Quiet!” A stern man with too much salt in his hair, a frame that was too lean, and dark eyes that were too hard yelled until the room quieted down. The city’s hardships had clearly ground him down, but his spine remained rigid, ready to bear the brunt of the next storm.
The room never completely quieted, but once it reached a volume he could speak over, the man raised his voice. “We have quite a crowd. Good. This is no longer a world where a man can afford to meekly follow the destiny given him by others. That is the way of sheep. And what is the way of sheep? To die bloody deaths. Whether it’s at the fangs of wolves or the so-called merciful knife of their shepherd, they’re nothing but meat.”
He sneered, his eyes flicking over the crowd with disdain. Grayskin was sure it was merely a reflection; whatever he felt for them, he couldn’t deny they were his peers.
“If you haven’t been told, this is not just a meeting for the CFQ. All with a mind for the future have been invited to this forum. Also, runners will be carrying word of the proceedings to those who cannot be present. I assure you, this will not be like the days when men decided the fates of thousands behind closed doors. Every man, young and old, has a stake in the future and has the right to speak about it.”
“Oh yeah?” A brutish man with broad shoulders and calloused hands rose to the cheering of the men sitting closest to him. If he had suffered through the short famine, his barrel-like torso didn’t reflect it. “You sure sound like you’re making decisions. Setting yourself up as the next guildmaster?”
The stoic man looked at him with utter contempt, but, to his credit, his tone remained polite, if clipped. “My name is Arthur Casen. I am a scribe, from a family of scribes that have served the learned of the city for three generations. My background gives me the ability to decipher the words of nobles, and I have been entrusted with the duty of presenting the situation, without bias or favoritism, by a majority.”
Arthur gestured and another man of a similar stone countenance handed over a thick book. From where he was, Grayskin couldn’t see much of it aside from its fine make, if simple in design. “If you think you can decipher this and present the information better than I within the next five minutes, you’re free to take my place.”
The interloper clicked his tongue. “You’re the same as the nobles, thinking you’re better than us. What if I don’t care what’s in your little book, huh?”
“Then you are free to leave. Good day.”
The big man blinked. “Wha—you can’t send me away, bastard!”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “You can stay or leave as you please. That is what it means to be free. But these men have come with a purpose. If you don’t have the common sense to know when to shut up or the decency to respect their time, then be motivated by the thought that they are also free men who don’t take kindly to your actions.”
The loud man turned, taking in the unfriendly faces, growing more severe and numerous by the second. Then he sat down, stiff and unsatisfied.
“Then, if there are no other questions, I will continue.” Arthur raised the book. “For those who are unaware, our new lady invited several of our number to her estate to talk terms. Now, to give us our marching orders as it is. We strive to be free men but ideals don’t care for strength. To anyone who has any doubt, this city belongs to her. She doesn’t deserve—she doesn’t deserve to live—but we can’t take it from her. If you’ve come here with delusional ideas of rebellion or taking the city back, I invite you to leave now in peace. We are the resigned, here to make the best of unsightly circumstances.”
There were grumblings, but no one stood to leave. Grayskin would have been surprised if they did. The rebels only gained the traction they had because their members were blinded by grief and desperation. With the city recovering, desperation was in short supply, but there was plenty of grief on the table for those who wanted to choke on it. The people of Quest would curse their new lady for five generations, but he’d be surprised if anyone even so much as raised a toothpick in her direction going forward.
“That being said.” He slapped the book with his free hand. “This particular game isn’t without its advantages. For whatever her reasons, the lady has decided to let us govern ourselves. She has defined law and order, but how we live and how we grow is in our hands. And by our, I don’t mean the remnants of the guilds.” His lips quirked up. “I mean any with the ambition and ability. Official positions in the city will no longer be filled by appointment. They will be competed over. By that, I mean that anyone can apply to any position. There will be a test to determine how well you can fulfill the position. Whoever does the best will be appointed, no matter their name, status, or wealth.”
“Does that not give an unfair advantage to the learned?” a silver-haired elder proposed.
“It does, but not one that can’t be overcome. In her efforts to breathe life back into the city, the lady is offering free schooling to anyone, for everything. The learned have an advantage, but the determined and the talented have the opportunity to surpass them.” He slapped the book twice more. “Until these lessons are arranged, I have arranged to go over the statutes outlined in the city charter for two hours every evening. And before anyone can ask why, it’s because we need able men. My only desire is to see capable men in positions of authority. Only then can we protect ourselves from another tragedy.”
