High fantasy sword-and-sorcery setting. Real elves vs. orcs shit. The city has been overthrown by some men in the covert employ of the orc hordes. They have manipulated the city’s High Priest into helping them gain entry, influence, and (ultimately) control. The High Priest comes onto the stage as the generals and orc chieftains give speeches about his gallant cooperative efforts, about how he has shown real leadership. The High Priest is wearing a red robe from neck to ankles, a solid sheet, totally unadorned save for some gold epaulets. We watch from sewer grates nearby. The High Priest kneels to accept the crown (they’re making him King?) but he hesitates for a moment before lowering his head. They keep their promise and place the crown upon his head. Then one of the orc chieftains kicks a block over while another strides boldly forward with his axe. They hit his neck with the blade and we can hear the High Priest screaming. It takes several whacks but eventually the head comes severed from the neck.
Me and my companion slip away just then. He mutters quiet oaths about some curse. We run through those shallow streams in the sewer, hoping they do not know that we are here. Hoping that we can slip away before any other terrors come down onto the city. Where are the rest of our friends? How are we going to slip under the city wall? Our friends are the ones with the plan to slip beyond the city limits. Just keep running, my companion says, glancing upward to check through each grate. If we don’t find them first, they will find us. I’m not sure which Them he means.