Turn 39
 

"Who goes there?"

"Ah, relax Fred, it's me."

"Sorry, this blasted fog makes me nervous. Can't see a thing."

"I know, I'll be damn glad when the morning watch comes on."

"I'll be doubly glad. This is my last night on freeze-your-nose-off duty. Wait, what was that?"

"What?"

"Ah, nothing. I just thought I saw a shadow move."

"Heh. Good old Fred, getting jumpy from watching shadows. Hey, that's funny, 'watching shadows', cause we're at the Shadow Watch and we're the night watch, and night is like shadow. Funny, eh? Fred? Where did you go? Fred! Quit fooling around you idiot, it's..."

Glitch

Foen

The undead are worst during the day. During the night they are shadows, nightmares, things that go bump; during the day they are all too real -- translucent abominations flickering under the sun and blighting green grass with their otherworldly tread.

And so we snuck through the Bright Woods in the Shadow Watch at night. Brother Guide protested a little, but he's been relying on our protection for this past year as we preached and fought in the empty shadow lands, and he's learned to respect the opinions of druids (reformed branch, of course-- Brother Guide is a loyal member of the Church). We helped him past the tangle of thorns and thickets that makes this wood an impenetrable barrier to living foes, and he handily dispatched the few sentry shades and spirits we came across.

We came to the edge of the woods across from the southern bridge into the Shadow Watch. All seemed quiet, but we were not deceived. The bridge was held inside by the Archbishop of Marignon himself, but not even he could safely overcome the hordes of undead that lurked on this side of the bridge. Every building in the druid encampment where I had spent years training waited to boil over with foul spawn at the first sight of a living being. But not even undead eyes can see a druidic woodsman under the trees.

I took up my bow to give the signal, and paused. A shuffling creature had emerged from one of the houses and in the moonlight I saw the ruined half-face of Ashaltar, the druid priest who had been instructing me in the priesthood long ago, before death had crept into the woods, before we had allied with the inquisition as the only force strong enough to save our woods from blight, before the inquisition had barred women druids from the priesthood. This was Ashaltar, dear friend, now an abomination, spreading disease with each step. My bow twanged as I sent an arrow speeding to send his soul to rest. I cannot miss, but the creature is no longer troubled by a piece of wood through its heart.

The buildings boil over with stark black and ghostly white shapes, and the silence is broken:

"Legionnaires, on the left!"

"Get back into the woods, stay our of the reach of the zombies!"

"Oh LORD, in the name of St. Lynad we beseech your aid in the hour of our death!"

Arrows fly around me, but pass uselessly through the dead things which are closing fast. If Marignon doesn't see the trouble we're in... but he does. With a loud clap the arrow in my bow glows with a holy fire and now as the shafts take flight and strike into the mass of spirits, the foulness melts and disappears.

It is not enough. We can't fire fast enough to catch all of them and they swarm, relentlessly from every side. A soulless reach me, and my bow drops as I grab my dagger, slicing its putrid wrist, then its elbow, then shoulder. Bizarrely I think of butchering a fresh deer under dappled leaf-light in the summer...

The blast wave knocks me down before I see or hear it. Then my hair is on fire and my cloak. A figure, Marignon, stands on the bridge, wreathed in flame. Another flare lights the night, and this one thuds into a nearby building, which erupts like a hornet's nest as ghosts and shades boil out and melt back into hell.

"Foen!"

Relieved that my hearing still works, I turn to see where Guide points. It is Ash... no, the abomination, almost upon me. My bow lies on the ground, and I manage to get a flaming arrow into the thing's eye socket before it can touch me with its deadly diseased finger.

"Sleep, friend," I whisper, as my dead mentor burns to death standing upright.

The battle for the Shadow Watch has just begun.

Marignon moves and speaks quickly for so fast a man, "Father Muzel and Spire hold the northern bridge, but cannot get out. Meanwhile, Shenlar, captain of the Tower Guard, holds out against all odds among he buildings near where the waters of the River Hvarl flow under the Shrine of St. Torgin and, sanctified, forms the moat of the Shadow Watch. We must relieve him. Guide, you have the lance?"

"Yes my lord," and that bastard pulls out a herald lance from somewhere in his dark cloak. That might have come in handy any number of times during our long months in the Shadow Lands.

"Let's move then," says Marignon.

We set out, leaving the wounded to guard the southern bridge, and march north over fallow fields with no sight of life. To the west, the sky lights up with fire, and shouts ring out. The undead must be attacking the north gate. We double our pace.

There is no cover, but the undead are too intent on their task (building a bridge over the sacred creek out of dead townsfolk) to notice us. The Archbishop mutters and our arrows flame again. The dead can't help but notice this. Even an indirect hit on one of the corporeal buggers knocks it into the sacred water where it dissolves like a bad dream. But most of them aren't corporeal, and our quivers are nearly empty before the last spectral legionnaire fades in holy fire, his horrible grin fading, as his ghostly limbs suddenly find themselves unable to support his nothing-shield of fear, or wield his invisible sword of hate.

Guide walks unconcerned into the water I had just seen melt bone. Holding aloft the herald lance, he runs into the burnt-out ruins on the other side. We watch for a moment, then hear mighty cries. Over and over the night opens up and sunlight pours down, setting fires among the undead on the other side.

But Marignon's face shows no joy, only deep weariness. "Hopevoid is over there," he says. "I can hear his death cackle."

"Who is that?" I ask.

"One of the most powerful of the old Spectators of Ermor, brought back to serve death. He's cunning. Perhaps Spire and the guard can drive him back, but he'll have a plan. Is there any other way across the river?"

"There's a place where it's possible to ford the Hvarl just by that bend to the east," I say. "But, from the north? Don't we hold Wacce?"

"Not anymore. A large undead force has been ravaging T'ien Ch'i's south-lands and took Wacce last month. That's where Hopevoid's reserves will be."

We ran east until we found the ford. Peering out over the swiftly moving water, my eyes were just able to discern movement on the other bank.

"There, my lord."

"Well spotted, Foen," said the archbishop. "When this is over, I'll appoint you as chief priestess over the druids here are the Watch -- scriptures against women priests be damned. I'm afraid the former chief priest, Ash-something, didn't survive the first days of the siege."

I don't know what to say, so I pull an arrow from my quiver. "More fire?"

"Alas, I am too tired for that spell again. Let's sneak across and engage them on the far side."

I would protest, but he's the head of the Church. And his plan would have been a good one if he hadn't slipped off the narrow shallow path and made a huge splash. Skeletons jumped into the water from the far bank, and the rest of the night is some nightmare combination of mud wrestling with walking bones and exchanging arrows with the treacherous crossbow on the far side who must have made some sort of pact with the undead for their service. Have they never heard of the Fall of Ermor? Surely, not even St. Reggie, who watches over mercenaries, will be able to save their mortal souls.

At last, bloodied, out of arrows, and with many of our companions floating dead in the river, we gain the far bank. The human leader of the crossbows, Qos Qon, still barely lives, an arrow through each shoulder pinning him to a tree. Marignon quickly says the man's last rite and then sets the tree on fire, burning away the man's sin.

Dawn is breaking now, and with my eagle eyes I can see the dark shape that is Hopevoid in the midst of a throng of undead marching hard for the main bridge across the Hvarl. But clear trumpets ring out, and the Tower Guard is marching forth to meet them in perfect step. A herald lance, no two, are held aloft, and the head strides an unarmed, barefoot man in the black robes a a high inquisitor. The undead will be crushed between our two forces. Marignon lets fly with a fireball, and I think, as the sun rises behind us, I can see a glimmer of hope in the spectator's hollow eyes -- he is about to be freed from long, silent slavery.

Esclave

I placed the purple crystal in the kindling and turned to the stack of parchment one last time. St. Wordscigam's Compendium is a useful reference for creating magick items, but its instructions for the most powerful ones are often frustratingly obtuse. It had taken me the better part of three months and several re-buildings of the lab to decipher the ingredients and procedure for the communion matrix. I had remembered to expose this batch of crushed feldspar to moonlight, right? Ah well. I pulled out my huge pitted lead shield and crouched behind it. Then, with a flick of my wrist, set the kindling ablaze.

I winced, but no explosion shattered the early morning quiet... yet anyway, the fire was supposed to burn until the crystal changed color, and I planned to stay here behind my shield for the whole time. I heard the door creak open.

"Escalve, are you there?" said Wic.

"Wic, get out, quickly -- the fire!" I shouted.

"Oh yes?" Wic sounded mildly interested. He crossed over to the flame and peered down at the crystal. "Is this a slave matrix?"

"No, it's a crystal matrix. You know, for the leader of the communion," I said, still from my safe hiding place.

"Hmmm... aren't those the ones with a propensity to shatter during production?"

"Yes. Yes they are!" I sighed. One day, Wic's blatant disregard for his own safety would get a good number of people killed.

"Well, looks like it worked this time, it's changed color -- though how you expected to see that from all the way over there I'm sure I don't know. C'mon, put your things away and come with me. Ratty wants to have a meeting."

We walked through the chill spring air around the wall of Fort Doom to the central keep. Stormclouds hung off the Mountains of Madness and wreathed Aftial's shrine in an eerie light. When we reached Muszinger's office we saw that Polgrave was already there. He looked extremely ill. Always pale, his skin was now translucent, and he had lost much of his hair.

"Brothers, be seated," and we took our place at the table. Spread out upon it was a large version of the map I had just completed, showing the extent of the kingdom and the threats we faced on all sides.

"My... research assistants at the... Shadow Watch... report that Marignon... crushed the undead army... and marches on... Ermor now," said Polgrave, pausing for a breath after every few words.

"They ignored the truce of Carrofactum all along the western front. The Archbishop of Marignon lacks all respect for tradition," said Muszinger. "But I am most concerned about what happens if Ermor falls. There is a vast store of evil and evil things there. Our erstwhile brothers could easily be corrupted."

"Might Aftial be corrupted?" asked Wic, innocently.

"No," said Muszinger, "but she is delayed in the east on important other affairs anyway."

I laughed, and every eye turned to me. "Aftial remains far from the fight because the evil of the Shadow Lands make her weak. Once the force of death is reduced she'll be there to take possession of the soulgate in person."

"How do you know this, Esclave?" said Muszinger.

"I read. I pay attention. Since her return, Aftial has focused on Ermor with a single-minded zeal. She wants control of Ermor, it's the only thing of value in the Shadow Lands, everything else is waste. Besides, it's prophesied."

"Really? I thought there were no prophecies concerning her," said Wic.

"None about Aftial, but Aftiel..."

"We've heard this heresy before, Esclave," said Muszinger.

"But you do not listen! You're a fool, Father," I said, angry now. "Aftial is the doom of Marignon, and she has abandoned you in favor of more malleable fools."

"I could have your head, you little..."

"Do you know what I found in my travels? The grave of a woman named Ghost, she whom Aftial had sworn to protect. Her body was desecrated by foul death magicks and her soul surely rots in hell." It had felt good to get that out, but Muszinger would surely kill me now.

Muszinger rose, but Wic did too, and reached out a hand, palm up. "Friends, friends," he said, "we must stick together of we'll all be destroyed."

"Wic... is right," managed Polgrave.

I drew an uneasy breath as the fire in Muszinger's eyes faded. Wic turned over his out-stretched finger, tracing a near little circle around the north end of the Black Gorge.

"I've heard bad things about this place, Imictan. Massive armies of undead under Vanheim's control, and Vethru himself, who I now believe to be undead also. We should attack this place and cleanse it."

"But we are beset on all sides by foes," said Muszinger. "If I had three armies I'd send one against those egg-sucking snakes, and another against Man. St. Onbec reports from the fall of Pythium that Man used a swarm of undead to murder the angel Martu, whom God had sent to protect the secrets contained therein. Yes, I'd send my third army against those tricky Vans, but surely they pose the least threat?"

"Yes... which is why... it makes sense," said Polgrave.

"A famous T'ien Ch'i philosopher once said, 'Pit your strength against your enemy's weakness,'" I said.

"We are hardly prepared to fight Man or C'tis just yet," said Wic, "and we must keep Sir Gawain and his knights busy or they'll start pillaging again."

"Very well, since you are all in agreement... I must stay here to preach and pray. Wic, you're in charge of the attack, and take Esclave out of my sight with you."



But I am not going to fight the Vans. Last night I had a dream. I saw my love, Aftial, as she had appeared to me in the library: soft, and surrounded by light. My breath caught as I gazed into her eyes, and I heard her voice in my head.

"Esclave, why do you say such awful things about me?"

"Because they are true," I replied.

"My love, I have only your best interests at heart."

"I cannot believe that. You crave only power. Now begone from my dreams, you are not welcome here."

"Very well," she replied and her visage changed from young woman to otherworldly thing with two great wings and a bright flaming sword. "If you will no love me, you will fear me; you will still be my slave!"

From behind her robes, she brought forth a young boy, and held him by his had, as he gazed blissfully up at her.

"My son!" I cried.

"Yes. Flesh of your flesh," and so saying she grabbed his hand and pulled forth his little finger. The boy cried as the rough treatment, and his eyes went wide with fear, but no sound escaped his lips. "I hold you life in my hands," she said, "and you will learn the price of disobedience." She swung her sword across her body, and, laughing, sliced off the boy's finger.

I awoke in the darkness, clutching my bloody, mangled hand, with that horrible angelic laughter still ringing in my ears. And so I go north, alone. I cannot risk further harm to the child, I must save him. But I cannot fight angels... not yet.

Re: Turn 39
 

Vanheim turn 39


In which Vethru interviews his newest employee, and Molly hears thunder.


Vethru

I've got the little lizard locked in a tower in the castle. He's not a prisoner, not exactly, but precautions must be taken. He's not too safe around fire, or sharp objects, for example. When I come in, he's crouched in the center of the room as usual, rattling the bones. I close the door behind me and sidle over to the table to see which ones he's got. Most of the teeth. Only the burnt finger bones. Interesting.

"Heh, heh," says Akkulu, giggling. "Not-warmling. Scale leaver. Heh. Heh." He throws the bones to the floor and just about dives after them, putting his nose mere inches from them. His red tongue flicks out and tastes the nearest.

Quellian Ji lands on the table. "Hey, boss, where'd you find this one? Babbles and plays with his food!"

"He found me" I say. "He was waiting for me on the road back from Imictan."

"Imictan. Saw the shadows go," the lizard says. "See--saw--said. And so to bed!" He picks up the bones and starts shaking them again.

"What's going to happen in the north?" I ask him. Akkulu stares back, then tosses the bones and bends down to examine them.

"What's with the ossiary?" Ji asks, and before he can peck at the bones on the table, I say, "Stop!"

"What? Why? Oh!" says Ji, when he notices Akkulu has silently come up behind him, maniacal rage in his eyes. Ji backs away. I nod, and Akkulu goes to the floor again, not before protectively snatching another few bones from the table.

"Those are the bones of his egg-brothers, all lost in the war," I tell Ji.

Ji deflates. "Jeez, boss, you should've said something." He turns to Akkulu. "Sorry, fella. I had no idea. I know what it's like,--"

"You do not," I interrupt. "I reincarnated you directly into that form. You were never hatched."

"I had brothers!" screeches Ji. "They died! They're dead! And I remember them, after all these years. Not like you, goddamn it. Just screw you, all right?" He flies angrily around the room a couple times, but there's no open window. Finally, he settles down. "What happened to him?"

"Boddern Weald. Some powerful magic went down there. Cole's prophet was killed. The battle turned from victory to massacre and no one knows why." That was a lie. I had a pretty good idea what happened, but hey, out of my hands. "Not all the survivors stayed sane. He picked up little something in exchange."

"Bad men," says Akkulu. "Bad good bad. Big pointy pointy. Cuppa, cuppa. Woo hoo!"

"Marignon," I say. "I knew they'd attack soon."

"What, you speak lizard?" asks Ji.

"You don't?"

"I barely manage bird and human. Marignon? You're telling me he's a seer?!"

"Ni! Ni!"

"Probably."

"Damn. Don't you trust Molly anymore?"

"She's good, but she's got a blind spot."

"Burn her! Him! It! Uh...clop-clop? Wild, wild east!"

"Pherios?"

I don't reply. The boy was steadily shifting from an asset I couldn't use to an annoyance I couldn't ignore.

"Crusade?" asks Akkulu.

"Could be," I say. "Keep looking. I'll be back tomorrow." He returns to his bones, and I start to leave. At the door I say, "Ji?"

"Uh, that's OK, boss, I'll stay with him for a while." He flutters to the ground.

"We're leaving for Trisia tonight," I remind him. "Be on time."

I leave the two of them staring curiously at each other. You really could tell they were distant relatives. The beady eyes are a dead giveaway.




Anterios

After my son left us, my wife started to cry. I held Mistepeillia for a long time. "My little boy," she said. "He's grown up just like you. So strong."

"He's got the best parts of both of us," I said. "My mind, and your heart."

Pherios had surprised us earlier in the evening. His timing was precise: his mother was only in the capital for a few days, and we were not expecting any visitors that night. The staff had left hours before.

"You know how it is when you're at the theater, and notice that if the hero would only trust his friend or his lover or his family, and tell them what's going on, that everything would be OK? But instead, everything falls apart, and it's a tragedy?" he'd asked. "I'm not going to be that guy."

He told us the extraordinary tale of the last half year since he disappeared, and the things that he kept to himself of the years before. Mistepeillia clenched my hand fiercely as we listened, driving her nails into my palm, but it did not distract me from piecing his story together with what I knew of recent events.

I showed him the letter that set me investigating Vethru's actions. "It must be the lady of the tower," he said, which I'd begun to suspect when I heard his story. I told him what little I knew of her--her mysterious arrival less than a hundred years ago, and the bargain she'd struck with the Konella Koreia: her magical talent and loyalty to Vanheim in exchange for resources, no interference, and no questions.

"What will you do now?" Mistepeillia asked. "Come to the estate with me. Vethru will never know you're there. You'll be safe."

We both know he would not go. The man who sat with us was no longer a boy. His worn, dirty clothes, his unnatural wound, the hint of emptiness in his steady gaze--there was nothing safe about him.

When he told us his plan, I was very proud. It was clever, daring, extremely dangerous, and exactly what needed to be done. I could find no fault in his strategy or tactics. His plans meshed with mine as if he were a part removed from a machine that nonetheless remembered its purpose.

"You've done well," I told him, as he left. "You've done more alone than many men do surrounded by their fellows. But never forget, you are not alone. We will always be with you, whenever you need us."

I waited an hour before I readied myself to leave. I told Mistepeillia, "I will speak Petema tomorrow."

She did not need to ask to know that tonight, first, I would speak to my brother. "What about Irulia?" she said.

"She's a cipher. I will see what Belletennares and Petema say." I kissed her. "I may not be back by morning."

"I know, my love," she said. "But I will not be here to see you return."

"Why?"

"I'm leaving for home. I've got to be ready in case Pherios comes. If Vethru tries to take him, he'll have to go through me first."

She said this matter-of-factly, without any particular defiance or intensity, because to her, that is what it was: fact. And I also knew it to be true, for me as much as her. "Talk to Sennei," I told her. "Tell her everything. And be careful."

As I walked to Belletennares's encampment, I pondered the shortcomings of metaphor. There were new pieces on the board, including one I had feared placed in the box forever. But life is not a game. Game pieces don't cry, or bleed. Nor can they surprise you with their courage. Life is not a game, nor should we treat it so. But still, I could not erase from my mind one commonality between game and life: sacrifices must be made.


Molly


The thunder woke me up again, but it wasn't real this time, either. Only I could hear it. It actually hadn't happened yet. The sky was clear. I could see the stars. The Keel and the Sail shone right out my window.

I sighed. It wasn't that late. It was really annoying for the universe not to let you sleep. But it was a lot better than nightmares. I shuddered. At least those nightmares with the maze stopped.

I lit a lamp and sat down to do some mending. They gave me enough money so I didn't have to, but a little tear wasn't enough to throw away a whole blouse. Plus, it gave me something to do. While I waited. To hear stuff.

I heard creaking wood outside, maybe an old wagon making its way up the street. I didn't go to the window. It was like I spent all my time staring out the window, or sewing. I was so lonely. There was nobody talk to most of the time. Petema wasn't here much, and Ji only came by with messages once or twice a week. Pherios couldn't write often. All the Vanir ignored me. My people avoided me. They thought I was spooky. Who could blame them? The two guys who tried to court me, I knew what would happen. I knew one would cheat on me, and the other would go to war and die. So why bother?

Somebody outside started hammering as I sewed. Maybe the creaky wagon broke down. People would be mad. It's a nice, quiet neighborhood. But I didn't care. I was awake a lot these days. I wondered what Pherios was doing. He was close, I knew. His reply came really fast after I sent my last message. Vethru was out of town, so maybe he was here.

I heard a sharp clank!, and then right away a thud!. That woke me up. So I guess I was asleep again. Were they real? The street was empty. No wagon there. So, not real. Then I heard Pherios's voice. "Damn it," he said. Then someone else, I think one of the castle sergeants, said, "My lord, we have him."

No!

I threw my sewing into the corner and got changed. But why? What could I do? I didn't know where Pherios was. How could I warn him?

The castle. He always wanted to know when Vethru was away, so that must be where he would be. I rushed out into the cool summer night and ran. I kept hearing that creaking noise. Now it sounded like a big tree branch bending in the wind.

They let me into the castle because I belong there. But once inside, I didn't know where to go. Until I heard it! An echo! I followed it like a cat after a mouse. It let me up into a little tower I'd never been in before. I pushed open the door.

It was his room, I could tell. I set down the lamp on his desk. It was dusty. There were papers everywhere. Just like he left it. Pherios told me how the last time he saw Galameteia, his visions overwhelmed him, and he never came back to the castle.

I'd leave him a note here. I'd make look like the others. I'd write it just like his notes, and only he'd know which one didn't belong. I was trying to figure out how to word it really sneaky when I heard the thunder. I thought maybe I'd dozed off, but no--there was a flash of lightning. It was real!

I went to the window, and that's when I saw him in another flash of lightning. It was real close. It hit that angel statue the Valkyries practice throwing spears at. And Pherios was right there, staring at it.

I almost called out, but that would be stupid. So I leaned out and waved, but he wasn't looking. He was still facing that statue.

Another bolt struck it. In the flash, I saw across the field to the gatehouse. Soldiers! Coming toward him! So then I did yell, "Pherios! Run! Run!"

One of the soldiers pointed up at me, and they started running. Another bolt struck the angel. Pherios didn't move. The statue was falling apart. My own screams echoed in my head.

"Pherios! They're coming! Go! Run! Pherios! Pherios!"

I screamed myself hoarse, but it didn't matter. He just watched the lightning hit the statue until they got him and took his sword and led him away.

I couldn't see through my tears. What should I do? I didn't know. Would they come for me, for warning him? I ran down the stairs and tried to sneak out, but the guards saw me and let me go anyway.

By the time I got home, I was sweaty and panting and my throat hurt. And Petema was back, so I woke her and told her everything, and that was when Pherios's dad and uncle showed up. They told me to pack my things and get ready to go.

And now I know how Pherios feels. I don't ever want to go back to the castle, either.

Re: Turn 39
 

Vanheim turn 42

In which Vethru's tomb-robbing is spoiled by bad news, and Pherios feels the rope.


Vethru

As far as I can tell, the library in Trisia is over nine thousand years old. Not quite as old as me, but still. There's not a chip missing from any of its stonework. There's something preserving it, and that's why I'm here.

It's always the little things that trip you up. I didn't bother conquering Trisia until recently, because there didn't seem to be any civilization here to conquer. Just barbarians. You'd think that as old as I was, I would remember that civilizations rise and fall over the timespans I'm looking at. Oh, well. All's well that ends well.

I'm standing in front of a magnificent stone sarcophagus. It's the final resting place of the wanderer that passed through Imictan many years ago. I now know that his name was Amuttet Furcaisol. He knew a fragment of the code I seek. Elements of it are inscribed throughout the library. It's clear his piece deals with solidity and density. The angel that knew him, or learned from him, turned itself into an animate stone guardian and watched over its code fragment in Birman Highs. Then I came along and removed the "animate" part. When Furcaisol visited Imictan, he changed old Graknor from a shadow of emptiness into solid existential sludge. Here, in Trisia, he preserved his library against time.

And I'm one step closer to his secrets.

"Be extremely careful with the positioning of the wedges," I say. "You'll never chip this stone. Find the seams. That's the only way we'll get the cover off."

They work at it halfheartedly. I ask them what's wrong.

"Lord, what if there's a curse?"

I can't imagine what is in their culture to make them worry about a nine thousand year-old curse instead of the immediate threat that I'll cause them to shrivel into tiny people-raisins. But I'm too excited to slaughter them. Besides, I don't want to lift the cover by myself.

I'm trying to reassure them when Hallixene rushes in. I left him in Vanheim, and he looks like he spent the night on a horse. Not good.

"My lord, terrible news!" he pants. "Marignon has invaded! Imictan has fallen!"

Crap. Well, on one hand, I didn't expect the treaty to last this long. On the other, why the heck aren't they busy conquering Ermor?

"A company of knights," says Hallixene. "They were supported by crossbows and pikemen. The Archbishop of Wic was there! And the Green Knight!"

Double crap. They're serious.

"Belletennares is maneuvering the army. He would not wait for your orders. Also, sire, I have a message." He hands it over.

At least Belletennares was home. Vanheim's forces are almost as mobile as hovertanks, and Belletennares knows how to use them. The roads were probably clogged with units criss-crossing the realm by now. There's something to be said for competent underlings.

The message comes from my secret police. It can't be good news. I look at my sarcophagus and wonder why the message couldn't have come an hour later. Would it hurt to put off reading it until I open the coffin? The workers are looking around nervously. They all heard Hallixene; most of them are probably thinking we're going to rush home without bothering opening the thing.

It started out as such a good day, too. I break the seal and read: "Pherios captured. Told family he escaped. Worry he actually will. Orders?"

It's good advice to treat every problem as an opportunity, but sometimes your opportunities are also big problems.

Well, it could be worse. I was looking for him. Keeping his family off my back is going to be a big problem, but a least he's under control now.

And then "cogito" met "ergo" wandering through my brain, and together they made "sum".

Just before I left for Trisia, I talked to my lizard seer Akkulu one last time. He was going through an obsessive-compulsive phase. All his bones were neatly lined up on the table, arranged carefully by size and shape.

"Hey, boss," asked Ji. "Are you sure the locks work? 'Cuz he's got more bones here than yesterday."

Ji didn't notice that I wasn't limping anymore. I'd finally replaced the foot that was damaged in my fight with Graknor. I found a good use for the old one. As anyone who does magic with body parts knows, if you want the best soup, you've got to get the vegetables out of your own garden.

"What do you see, Akkulu? Will I find what I'm looking for?"

He's not a model of clarity in the best of circumstances, but usually I can understand something. I thought I did.

"Rising sun," he said, after rearranging his bones into a different pattern. "Coming soon!"

Marignon, right? Not exactly. He didn't mean who, or when, but where. From the east. Not the north.

The rest, at the time, I didn't understand.

"Oopsie! Tide's coming in! No time!"

"Something's going to go wrong?" I said. "I won't find it?"

"Just pluck it," he said. "It's on the tree. Be there when you need it. Like the other one."

It made no sense then, but now I see it.

Well. The easy part is done. Endgame is starting. Time to promote a pawn.

I look back at the sarcophagus. One morning, that's all I wanted. One morning to pop open the grave and plunder the body. Was that so much to ask? Apparently so. I sigh.

"Get that back to Vanheim," I tell the workers. "If it doesn't arrive three days after I do, I'm going to feed you to the trolls." Tolls won't eat humans--some kind of religious prohibition--and by next month, they might have a contract somewhere else anyway, but the workers jump to their pulleys and ropes and levers with a will.

I head back home. Time to get my hands dirty.


Pherios

So close. I almost made it.

After talking with my parents, I made my way into the castle without being seen. First I went up to my old turret, thinking I would recover my old notes, but when I opened the door, I found there was nothing there I wanted. That part of my life was over; I would never return to it. I left without even disturbing the dust.

I eluded the guards near Vethru's office. I broke the lock and went in. Before lighting a candle, I checked the sightlines from the windows. "Damn it," I swore aloud, almost setting fire to the papers I examined. No one heard. The dispatches showed increasing concern about Marignon's army in the north. Once Ermor was conquered, they were expected to turn south. Interesting, but not what I came for.

Deep in Vethru's desk, I found it. Files full of papers I couldn't read. An engraved wooden rod. A few cryptic books. I grabbed them all and immediately left. Better not to make a longer search and risk capture.

And I would have escaped had I not chosen a route past the Valkyries' practice yard. An out-of-place spot of white caught my eye as I passed. I walked over to a statue that was apparently being used as a practice target. It hadn't been there when I left. It was a stone angel with a sword, chipped and pitted by the impact of thousands of spears and javelins.

At its base was the body of a large, white bird. I knelt. It was a snowy egret. Her body was cold. She'd been impaled, possibly by a sword. Then I heard the sound of clawing and pecking at stone, and I knew.

"You killed her," I said, standing. "You killed my Galameteia, and you're still in there." I didn't know how, or why, but I knew something was alive and aware in the statue. It quivered as I backed away from it. Good. When I was about thirty feet away, I called down the lightning.

I don't know what I wanted or expected to happen. I never thought this day would come. As I watched the statue crumble, bolt by bolt, I imagined that I could absorb the knowledge of what happened to Galameteia. That I could see how it killed her. That I could somehow make up for her death and everything done to her afterward. The bolts struck, one after the other, the thunder sounded, and I thought, as I pictured her fighting it, that I heard her call my name as she died.

I didn't notice the soldiers. They captured me as I stared at the rubble, and they brought me to this windowless cell. My jailers weren't Vans or huskarls, or even einhere. The were skinshifters, loyal only to Vethru. They didn't speak to me. They left me in the dark.

I sat in darkness for what seemed like a long time, but was probably only two or three days. I thought that at any moment, the door would burst open, and my father, or Belletennares, or Petema would save me. I trusted that my family would come for me.

They didn't arrive in time.

When my cell door opened, it was the skinshifters. They bound my hands behind my back and dragged me up the stairs, out into the courtyard of the ancient, crumbling keep they called home. It was night, but the half moon seemed bright to me, accustomed as I was to total darkness. I struggled to focus my eyes after not using them for days.

I saw a wooden stage. No, it was taller than me, too tall for a stage. A high platform, with a framework on it. Its moon-cast shadow fell before me. There were two upright beams, and an unfinished crosspiece--a thick tree branch, ovate leaves still clinging to one end. What was that hanging from it?

I blinked, and it all became clear.

A rope.

Oh, no.

Pause for vacation?
 

Hey everyone,

I want to get at least one more turn in this year, but I will be completely out of email contact from Dec 29 - Jan 9. Given the pace of this game and the likelihood some other people may be gone, I would like to request a pause while I'm away, unless anyone objects.

Thanks,
puffyn

Re: Pause for vacation?
 

OK by me.

Re: Pause for vacation?
 

I can't reach Alneyans email address. He told me a while ago not to hold the game up on his account, as he isnt really paying any attention to it anyways, so Ill hold him to that. If you guys want, you could try and find a sub for him as I think hes trying to drop out of dominions all together.
As for slowing down for the holiday, this game has been going so slowly as it is nobody will tell the difference, so I see no reason why we cant.

Re: Pause for vacation?
 

I will be out of town myself from about Jan 5 through Jan 10. Delay works fine for me.

As for Alneyan, he lost his hard drive and has pretty much quit Dominions. But getting a sub for him is going to be difficult, for I cancelled my NaP with him and will be invading on the current turn (43).

So I would suggest either Tauren doing the turns for him or putting him AI. The war will probably will not last very long anyway as his army seems weak. He might have something up his sleeve, though, as Alneyan usually does.

The one thing I DON'T want to do is fight a staling player. I would much rather fight an AI than that. The AI will at least fight back.

Oh - by the way. I finally posted Turn 39 on the Yarn site and am working on Turn 42. Also, there will soon be a new proclamation concerning the upcoming Battle of the Green Banners.

Re: Pause for vacation?
 

Odd. Gawab is supposed to be redirecting to my standard mail, but I guess it doesn't work (I have no mail in my Gawab account). Use the mail in my profile, and you should be fine. If that's what you are doing already and it doesn't work, I'm going to be cursing. A lot. And then you might just want to attach the file to this thread (it won't get lost here).

Though I *am* getting out of my games, I have no intention of quitting a game right now (barring unforeseen circumstances). I didn't play simply because I had no idea the turn had run, and got no files (or messages) at all.

Re: Pause for vacation?
 

YEAH!

Alneyan is back. Very cool.

I lost my computer and hard drive last summer so I know what a huge pain in the a$$ that is. I will also be changing email yet again when I move to Virginia in January.

Ah, life is so much fun...

Re: Pause for vacation?
 

Got turn 43 through a much-delayed forwarding from Gawab (I no longer use this mail with good reason), and I'll be playing my turn now.

Re: Pause for vacation?
 

One last yarn before I go...

--- C'tis, Turn 39 ---

The streets of C'tis

It is high summer when the young chameleon runs in from the front, so exhausted she can no longer blend completely with her surroundings, so she flickers in and out as she runs down the crowded main street, never slowing as she speeds toward the High Rock. And somehow everyone already knows what she is hurrying to say.

Lugal is haggling in the marketplace with an herb seller when the murmurs begin to reach him, and he is so taken with the thought of a victory parade that he forgets to finish threatening the poor herbivorous merchant, and thus quite inadvertently pays him a fair price for his goods. When he was been barely older than a hatchling, what parades they used to have! Every time ol' Shiny Army and his boys with the long sticks won some bedraggled swampland the village elders decreed a festival. Lugal even remembers the parade to celebrate the conquest of his own homeland, although he is beginning to doubt that the purple elephants were real.

But those were warmling parades, with warmling food and music and bizarre customs, and Lugal has always wondered what a triumphant lizard nation would put on. Certainly there would be a lot less flailing and composing odes to vile dairy products. No, it would likely feature some insipid little play by the hatchlings re-enacting some big battle, and then some moralistic tale from that blabbermouthed young woman whose name he never bothers to recall, but it would also have a real banquet spread. And perhaps they'd bring out the large heatlamps, late at night, after the kiddies were tucked safe in their nests...

As Lugal walks back to his hut he is lost in dreams of glazed crickets and melon balls and nubile young hierodules.

***

A marketplace in the Summerlands

Two human women are raising the canopy over their newly repaired stall. It is early evening, and the canopy is the last thing they need before they can reopen. That means they be able to make the official re-opening of the market tomorrow morning, which is months overdue, and they note with equal parts sympathy and greed that many of their neighbors and competitors will not be ready. It was only through the generous tax relief and aid policies of the lizards that they were able to rebuild themselves, and they had been luckier than many.

The women nod to the young lizard watchman as he makes his rounds. He is a good friend after the long months of occupation and then reconstruction, and anyhow he and his troops do a brisk business with the women in knit goods even in the middle of the summer. There had been some murmuring against their lizard overlords as recently as a year ago, but no more; after the repeated harassment and terrifying occupation by the purple bastards, as they are universally called here, the women and all of the rest of their compatriots have had it with human rulers. The lizards have always been good for business.

The young lizard watchman notices the women struggling with the canopy and offers to lend them a claw, so the old woman has him hold the canopy steady on one side while the young women shimmies up the post to tie the knots. The old woman checks carefully for leaks in the canopy and tables that might inadvertently be left in the scorching sun, and finally nods her satisfaction.

"Heard the news?" says the lizard as he turns to leave, in passable human dialect. After nearly two years in the Summerlands, his accent doesn't sound half bad.

"We sure have," says the old woman, and she presses a long, fuzzy piece of knitwear into his claws. Even in summer a lizard's tail gets quite cold at night when he's making the rounds, and the lizard smiles in gratitude as he continues on to the next stall, which belongs to the local vintner. It has been a good night for him.

The women began setting up tables in earnest now, unpacking a few crates that had miraculously survived the looting and the burning, and arranging the items neatly. They also have some new items almost finished, and they must hurry if they are to get them all painted in time. They expect the good news on the eve of the market's long-anticipated opening will loosen people's (and lizards') coin purses, and it would never do to run out in the middle of the day. The young woman pries open the lid on a large bucket of red paint and picks up the first carved figurine of a sleeping dragon. It will prove to be their best seller tomorrow.

***

The watchtower of Boddern Weald

An old man in red robes is walking the dusty corridors of the castle, searching for loot. He is looking for anything that might have been hid hastily by the few highborn Pythites who escaped before the fourth siege, and regrets the complete slaughter of the enemy commanders during the storming of the castle means that there is nobody left who knows what might be hidden.

No one pays the old man any mind; these days there are many humans in the employ of C'tis, fighting side by side with the sauromancers in battle after battle with Pythium's mighty army of mages, and no lizard soldier looks twice at the sight of another human in funny robes. If they were to stop and think they might recall that there are no powerful fire mages among their ranks, but nobody has time to stop and think with all the repairs to make and the final foraying parties to send out. Besides, there is a familiar air to this fire mage.

Cole does not mind the lack of attention in the least. He finds the human form tiring to maintain, and does not want to waste valuable treasure-hunting time chatting with confused lizard guards. He would far rather not leave his shiny crimson scales behind, but regrettably, human manipulative digits and small puny size do come in handy when searching for treasure hidden by humans.

He does not actually expect to find anything. The war was long and hard for his purple foe, and secretly he suspects every scrap of treasure has long been carted off to the captiol, where – Cole sighs bitterly – it is now apparently being pawed over by more undeserving humans, Mannish-men, who will only see what they can spend it on, and never love each individual gold piece or gem for who they really are. The dragon observes a moment of silence for the horde that might of been, and moves on to the dungeons. There is still an outside chance he might yet find something.

***

The hatchery in the Mark

"... and so Aetonyx ate the fish, and the lizards lived happily ever after."

Laph pauses before starting her next story. All the hatchlings are staring at her with rapt attention, except for the littlest ones, who still can't focus their eyes properly. There is a happy mood to the room, and even the dourest old hierodule is smiling, happy that their charges are getting some personal time with the great yarnspinner herself, perhaps? Laph smiles faintly, because she knows better. Everyone is happy these days because of the news that is sweeping the kingdom. Pythium itself has fallen; there is only a token force left defending their last fortress, which C'tis is besieging, and they are rumored to be on the verge of surrender, probably won't last the summer.

She glances briefly toward the most central part of the hatchery, where the eggs are kept. Eggs and small hatchlings are just too vulnerable for any lizard mother to protect on her own, and so most lizards, especially those who live in outlying regions, come to the hatchery to lay their eggs. Like some well-to-do town lizards, Laph chose to lay her eggs in her own nest; but now that they are within days of hatching she has brought them here, where they will be safe and among eggmates. They are the oldest eggs in the hatchery, but far from the only, and Laph suspects there will be many Great Hatchings throughout the kingdom within the next few months.

Time to enjoy the peace, she thinks, to rebuild and replenish our numbers. She tries, and mostly succeeds, in extinguishing the tiny voice in her head, who sounds a lot like Ash'embe, come to think of it, which adds, before the next war inevitably comes.

Turn 45
 

We fought nine days before the walls of Ermor, the very gate of Hell.

On the first day we laughed at the force sent to meet us -- maybe two score undead and a pack of vile mechanical killing machines -- but as that first eternal night wore on, our laughter turned to shock, and then to weary tears. The ground opened up, became a sea of dead things, the cream of Ermor before the breaking of the world, woke from dreamless slumber for this final battle against the light. For every one we slaughtered another rose from the dust, and for every one of ours who fell, a new warrior joined the foe.

On the second day we pushed hard for the gate. The Tower Guard and the Men-at-Arms, resplendent in their red be-jeweled battle shorts, formed a shield for the solemn priests and their chanted voices which rendered dust to dust once more. But the pride of Marignon faltered and failed before the mass of implacable, unbreaking death, and the guard was dragged down into the parched and frozen earth by a thousand unseen hands.

On the third day I saw my brother druids run out of arrows, and they who I had fought beside for years in the Shadowlands were cut off from where I stood with the priests. I watched them draw knives uselessly over living bone until their blades were dull and their arms were tired and their will faltered and they were trampled to death.

On the fourth day I saw the sun set on Marignon, as the priests grew tired and hoarse and their chanting grew weak. The relentless wall of death advanced. I saw my own untimely end in every lifeless socket. I saw the ruin of Marignon, naught but ancient monuments under a twilight sky.

But on the fifth day I saw Orion and his eternal knights blaze back and forth across the sunless plain. They fought on and on in grim silence, ranging ever upon the field -- a thin line of flame between the darkness and the light.

On the sixth day I saw one of these immortal warriors fall, smashed down by a dozen rusty blades. But his brothers swept in, blowing aside the clouds of death, and Orion came forth. He lay his hands upon the dying man and whispered his release. Then they were gone, swept back into the chaos and the dust and darkness, their fallen comrade sleeping peacefully upon the earth with a smile on his lip.

On the seventh day the Archbishop of Marignon summoned forth two creatures of pure fire to fight alongside the knights. Their flickering warmth brought joy back to our hearts and we cheered ourselves hoarse as bone and shadow melted before them.

On the eighth day I saw the eternal knights finally reach the walls of Ermor and scatter the dark lords there like so much chaff. Brother Henry was there as the knights closed, and he snatched up a sword from the claw of a fading spectator. But the hilt froze his hands and burnt them black. He fell to the ground still clutching the sword, his face in a hideous grimace. We could not pull the damned thing free, for none could bear the pain of its unholy touch.

On the ninth day Aftial descended from heaven. The field was still as she flew out of the clouds, and on the ground beneath came a new army from the East. Ermor issued forth more dark and terrible servants than any we had yet faced, but the flaming sword of Aftial met them in the air and cast them down. From above the confines of the world her voice -- a trumpet -- shook us to our knees: "Oh death, were is your victory! Men of Marignon, this is the cleansing of Ermor as was foretold. A new dominion is arisen and the shadow fades!" In a swirl of blinding light she swept down and towered over the Archbishop of Marignon.

"Atticus, prophet of dread, is vanquished. I slew it with my own hand, and you have scattered the legions of death. Now there is only one dark stone left to overturn. We must march into the heart of shadow and face Ami, She Who Loves not the Light. Then, when her twisted body is consumed with holy fire, we will march upon the Soulgate, unnatural passage to the world beyond!"

She paused for a thunderous roar of approval, but there was no sound upon the earth. Her eyes flickered over the mob of pale, wounded priests, all that remained of Marignon's grand army.

"Marignon, reform the ranks."

"Most high Aftial, I..." he collapsed. Nine days on his feet had been too much. "We need time to regroup before we try that gate." His eyes gazed into that dark maw and the gate built of skulls. On the other side huge shadows and terrible forms moved and mad mutterings and whispers echoed.

The angel's face twisted with fury. "Coward! I would give you victory over your fathers' thousand-year foe and glory unending!" With deft strikes of her sword she disrobed Marignon and plucked his magic armor free. Then she reached forth her hand and the body of Brother Henry flew to her. She lopped off both his hands and grabbed the Wraith sword as it fell. Now, with a fell blade in each hand, she shimmered against the sky-- darkness and light and no color anywhere. She stalked off into the gate of Hell, flinging the guard there aside with great sweeps of her swords. On and on we watched her wade into the night, a bright and abiding flame in the shadow.

Marignon, from his fetal position on the ground, spoke up, "We must go after her, she must... have aid... have someone... there is so much evil there..." He looked around at the assembled fathers of the church and each avoided his gaze and looked instead the the door to death.

"Father Muzel, will you go?"

"No, my lord."

"Lord Spire, will you go?"

"No, my lord."

"Monsigneur Buternot, will you go?"

"No my lord."

"Brother Estorgan, Brother Gebuin, Msgr. Sarr, Msgr. Virtil, Captain Shenlar, Brother Theag?"

Each shook his head in turn no.

Marignon turned his weary eyes to meet mine, and I saw that the head of the church himself, though the world hung in the balance, would not go.

My voice caught in my throat.

"What, Foen?"

"I will go."



I took only my bow and nine favorite arrows. I passed unchallenged through the gate of skulls and followed her footprints into the gloom. They glowed on the bone dust and the horns and tentacles and clawed wings all around recoiled from the brightness of Heaven's glory.

As I walked that path, falling headlong into nothingness, I saw the faces of my mother and my father beckoning me to join them. I felt the hounds of death grabbing me and as I lay, unable to die, I felt them gnawing at my eyes and chewing on my intestines. I heard the cries of a the damned wailing, wailing, always wailing... I hurried on into the night, a glimpse of flame ahead my only hope.

I came at last to a great bridge over a bottomless chasm, but the bridge vanished into space at the far end. Or, rather, into a hole in the air so black I had to shield my eyes. Aftial strode out onto the bridge, light in one hand and darkness in the other, and before her stood a giant black skull with blood dripping from its empty eye sockets: Ami, the Personification of Death.

The skull spoke, "You are too early. God has appointed the time for this fight, and it is not now. Depart, you have no power here. Go back to the living lands, and return in six months, at the end of the world."

But Aftial laughed with the twinkling of bells, and flowers sprang up at her feet, "I am not here to do God's bidding. I am not bound by the old fool's party tricks," and so saying she put forth her light and the shadow of the skull boiled away, leaving a giant angel of light who carried a sickle of flame: Ami, the Harvester.

The Harvester spoke, "Your doom is nigh. Behold, I am the angel of death. I, too, am a servant of the most high, for what is life without death? Light and dark are two sides of the same coin, allies even. And so, even I, I am holy, and your sacred fire cannot touch me."

Aftial swung her flaming sword, and as it clashed with the sickle it went out, falling down into the bottomless chasm beneath. But with her left hand she swung the Wraith Sword, and it melted through the great sickle and into the arm of the Harvester, who roared in annoyance and vanished, replaced by a dark, beautiful lady with pitch black silk robes and no weapon: Ami, She Who Loves not the Light.

"You have fallen far from the LORD, but you still cannot see. You cannot kill death. I am immortal. I was there at the beginning of time, and my ending is the end of all things. You cannot injure me."

Suddenly I saw Aftial sitting on the gates of Heaven, with storm clouds her garb and the world her crown, and I cried out in a loud voice, "I am yours Aftial! I worship thee!"

From the empty chasm under the bridge I heard the same cry, "I am yours Aftial! I worship thee!" and up floated great monsters the size of mountains, a thousand thousand eyes and claws in a shifting mass, and they turned to face the angel and bowed down, repeating their cry.

Aftial turned to Ami. "Here, where I am worshiped, I shall be God, and death shall die." Shadow plunged into shadow and darkness swirled over the bridge. When it cleared, only one paragon stood facing the void, but the voice of Ami floated over the world.

"Poor fool. For so it is written that by killing me your body and soul now hold the gate open, and you cannot close it."

Then she was gone, no more than a whisper of dream on a bright sunny morn. But Aftial, with a smile on her lip muttered, half to herself, "Why does everyone assume I want to close the Soul-gate?" She turned to the void creatures and I, and perhaps the whole world, for her voice echoed from every dell and hill in the kingdom, "Behold, I am become Afti-el, the shining one, and I shall make all things new."

And from every dark place in the unholy sepulcher, and from my mouth too came the cry in response.

"Afti-el, Afti-el
Labach'shanic eloi
Afti-el, Afti-el
Labach'shanic tani"

Then the floodgates of night collapses, and I was plunged into darkness.

Muszinger


999 A.P.P.M.
Father Muszinger,

By now you have surely heard that Afti-el has destroyed the armies of death and Ami herself. Sadly, in the battle, The Archbishops of Marignon and Spire proved unable to carry out their duties satisfactorily. Because of this, on Afti-el's orders, I hereby relinquish control of the Inquisition back to you.

Afti-el further orders you to seal the border against the creeping heresy of C'tis and Man and prepare plans for Case Chartreuse, the invasion of the lizard kingdom. Case Chartreuse will be a difficult war. We share borders with the lizards on both the north and the south, and ever since the Treaty of Lapintha we have had peaceful and undefended borders. Afti-el will lead here in the north, and you are responsible for the south. Attempt to keep Man out of the fray as long as possible (word that they will be embroiled in conflict with Pangaea is welcome). We have only six short months to bring the word of Afti-el to as many as we can, by fire and faith and sword!

Her servant, the Archbishop of Avoca




Father Muszinger,

Imictan has fallen, and we will soon be through the walls of the fort at Iron Range. The Vans have learned our trick of using fires from the sky, and have also shot assassin's arrows at us, but so far our losses from such things have been minimal. Still, the situation is not abundantly pleasant. I trust we are done with this war once the fort here falls?

The Archbishop of Wic



Muszigner sat back to gather his thoughts. Both letters were good news on the face of it, but with worrisome undertones. He wished now that he had not insulted Esclave at their last meeting. The boy would no longer answer his letters, but it looked as if he may have been right about Aftial's true name. What was in those prophecies about Afti-el that he had uncovered?

And Wic... a single arrow from the sky could rob Muszinger of his most valuable advisor and warrior, just when he would be needed most against the lizards. Iron Range would be a valuable outpost for fighting them, no doubt, but is it worth the risk? More worrisome, the rumors about young virgins disappearing in the Forest of Wic grew louder every week. But Muszinger could hardly accuse Wic of having a hand in this via letter.

Muszinger read both missives again, and then descended the stairs of the church to the lowest office in the old broken tower where Polgrave had secluded himself. The man was clearly unwell, but it wasn't at all clear what the matter was. Muszinger knocked on the door. Hearing no answer (and being the head of the Inquisition) he entered. Polgrave lay naked upon the table surrounded by well-burnt down candles. On his chest pulsed the ugly purple lines... a five-sided star inside a circle.

"What have you done!"

Polgrave woke with a start, and for a moment, his eyes were nothing more than the whites as the looked at Muszinger, and his tongue seemed forked. Then he was human again, and groveling on the cold stone floor. "Forgive me, forgive me Father, for I have sinned. I have... I am dying, Father."

"The righteous need not fear death old friend. But what have you done?"

"I... I feel death inside me. It is gnawing away at me, taking everything, everything. I thought, I thought, I found this spell in one of these old lizard books."

Muszinger crossed swiftly to the open book. The text was all in lizard-scrawl, but the title of the spell was translated by a shaky hand, Ritual of Rebirth. "What does this do?"

"I don't know. I just... I was so close to death. I thought I should try it, it sounded promising. Father, I know it was wrong, I am sorry, forgive me." He clawed at the purple marks, but it soon became clear they were not on his skin, but inside it.

"Polgrave, the LORD forgives all those who come to him. You have used forbidden death magic only out of fear, and not out of a craving for power. Your soul may still be saved, but you must dress now and follow me to church where we shall pray to Aftial... Afti-el for your life."

Muszinger left the room, and though one of Polgrave's eyes still trembled in fear, a cunning smile stole over the other one, and a smile tugged on one side of the frail man's face.

Man Yarn 42
 

Just as I had predicted, Pythium is dead. Our lizard allies finished off the final purple province. And I am also VERY pleased to note that the undead nation is almost nearly dead too. It will be a cause for great celebration when the land of Inland is fully cleared of the Ermor blight and thus all purple nations. Cheers for Ulm! Cheers for Vanheim! And even, I must admit, cheers for the Inquisitors!

So, what next?

Well, just as I had been fully expecting for some time, Ralph, my favorite (and only) uncle, waltzed into the Queen’s Chamber with nary a hello. Even though I spotted him in my mirror, and he knew that I had done so, I continued to brush my hair to let him squirm for a bit before I turned and addressed him. “Ah, my dear uncle, welcome to my chamber!”

“Good morning, my Queen.”

OK, so he put me in a good mood with this one. Am I no longer the little girl, his niece? Am I now really the Queen of Man? Apparently so, if Ralph believes this to be true.

I then inquired very cordially, “What news of the world these days?” Of course, I kept myself fully aware of the news of the world, but it would not hurt to repay him the favor to acknowledge him as the Man Minister of State. Those small courtesy things are so easy to do and so often overlooked.

Ralph answered, “Well, Selena, Pythium is dead.” I simply nodded, for he knew I knew that. He continued, “And leaderless Ermor is also nearly dead.” I nodded again, waiting for him to get to the point. He did. “And we are now fully enclosed once again by our neighbors.”

This seemed to need a reply. “I see. And does this mean we now live in peace?” I knew the answer to this one, but I wanted to see what he would say.

“Not necessarily. You see, the rest of the Pretenders still do not acknowledge you as the true God of Inland. You are nothing but the Queen of Man to them.”

“And this is a problem?”

“Of course! How can the nation of Man prove your divinity without the rest of the lands worshiping you? How can we keep the world at peace forever until you are the sole leader? We will always have petty squabbles and war until you are crowned as the Supreme Being of All the World. We MUST continue towards this final goal.”

Now, there was a time (and not all that long ago) when I would have argued against these harsh words. Back when I was living deep in the Forest of Avalon quietly with my mum in peace, I would have never considered such grand thoughts as presented to me by my uncle. I would have been quite happy just to leave the world alone if it left me alone.

But I now know better. The world is a nasty place. Look at Cibragol, who tried mightily to annex the entire land in a HUGE hurry before he was finally called to task and killed. Look at the undead, utterly destroying VAST tracks of my lovely forests. Look towards the Inquisition, who is now complaining at Man (!) because a couple of my death sages decided to summon a few wimpy dispossessed spirits in order to kill off our mutual sworn enemy. Heck, most of those dead spirits died for the second and final time in the many battles anyway.

And look at T’ien Ch’i…

Huh? T’ien Ch’i??? Who the heck are they? I have never ever seen a Chinese soldier. I have never even once met with their reclusive leader, Pasha Tzu, or any of their diplomats such as the odd Prophet Yuck Fu. I have not read a tale from them in years. Heck, they might not even still exist. Perhaps the Overseer News Network is totally wrong about this mysterious race of Chinamen.

I had to smile at myself over this little joke. Of course TC does exist. Of course, Pasha Tzu does exist. And of course, they have NEVER done or said ANYTHING wrong to me or the fine nation of Man. In his death throes, Cibragol tried to enlist the Chinese on his side to save himself. And the wise leader Pasha Tzu showed his intelligence (in accordance with the mysterious Tzu philosophy) by staying away from a losing cause. I even have reason to believe that TC is now helping with the invasion of the blighted lands of Ermor in this righteous Cause to Rid the World of all Purple Banners. No, let’s leave the mysterious T’ien Ch’i off my list of suspects for now. I have no border with them anyway, though ONN does claim to know where they are located.

Now, I had been thinking about this for quite a while and I know what I want. But it never hurts to get the opinion of a man as wise and worldly as my dear uncle. Ralph was waiting very patiently for me to finish my musings. I studied his face, but he was as impassive as a rock. Men…

I began, “Well, Ralph, I have studied the latest ONN map plus our own intelligence reports closely. We are bordered by six nations. Let’s consider them all.

“First and foremost is Vanheim. We have had a border with them from nearly the beginning of time. Back when you and I were leading our army, we went straight to the provinces of Darkwoods and Stone Grave Mountains. We did that to try and seal the mountain pass against the undead horde to our north.

“But Vanheim took affront at being so close to their homelands. Heck, we did not even know they existed over there back then. We only knew about the undead at that point.

“So, Vanheim sent that annoying diplomat and his thinly veiled threats in response. Threats! Against me!!! I surely put them in their place.

“But they were very smart. They recalled that idiot diplomat and sent the wonderful Valkryie Mirima to talk peace with me. What a bold move. What a brilliant stroke of diplomacy. She and I got drunk off the best wine in the land. And more than once too.

“So, we reached an agreement with Vanheim. We kept Stone Grave Mountains as well as the Rockside Spring and Mineral Cave magic sites I found there. We gave up some waste territories in which Vanheim likely found their own magic sites. We even gave them the province of Tenera, which they still have yet to subjugate.

“We had a bit of disagreement over the coastal province of Gintmark. They wanted it, but we took it first. That province then revolted against my righteous rule. You probably recall that I decided that perhaps they didn’t want me as a ruler, plus my army was deep in Pythium territory, so we let it go. Vanheim has since taken it, but that is of no consequence. I had more or less obliquely agreed to let them have it anyway.

“So you see, dear uncle, we have managed to always solve every problem amicably with Vanheim ever since Mirima was appointed to deal with me.” I did not mention the private message Mirima recently sent to me alone. I did not want to hurt my uncle over the fact that Vanheim deals directly with me instead of through our Minister of State like all other nations.

Ralph took my pause as a need to reply. He said, “So, Vanheim is our most steadfast ally. We should not invade them, right?”

“Absolutely correct. Vanheim is off the list for war. Next, we look at C’tis. And here is a very interesting thing: The lizards treat us as we treat Vanheim! Their Dragon King Cole, or leader or ruler or whatever it is that they call him; He deals with you, not me! Just like Mirima deals with me, not you. I find this interesting. So, I must ask you this question because you know Cole far better than I. Should we invade the lizards?”

Ralph considered the direct question. Of course he had already been thinking about this issue for months (just as I had) and probably previously reached a private opinion about the Yellow Banner nation. And now he was going to make his private opinion public.

Ralph said, “Cole is very trustworthy. He is so incredibly powerful physically that he does not have to lie or practice any subterfuge with anybody. He is not afraid to tell the truth to anybody about anything. Thus, I inherently believe everything he says. So, based on my dealings with him, plus my spies, plus his performance in the War Against Pythium, I would offer the very strong opinion that he has no desire whatsoever to wage war upon Man. He can be fully trusted.”

“And their army?”

Ralph answered, “Strong, powerful, dangerous.”

I considered those words. I had not heard this opinion before right now. But his opinion did back up my own private ideas. So I said, “Then, we leave the lizards alone.”

“Yes, we do. And furthermore, based on their performance against Pythium, I would have to say that were we to call on C’tis for assistance in the future, they are likely to help us if it is in their own interests. We definitely should leave them alone. They have been steadfast allies. They did help us kill Pythium.”

“Fine, the Yellow and Red Banners are both off the list. So, what about the other Purple Banner? You know full well that the entire Land of Inland has joined forces to rid the world of all Purple Banners. We should help to the end, right?”

“Not necessarily, my Queen. Ermor is nearly dead. Other nations have already suffered much troop loses subjugating the undead, most especially Ulm. If we join in on mopping up the few remaining Ermor provinces, the nations already at war may take affront that we are taking the spoils without fighting any tough battles.”

I replied, “Besides, their lands are worthless anyway.”

Ralph offered a quick rebuttal. “No, Selena, they are not. Despite having no population, no infrastructure, and no taxable economy, those blighted lands are full of great magical sites. They produce a very nice gem income for whoever takes them. In fact, I find it greatly amusing that Marignon now holds the former capitol of Ermor and ALL the death income that has resulted from conquest of their lands. It must cause a splendid conflict deep within the Inquisition.”

I spoke softly, almost involuntarily, “Ah, the Inquisition.”

Ralph answered gravely, “Yes, the Orange Banner. With the destruction of Pythium, they now have the longest border of any nation with us.”

“Do you trust them?”

Ralph instantly blurted, “Hell no!!” He quickly added, “Um, sorry about the language.”

I laughed, “No problem, uncle, I have heard far worse than that on the battlefield. But do go on.”

“Well, you know they are now complaining at us because some of our sages summoned some wimpy dispossessed spirits. But, I must admit that I do not know who runs that nation anymore. Unlike the powerful Cole clearly in charge of C’tis, the quiet Aftial may have lost control of her own nation. Every since she died in the Mountains of Madness, she has come back from the dead changed somehow.”

I shuddered at the thought. Coming back from the dead? That was the scariest thing I have ever heard in my entire life. It was also one of the major reasons that I do not lead our army anymore. I simply cannot bear the though of this happening to me. I breathed deep, summoned my courage, and asked, “So, who is in charge over there?”

“No one. There are a house divided. In fact, Selena, one of their own religious houses has been secretly practicing their own death magics.”

“NOOOO!”

“Yes, Selena, they have.”

“But they have issued proclamation after proclamation denouncing all use of death magics!”

“Oh yes, they surely have. And so, they could have their own internal revolt. They could begin to fight among themselves. They are highly unstable, I assure you of that.”

“So, we should invade them immediately because they are so unstable?”

“No, Selena, we should not. An unpredictable army is also a dangerous army. An unstable nation is also a dangerous nation. Plus, they are our AYE allies. Perhaps it is better to let them self-destruct and pick up the pieces sometime later.”

These words eerily matched my own thoughts just yesterday. It therefore must be the correct answer. I said, “I agree, Ralph. I have heard their army is so zealous that they always fight to the death. We would take significant losses fighting them.”

“Well, your conclusion is valid, but there is one minor error in your reasoning. Not all of their army is composed of zealots. They can and do retreat and even rout! After all, they let their own Queen die in a particularly rough battle.”

“Yuck! I am VERY glad I am not the Queen of Marignon like poor Aftial. I really do feel sorry for that woman. So, scratch Marignon from the list. What about Ulm?”

“They would be laughingly easy to kill. We could conquer them in no time with practically no losses. It is hardly a test for Cleges and our mighty army.”

“So, we should go for them?”

“We could, Selena, but I see no particular reason to do so. Recall that there were the first of the nations to invade the undead. The Purple Banners to our north were popping up everywhere. If not for that early invasion from the Men of Iron, we likely could not have killed Pythium. We would have had to watch our northern border FAR closer than we actually did. Plus, you have been cheering on Ulm for years now. I know you secretly admire them and all their heroes in the Hall of Fame.”

“Yes, Ralph, I do. It would be slimy in the extreme to kill them after they had done the entire world such a great favor.”

We both went silent, for we both knew there was only one nation left on the list. Ralph voiced our mutual thoughts, “That leaves Pangaea.”

“Ah yes, Pangaea. A very secretive nation.”

“And a very peaceful nation, Selena.”

“I fully agree, Ralph. We have had a border agreement with them for nearly as long as Vanheim. Both Pangaea and Man have fully honored that agreement. They even did not take advantage of our temporary vulnerabilities when we were killing Pythium.”

Ralph said quietly, “So we have nothing against them. They have done nothing wrong.”

I looked up at my uncle and bored deeply into his eyes. I wanted to clearly see his reaction to my next words, “Not true, Ralph. They do not worship me. They actually worship that unknown pretender Vesnaeai. They have not spoken one word to me or to you in many, many years. Have they not?”

“No, Selena, I have heard nothing from them.”

I continued. I could see that Ralph was agreeing with me. “And they have shown that they will always fail to acknowledge me as the Supreme Being. My spies have reported the presence of at least 10 temples erected in Pangaea which were built to honor that unknown failure of a pretender called Vesnaeai. That is a grave affront to me.

“And you know one other thing, Ralph? They fly a Green Banner, same as us! That is truly a slap in my face. That is an affront to our entire nation. And they also have claimed to have the most skilled nature magic. They even erected a Mother Oak in their homeland! BUT WE ARE THE NATION OF NATURE!!!! Not Pangaea.”

Ralph was clearly surprised by my vehemence. He did not know I had it in me. I finished with, “So we should kill them and rid the land of the false Green Banner. We should eliminate them.”

Ralph replied, “It won’t be easy.”

I was momentarily surprised. “No? Surely they will be easier than Pythium.”

“No, Selena, they will actually not be easy to kill. I expect they will be harder to eliminate than Pythium was.”

“But Ralph! We lost so many troops in the Battle of Pythium!”

“We will lose many more in the battle of the Green Banners, if it comes to that.”

“Will we win?”

“Yes, we will.”

Ralph’s quiet assurance of our eventual victory solidified my opinion that had been months in the making. I said forcefully, “Then let’s do it. Send a diplomat to them and inform them that we will invade their homeland in the seventh month of the fourth year of our Lord.”

Ralph was truly shocked at this. He blurted, “But Selena! Why give them a 2 month warning? Our army is already in position because of the Battle of Pythium on their doorstep! Why not go in right now?”

“Because, Ralph, they have indeed been very honorable to us. They have never done anything truly wrong. They might have erected too many temples, and they may fly a Green Banner, and they are truly masters of nature magic. But they can hardly be blamed for doing precisely what they do best. Heck, I likely would have done the same exact things were I the Queen of Pangaea instead of the Queen of Man.

“Ralph, I owe Pangaea full honor. I owe them a fighting chance against us. Without honor, how can we get all other nations, like C’tis and Vanheim and Marignon and Ulm, and even the mysterious T’ien Ch’i to acknowledge me as the eventual Ruler of Inland? Ralph, I will always be honorable in all my dealings with all other nations who share this land.”

I then concluded most strongly, “Issue them the warning.”

“I hear and obey, my Queen.”

“Good. Now, I will prepare the Second Proclamation of Man for all to read. It will be ready before the end of the month. This document will hopefully justify this new war in the eyes of all other nations. And thank you very much, uncle. I do value your opinion highly.”

Ralph smiled at me. I knew he loved his niece. I have always known that. He bowed deeply to me and left my chamber.

Of course, I have always loved him in return.

Re: Man Yarn 42
 

I forget, did puffyn request a pause in the game about now, or was that retracted? Or was it in another game's thread?

Re: Man Yarn 42
 

Yeah, we are paused for the week, as both Puffyn and Sedna are unable to play.

Re: Man Yarn 42
 

Holy cow, we almost fell off the front page!

Well, weep no more, for I give you...

Vanheim turn 45

In which Belletennares ponders duality, and Pherios looks the Lady in the eye.

Pherios

Pherios watches.

Thousands of bright sparks mill and churn before him. They are everywhere, surrounding him; they cover the face of the earth. He hears every voice, touches every life. They are warm. He reaches for one, hoping to drive the chill from his hands, but he stops: the warmth is not his to take. Nor has he any need of it. Instead, he draws close to the nearest and watches:

He sees a young girl give her favorite doll to her little brother, to console him after his dog dies. A decade later she is married, and a decade more, she is widowed. She is forty and leading her town's council; fifty and, her new vows fresh in her mind, blessing her townsfolk who fight the bloodthirsty invaders. She is threescore years old, and two years dead, still protectively patrolling her hamlet's streets. Fourscore, and she weeps as her line dies, when her last great-great-grandchild is killed by wolves. A year later she lays down her bones, swearing to sleep until the end of the world. She is eight score and seven when she answers the call to fight for Vanheim again, in Ferra.

There are hundreds of thousands of sparks. He sees them all. He knows them all. He need only ask--

I begin to wake.

"Easy, dear Pherios," she says. "Rest easy. Don't open your eyes. Listen to my words. Focus on my voice."

It's her. The Lady of the Tower, who had helped me find Galameteia. Her hand is covering my eyes, keeping them shut. Her soothing yet raspy voice rings clear in my ears, echoes in my mind, touching that place where recognition occurs...I know her.

"Everything has changed, Pherios. Listen. It will strike you like a sledge. But I am here, and I will help you. And remember this: you have already survived. The rest, take slowly."

"Whuhh--" I clear my throat. I try. Something's wrong.

"Shh! Don't try to speak. Whisper, first. Be calm. I'm here." She frees my eyes and takes my hand. I am feeling things. I am in bed. I feel her weight sitting on the edge. She is still speaking, filling my ears with reassurances. I open my eyes.

She smiles at me. I know the face. "You're..." I whisper. The words stick in my throat, pass reluctantly like a wagon over rocky ground. "But you're...am I...is this Valhalla?"

She laughs out loud. "You've a high opinion of yourself," my dead aunt Tilneia says. She rapidly becomes wistful. "Or perhaps not. Of the two of us, it is you who've earned it."

I am too confused to speak.

She leans closer to me. Her skin is pallid, her eyes, red. "We are not dead, Pherios."

And yet her hand is as cold as the ice on the window. So is mine.

"Neither," she continues, "are we any longer fully alive." She pulls her hair back and tilts her head to expose her neck. There is a thick bruise ringing her neck, ugly, old, purple and green. I try to cough. I can't. I have no air.

I panic.

I gasp, and my chest heaves. I can't catch my breath. My lungs are cold, and my ribs creak as I try to expand them. My arms and legs flail, but stiffly--they are cold, numb, lifeless, without circulation. I blink as my sight grows fuzzy. I can't form words.

And just as suddenly, I relax. I began to hear her voice again. "...to my words. Focus! Don't fight it! You're all right. Listen to me. Pay attention to my voice..." Tilneia smiles. "Good. You see? It's different. But you're going to be fine."

I bring my hand to my throat, feel the raw, torn flesh there. There is a broken mass where my larynx should be. I have no pulse.

I still can't see her clearly. "My eyes?"

"We do not breathe, nor do our hearts beat," she says. She wipes my eyes with a handkerchief. "But we do cry."

We do. She is, too. Our hearts aren't dead. I relax, and the next realization hits me.

"They hanged me."

She looks away. "I didn't know until it was too late. I'm sorry. I'm trying to get Vethru to let you go, but he won't. I don't know what his plans are."

"But you've been the lady of the tower for a long time. He didn't do this to you."

She shakes her head. "I chose this."

"Why?"

"You already know," Tilneia says. "It's everything new inside you. Everything you are now feeling but can't put into words. The vision and clarity with which you now see the world. The knowledge of the paths of life and death. The power. I foresaw that Vanheim would need me, and so I prepared myself. That is why I did it. I have never regretted it."

She sees that I'm overwhelmed, so she leaves me to rest, promising to come back tomorrow. In her eyes I see her plea, her hope that I accept the transformation that, to her, is as beautiful as the emergence of a butterfly from its cocoon.

Perhaps she is right. One bitter thought interferes with any appreciation of the moment I might have.

Vethru killed me.


Belletennares

I am over eight hundred years old. And although I have traveled widely, I have never made my home outside of Vanheim. Yet it was not until this month, when I came to Ferra, that Vanheim's true faces were revealed to me. Now, as I contemplate a simple order from Vethru, I realize that the path I tread is not singular but dual, and that, paradoxically, as a single traveler, it is impossible for me to walk only one of them.

I arrived in Ferra in time to see the storming of the castle. I did not participate in the battle; my commanders assured me that our forces were a match to the task, and they were. When the gates were opened, we saw our enemies: a shadow tribune led the remnants of a spectral legion, and a half dozen necromancers led by a spectral mage sent wave after wave of longdead at us.

Our light infantry broke and fled almost immediately. I am sure we will find them in neighboring provinces, still drawing pay, still eating our supplies. Would that I could be rid of them. Our einhere, though, did not flee, and the single survivor of their unit I have assigned to my bodyguards.

Others fought bravely as well. Illioserios and Siteillius threw lightning, banished the dead with the priests, and summoned the forces of the air to fight for us. The Vans performed admirably, as always, and none of them were lost. But the day belonged to Lord Foul's wights. They held the center and forced the gate, and when we broke into the courtyard, they slaughtered the scores of dead in our path.

Yet perhaps the bravest soul, and the saddest loss that day was Private Blaze, our fire drake. He fought alongside the wights, and it cost him dearly. His kind is not meant for our cold climes, nor to associate with dead creatures who exude a chill aura. But neither I, nor his commanding officer, Sgt. Rock the cave drake, ever heard a single complaint from him. In this battle, though, it was his undoing. His fire incinerated many of the enemy before the cold overwhelmed him. The sergeant and I have decided not to recruit any more of his fiery people to our cause. But we will honor his memory.

Once the battle was over, we found great treasures in the citadel--vast supplies of magical gems, a school of necromancy, some students of which had refused to fight and now joined our side. The land, of course, is worthless; death pervades the air, the very essence of existence here, and were it as ephemeral as a foul odor on the wind, Vethru's message to me would be unnecessary. But Vanheim now has its northern outpost.

And within the outpost I read Vethru's orders: after the enemy is defeated, secure the fortress and drive the influence of Ermor from the northern provinces; use any means necessary.

In those words, I thought I perceived a shift in the universe, from light to dark, from isolated, manageable skirmishes to a vast, strange war. There have been signs. Not signs mystical, or divinatory, merely signs mundane. After Marignon invaded, the populace began to arise. The people of Birman Highs organized a volunteer militia, needing only experienced leadership. I would have sent my old adjunct Neinos, but sadly, he was besieged in the tower at Iron Range. I fear that he will not escape.

All manner of creatures now walk the streets of Vanheim. Before I left, I myself encountered a spectral mage, and saw great winged lizard people flying with the Valkyries. The dwarves speak of summoning the defenders of the earth to our cause. And everywhere one goes, from Venna to Vanheim to Ferra, there are the dead, our ancestors come to stand with the living to defend our nation yet again.

Vethru's message still lies on my desk. He knows that I know what he means by "any means necessary." And in contemplation of this order, and his faith in my presumed loyalty, that I would carry out an implied action that he knew I would be reluctant to perform, is when I was struck by my revelation.

I was wrong. The universe had not shifted. It has always been this way. This is what Vanheim is, death and blood. Light and dark. Not or. And. We are Vans on white horses, and we run with wolves. We are the proud Valkyries in shining armor, and we are berserkers dripping with our own blood. We use the magic of the air, and the magic of flesh and bone. Is the duality to be embraced, or rejected? The answer, I realized, was neither--it is to be recognized, for we are the duality. That is what Vanheim is. That is what Vanheim has always been, and that is what Vanheim will always be.

And so my paths cleared. One question I have been struggling with in my heart: is Vanheim both loyal and traitorous? For I have heard no news of my nephew. Vethru ignores my inquiries as to Pherios's fate, but I know his silence to mask some horrific plot whose motivation we had yet to uncover. How will this duality play out? Shall I choose family or nation? Kin or God? What was unthinkable has now become possible.

Vethru's orders, too, now posed no conflict, though I need not revel in its implementation. I called Illioserios to my office. Since the death of his daughter, who would have become my niece, he has shown no soul. He, too, knows the old rituals. He will understand what I order him to do. And he does not care. At least in that, I would spare Siteillius, who is younger and still unbroken by war, the task and its inherent horror.

I told him, "You will go to the village and find women too young to have known men. Tell them...tell them their participation is required in a religious ritual. Tell them it will drive the aura of death from this province. Then you will bring them to the temple."

I could not continue, but he nodded and said, "I will do what you ask."

I told myself it was for the good of Vanheim, and I did not lie. Gods walked the earth, and if ours was not strong, Vanheim would fall. I pulled my cloak tightly around me and walked to the temple to await Illioserios. And to sharpen the knives.

Marignon Yarn 45
 

Esclave

There can no longer be any doubt, except among blind fools such as Muszinger, that Aftial (Afti-el as she now styles herself) has fallen from God. Whether she entered this world pure and was corrupted by the evil herein, or whether she came here well-meaning to bring ruin and death to it, the end result is the same. My love, the bright lady of the morning, is now the dark ruler of a darkening land, swiftly ushering in twilight with her blood-stained hand. She appears now more brilliant and white than ever before, but her crown is a pile of skulls and she shimmers in daylight as one of the damned.

And what or our son? No-one can tell me where the child is held, and so I remain here, surrounded by my useless books and meaningless trinkets. I watch, while outside my window storm clouds gather on the Mountains of Madness. I sit, while the world rushes to its awful close.

Gawain

At night, the fortress at Iron Range seemed to cling to the sheer cliffs that hung above the Black Gorge. Small dark forms circled around a lonely light in the highest tower, the only sign there might be life. Around him, Gawain's men chattered and shivered in the cold air, but Gawain was warm.

"All right, listen up knights. We've been waiting for Wic and his part of the army for five..."

"Three, sir."

"Three days, and we will wait no longer. There's no reason to think Vanheim left anything other than a token defense here. The harbor is deserted. No doubt all those who could have slipped away over the waves, leaving on the weak and lame to fight the legendary knights of Marignon!"

His men gave a half-hearted cheer. It had been a long time since they had enjoyed a real fight. Too much patrolling wasn't good for knights.

They swept down the mountain at full gallop, glittering in the moonlight -- over the high narrow drawbridge, then into the deserted cobblestone streets of the fort. There was no sign of life except for the occasional bat. Gawain and his men dismounted and searched on foot. Indeed, everything was gone, even the laboratory had been burnt down. A faint smell of smoke from somewhere... Gawain followed his nose to the sea-ward courtyard, where a solitary red-robed figure stood staring out across the gorge to the twinkling lights of Vanheim beyond.

"Turn and fight like a man, dog!"

And the man turned, and as he did, Gawain's eyes snapped shut from the blinding light, and then he was engulfed in flames, but unburnt. When he could see again, he stared down at the charred Van on the ground just behind him. When he could hear again, he found that the red-robed man was laughing at him, and sipping calmly from a flask.

"Blood-sucker," Gawain murmured.

"Mmmm," said Wic, "Do you want some? Marvelously good for the stamina. Why, if you were in the habit of drinking blood you might have gotten here in time to have some fun with old Neinos there." He gestured to the still-smoking corpse.

Gawain caught the tossed flask, and a few red drops of liquid spilled out onto his freshly shined armor. He threw the container to the ground.

"Monster! Heretic!"

"Oh relax, it's just tomato juice. Now listen, have you sent Brother Gebuin to the Vans to make peace now that we've secured this place?"

"To the Vans? No, you told me to send him with peace messages to the crawling heretics."

"Yes, the... oh..."

"I sent him to the lizards."

For a moment, wrath clouded Wic's face, then it passed.

"My mistake, there are too many heretics. Ah well, the egg-suckers will be confused. Anyway, put this place in order, leave a guard and ride east as soon as you can. More wars, more glory await."

"My knights will o'ertake you in a week."

"Ah, but you forget your legends, Gawain." Wic jumped up onto the low wall, "Vampires can fly." Then he was gone.

Gawain ran to the edge and watched the dark spot falling, falling to the depths bellow. At the last minute Wic's cloak billowed and spread and he soared out over the water and away into the night.

Muszinger

Muszinger paused before the door to the room to compose himself. At least this would be easier than fighting the demon inside Polgrave had been. That force of darkness had withstood all manner of torture and prayer, finally quieting only in the face of Afti-el's power.

The door creaked open, and Muszinger passed into the pitch-black room, and stood a distance from the presence he felt in the other corner.

"God be with you."

"Bah."

"Am I wasting my time here again today?"

"No, I have news."

A long silence, broken at last by Muszinger, "And what, pray, is that news."

"They conspire against you. A house divided must fall."

"Marignon has never been stronger. We rule half the known world."

"And yet you do not see the plots."

Muszinger smiled in the dark. "I am head of the inquisition. I see plots within plots. This morning I tortured a druid to death trying to make him admit that he was in league with Pangaea to overthrow the Church. Which plots do you speak of?"

"The members of AYE, former allies."

"They plan to destroy us?"

"Aye."

Muszinger laughed out loud. "The fools have waited too longer. The LORD's servant grows more powerful as we near, so quickly, the end of all things. What have we to fear from mortal foes in these few short months before the LORD's return? Even if our surprise invasion were to falter..." he suddenly grew quiet.

"It will falter. The air will rise up against you."

Muszinger sighed. It was always like this; more riddles than answers. Alone, hours later, he tried to piece together what he knew about the conspiracy against him and his enemies' attack plans. Then he took out the attack plan he had produced for the lizard wars, Case Chartreuse. From another drawer he drew out Case Emerald, the attack on Man. With a small sigh, he drew more scrolls towards him and wrote names at the top: Case Maroon, Case Blue, Case Orchid (remembering the shifty look in the druid's eye that morning, he added a small scroll for Case Lime). Enemies everywhere... were there even enough armies in Marignon to actually attack everyone. Only the thought of Afti-el and her heavenly protection sustained his hand through the night, and only the sure knowledge that his heavy burdens would be eternally rewarded in just a few months enabled him to find sleep in the morning.

Foen

Shortly after the fall of Ermor a lizard passed by. He was blind and ancient, no doubt lost in the land of eternal night. He carried, he claimed, a suit of dragon chain-mail made entirely from scales shed by the dread dragon Cole. Afti-el heard this and came down from the citadel, killed the lizard, and donned the armor, which shone a brilliant red over her blinding glory.

The Archbishop of Marignon never recovered from his cowardice at the gate. Afti-el thrust upon his head a crown of black laurels found in the crypts, and then chained him upon the bridge before the soul gate, and commanded him to bring forth an army to spare his life. Twisting, crying, Marignon brought forth five great lions of shadow and flame. They burnt his body as they passed, and the form still hangs there limp and smoldering, but none will dare that place to find if he yet lives.

As for myself, I have wandered in dreams along forest paths lit by the last rays of the setting sun. I do not know what I seek, but my heart is ashen and my mouth is dust when I think of Afti-el. I know I shall never escape this prison, never walk softly beneath lilting leaves again. I seek, perhaps, some power of life, some force of nature to counter all this endless death. I have not found it yet, but ever I search. The seasons change around me. The leaves of this world color and fall. Winter comes soon.

C\'tis Yarn 45
 

So many new turns in the last few days... it's like Christmas.

--- C'tis, Turn 45 ---

Lugal was trying something new, and it wasn't working at all.

It had taken him all week, but he had finally gotten the pen set up. The fence was sunk a hundred centimeters into the ground around the entire circumference, to discourage digging, and was meticulously interwoven with thorns, to dissuade any rabbits who might take "free range" too much to heart and attempt an escape. In the center was a marvelous new hutch, an inviting creation of wood and stone and earth than any rabbit would be proud to call home.

A little too proud. It had been nearly half an hour since Lugal had yelled at the last apprentice sauromancers, who had actually done all of the backbreaking work, to disappear, and since then not a single twitching nose had emerged. There were no floppy ears to be seen, no hoppy feet, nothing. Lugal was beginning to feel like the whole business of well exercised food animals being happy food animals, and thus tastier food animals, was all rubbish, and at any rate quite untestable, when Hema walked up with a pile of curious orange spears and began throwing them around the pen.

It was not the oddest thing Lugal had seen young lizards do lately, certainly no odder than the customs of some of the tribes in the swamps where he had been a hatchling. Why, there had been this one village where everyone would always walk around with an onion tied to their belt... Lugal was lost in reminiscences and almost did not see the first curious rabbit, a small brown fellow, sniff the air, peer around cautiously, then take his first few hops toward freedom and the orange spears.

It was a little harder to miss the thumping sound of the half-dozen rabbits who quickly followed, however, and soon the pen was filled with happy little rabbits, stretching their legs for the first time, and nibbling on the food of the gods.

"Erm," coughed Lugal, "what are those strange little whazzits?"

"You mean carrots, Lugal?" said Hema. She had watched his project with great amusement all week, although always she was careful to be quite busy with important Affairs of State whenever Lugal looked like he might want her to dig a fence post.

"Powerful magical artifacts, are they?" said Lugal. "They look mighty useful, what are they, potent earth-fire magicks?"

"No, Lugal, they're vegetables," said Hema, stifling a laugh. "They grow in the ground. Lizards eat them too, you know," she said.

The carnivore gave her a very distasteful look, but whatever bizarre utterance he was about to make was cut off by the sudden sound of rabbits trampling the ground, desperately trying to escape... back into their hutch. Hema looked around, deeply puzzled, until she spied a fat man in a shabby brown cloak, coming up the woodland path.

"Ah, I see the ambassador from Marignon has arrived."


"Hail, heretic!"

"You scared my rabbits!" Lugal bared his teeth, but Hema tugged at his robes firmly, so he didn't move.

"Uh... yes... I am Brother Gebuin, emissary of the One True Church of Marignon. Take me to your leader."

"Do you know how long it takes to get the adrenaline out of their system?" continued Lugal, now quite irate. "Now who am I going to eat for lunch?"

"Um, Lugal," hissed Hema, somewhat insistently. "This man is from Marignon, not the deli."

Brother Gebuin tried again, "I bring an offer of peace. This terrible war must end!"

There was silence. In the distance, a few rabbits could be heard crying.

Finally, Hema piped up.

"Er, war?"

"You do speak human, don't you?" Brother Gebuin did a short interpretive dance depicting a man being skewered by a pike. "War. Bad."

Lugal and Hema exchanged a glance. "It's just that... well... our nations have always been at peace. Well, except for that incident with the temple,"
said Hema.

"Not to mention the unwarranted terrifying of my rabbits," said Lugal, his beady eyes boring down on the plump friar. Come to think of it, he looked a bit rabbit-like...

Brother Gebuin shifted his heavy beech-wood staff to stand more authoritatively between him and sharp pointy lizard teeth. "Okay, but one day we'll be at war, and then we'll need to have peace negotiations." He was beginning to feel a bit unsure of himself. Perhaps Gawain had meant to send him to the Vans instead? Gebuin wished he'd paid more attention, but the knight's shield had been very distracting.

Hema began to realize she was in a bit over her head. She quietly edged away as Lugal began a loud tirade on matters leporine, and then began to skitter, and then run, to fetch Cole.


As Cole approached, he saw that Brother Gebuin and Lugal had settled down to a nice game of checkers with broken egg shells and rabbit bones for the pieces. The bones seemed to be winning, but just barely.

"Ah, my good fellow, how is our friendly neighbor to the south/north?" said Cole.

"I bring a message from Father Muszinger and the Church. The first part was an offer of peace, but it turns out that's not strictly necessary... yet... but the second part of my message is probably still valid. If we attack all the vaguely greenish-bannered races in Inland, could you be persuaded to remain on the sidelines?"

"And which nations would those be, young man?" said the dragon politely.

Hema felt a little ill at ease. Didn't C'tis have a vaguely greenish...

"Ah. A wise question oh great dragon," said Gebuin, hoping to avoid becoming kindling. "I have a list here somewhere... yes... Man, Pangaea (if they're still alive), and C... Kiss... no, er wait, See-tiss. That's an odd name."

"I do believe my little kingdom is pronounced C'tis," said Cole, eyes narrowed oh so slightly.

"Yes! C'tis. That's right. We just call you the lizards back home and... um..." Gebuin trailed off again. Hastily shoving the document back into his pouch, he straightened a little, "I'm sure that's a clerical error. I'll have the responsible Cleric burnt when I get home."

"You do that," said Cole.

There was a pause.

"Is there anything else the good father would like you to tell me? Approximate army strength with which you will be invading my undefended border, timing, anything like that?" said Cole.

"No, that wasn't included in my briefing," said Gebuin. "Do you have an answer to our fair and just offer that I may take back?"

Cole took a deep breath, pondered for a moment. Then he breathed flame onto the nearest tree, instantly incinerating it. A burning branch fell into the rabbit pen, killing the curious little brown rabbit, who had stuck his nose out again.

The dragon flew off toward the capitol, and Hema thought he seemed to be flying a little faster than usual.



"So, er, yes, was that?" said Father Gebuin. Receiving no response from the lizards he drew a glowing purple gem from his pouch. "Can I buy some roast rabbit for lunch?"

Lugal's eyes lit up. "I don't see why not, yes, yes, rabbit for lunch, very good." He plucked the unfortunate but tasty smelling roast rabbit from the pen and motioned to Hema. "My herb-pouch, please." His eyes lit up as he removed some fresh dill, picked just that morning, and cheerfully offered some to the Father, who was spreading his cloak on the grass. "Fine day for a picnic lunch, yes," said Lugal.

Lugal did not ask Hema to join them, but that was okay. She felt quite sick to her stomach, and the smell of roast rabbit had absolutely nothing to do with it. She suddenly understood the rabbits' urge to flee, and walked quickly back to the city.

Man Yarn 45
 

As usual, I was arguing with my uncle. The latest heated discussion was about Project AQ.

“Ralph, I do not like this idea of yours at all!”

“But Selena, it is not my idea!”

“Oh, really? Then whose idea is it?”

“Our fine Minister of Research, your childhood friend Veronicas.”

This stopped me for a bit. But I gathered my wits quickly and bounced back. “Then why did she not tell me this instead of you?”

“Oh, because she is so darn busy these days. As are you, I night add, constructing all those artifacts for our army. In fact, she asked me to tell you all about Project AQ.”

Well, this put a new light on the situation. Veronicas has not been wrong yet. If this really was her idea, well then…

In a blinding insight, I suddenly realized that this MUST be her idea. No way would Ralph discover this knowledge outside the laboratory of the Research Ministry. I therefore got over this little annoyance with my uncle. I suppose he was just the messenger anyway.

I changed tactics and said, “OK, Ralph, I believe you. Now tell me, exactly why should we employ other Queens in my army. Aren’t I the only Queen we need?

“Of course you are my only Queen, Selena! These other creatures are simply magical beings. They are only referred to as Queens of the Sky. In fact, any nation can summon these Air Queens. But we should get them first.”

“And just what good are they?”

“Ah, they are most powerful beings. They control storms and lightning. They can summon powerful Air Elementals in battle. They can cast wind guide for our longbowmen. They can kill nearly unlimited mundane, ordinary troops. And they can use the air itself in the form of Lightning Swarms to easily crush all enemies. I assure you, we do NOT want to have to fight against these Air Queens. You MUST direct Veronicas to go forth with Project AQ.”

“And what exactly will it cost me from my treasury?”

“Well, Veronicas said we must have a very powerful air mage. As you well know, you have no knowledge of any air magic. Thus, it cannot be you.”

“Who is our most powerful air mage?”

“Igraine, an ancient Crone of Avalon. But this spell is so difficult that she will need much help.”

“What kind of help?”

“Igraine will need to be empowered. It costs 60 air gems to complete that one ritual. She will also need to use our Bag of Winds and our Winged Helmet, both of which have already been built using 15 air gems apiece using your Dwarven Hammers. And she will need one more thing we do not currently have.”

“Ninety air gems. Plus even more?”

“Yes, my Queen. Igraine will need a Staff of Elemental Mastery that you alone can construct. This will cost your magical treasury 15 fire gems and 15 water gems when using one of our Hammers. You should do it this very month while we empower Igraine.”

I mused out loud, “All that just for some false queens…”

“And that is still not all, Selena. Igraine will have to spend 50 air gems apiece to summon each Air Queen over the course of three months. In fact, this is why Veronicas has been saving air gems for years.”

I exploded over this news. “RALPH! Well over TWO HUNDRED air gems plus some other kinds too. No way!”

“Yes way, Selena. These Air Queens are that powerful.”

“Nothing is that powerful.”

“These queens are, Selena. They are truly quite strong, especially after we construct many artifacts for them to use in battle. We MUST have these three Air Queens to limit the army losses in the upcoming Green banner War. You do still plan to conduct this war, right?”

“Yes, I will go through with this war. But Ralph, I really still do not like this at all. I am the only true Queen around here.”

“Oh, of course you are! These are merely Queens of the Air. They are NOT Queens of Man. They will follow your orders, and yours alone if we summon them first. Go talk to Veronicas. I know you will believe her.”

I glared at my uncle and replied hotly, “Good idea, dear uncle. I will do exactly that. And right now too! This conversation is over.” I immediately stormed out of my chamber without a backwards glance. I am sure my uncle was smirking at me anyway!

And so, that is how it happened. I did talk to Veronicas. She backed up my uncle completely. She did admit to all this being her idea. And she did strongly assure me that these Air Queens could be controlled by me. She even gave me the wise suggestion to bring them into my chamber one at a time for a private chat as they were summoned out of the air.

So, in a seemingly fast month, the very first Air Queen to show her face called herself Nephele. I had laid out all the artifacts on my work table that we constructed for Nephele’s use on the battlefield against Pangaea. I tried not to think of all the gems being drained from my treasury for this one project alone. Easily 400 gems just for three false queens, consisting mostly of valuable air gems.

And when I was done talking to this odd creature, I found Veronicas and Ralph to both be correct. This was no true queen. Maybe Nephele could control the very air, but she had no intelligence. She had no vision, nor any plans. Not like me, or even like Ralph or Veronicas! And she was strongly tied to me though unbreakable magical bonds. I could easily feel the truth of that.

This scene was then repeated twice more over the course of the following two months. Next, it was Thuella. And finally, there was Aella. All three Air Queens now serve Man alone. I sent them down to the war chamber for their battle orders. I wondered the wisdom of all this.

But only time will tell if Project AQ was worth the cost or not.

vanheim 48
 

It's time for Vanheim turn 48!

In which Vethru tells Pherios why.


Pherios

For the first time since he had me hanged, months ago, Vethru comes to visit me. My aunt Tilneia, the Lady of the Tower, had been relaying his messages to me, initially with reluctance, later, with active derision. For all his circuitous arguments and rationalizations, his demands came to the same: I was to resume prophesying, and I was to take to the battlefield against Vanheim's enemies. Under his command. I refused, and I remained imprisoned.

Today he walks into my cell, Quellian Ji on his shoulder. Ji, too, had been bringing his master's messages. And like Tilneia, he wasn't happy about it, but he tended to plead with me rather than try to convince me. I think he just wanted everyone to get along.

My first glance at Vethru since my transformation staggers me. In an instant, he realizes that I'm peering into the spirit realm, and he clouds what I can see. But that single glimpse is terrifying.

Vethru's a patchwork. He's put together out of dozens of distinct body parts, knitted together in a blinding web of necromantic energies. There are hundreds of spirits flitting around him. I can only imagine what they're doing--sensing danger, maintaining his body, standing ready to defend him, whatever. Each one of them is tethered to him by a gossamer tendril. Impressive, but not the scary part. The tendrils are nearly invisible, because they're overshadowed by massive conduits of power running off into dimensions I can't access. Vethru-that-I-see, as powerful as he is, is nothing; he's the finger puppet of something else, much larger, hiding in a universe that I'll never touch. Vethru-that-is-elsewhere could swallow Vanheim.

"How did it come to this?" he asks. "Every one of my seers is touched by you. You, your uncle, the girls, and now, my lizard. I've given you a window into all the realms of life and death, and you, in turn, take my eyes away. How is that fair?"

Tilneia told me that Molly was in hiding, safe. A few days ago, I convinced the spirits of some lizards to stop telling their brother anything useful. "What did you do with Akkulu?" I ask.

"I sent him home."

Good. "Will you let me go, too? I'm not going to help you."

He pulls a chair up to the table and sits across from me. "I don't do this often," he says. "Once every twenty or thirty worlds, maybe. Always in low-tech worlds, funny. The techies and scientists never even consider that there might be something beyond their physical law. But there is. I'm going to tell you the secrets of the universe. Then you'll understand why you have to help me."

He thinks for a moment, almost ignoring me. Even though my transformation left me more powerful than ever before, there's no way I can stand against him now. I have no weapons or armor. I'm weak and half starved. And there's a short chain running from my ankle to a bolt set in the floor. I'm not sure it makes any difference.

"There is something beyond magic," Vethru says. "Something outside the world, that gives it its shape. Determines its rules. Is the rules, in a way."

"And you want to read them?"

"I want to rewrite them. It goes beyond that. These 'rules' are the world. They're the program the universe runs."

I'm lost. Program?

"No, damnit, wrong vocabulary. Think of a clockwork automaton. A toy. Or better yet, one of those clever music boxes with the little silver birds whose wings flap and beaks open and close as they 'sing'."

"Birds," I repeat.

He snorts. "Pay attention, boy! The birds don't matter. It's the clockworks. Ever take one of those apart? Seen the gears, and the toothed cylinder? Those parts tell the birds what to do. Those are the rules made metal."

"You're looking for...the world's gears?"

"Hood's breath, I'm looking for the source code to the universe!" He's exasperated, but it quickly passes. "It'd take months to explain this to you properly. Listen: yes, there are rules, and yes, I intend to rewrite them."

I think that's ghastly, and I tell him so.

Vethru shakes his head with a sad smile. "You don't see it. You've got the past and future in your head, and all of life and death, and your mind is still too small to see it.

"When I know the rules, I can fix things. Plague? Gone. Poverty? I'll tweak society's parameters, and your world takes three big steps toward a liberal democratic economy. I make one small change in your planet's albedo, and the growing season in temperate climates is extended two weeks, increasing crop yields enough to feed a nation of starving people. I can do these things, when I find the right parts of the rules that plug into your world.

"I've been doing this for tens of thousands of years, scouring the dimensions for little fragments of these rules. I estimate I've found between seventeen and nineteen percent of the total. Doesn't sound like much, does it? You can't cast seventeen percent of a spell. Doesn't work. But the source code is vast. Even small pieces have power. If I have the right fragments, in the right world...I can work wonders."

He's not even with me now. He's somewhere lost in memory. His voice grows soft, pleased. "In five worlds, it was enough. I left golden ages behind me. Shining cities, an educated and healthy populace. Can you conceive of a million people? A billion? I've saved that many lives. I've improved ten times as many!" Now his eyes find me again, and they're cold. "That's what you're interfering with. Give me Vanheim, and I'll put them on top of this world. I'll save this whole world from the zealots and monsters. I've almost found when I need, but I need armies to get to it. And I need your help."

He stands up. "You're smart, and you're a good kid. Think about it. Reach out to all those souls you now see, and ask them if you should give the world a better life."

He leaves, but Ji stays.

He kind of clears his throat, and says, "So, um, OK, sometimes the boss sound like a megalomaniac. You got me there. But it's true! Kid, I've been following him around for about a hundred and twenty years now, and I've seen it. Not one of the really good ones, but I've seen him take real hellholes and turn them into places you wouldn't mind bringing up your kids. He can do it. Just...think about it, OK?"

"And when he leaves," I ask, "Does he give them the knowledge? Or does it all go with him?"

Ji flutters his wings. "Better than letting every Joe in the street have it. Imagine Marignon with that power."

"I'm fairly sure they wouldn't have trapped my fiancee's soul in her reanimated corpse and enslaved her until her second horrible death."

"Sorry, kid," he says. "You know, I been saying that a lot lately, and I don't feel any better than you. But what can I do? It ain't a perfect world. Every choice has a dark side."

"You've got a choice, too," I say. "Tell my father where I am."

"I can't!" he squawks.

"Your choice," I reply. He flies out.

Well. Vethru had one good idea. I lay on my cot, close my eyes, and reach out to ask the spirit surrounding me what they think of tyrants.


Petema

I suppose our conspiracy should have met in the back room of a dark tavern on a stormy night, but my sitting room is very pleasant in the afternoon sun. I served tea and pastries that I bought from a shop down the block. I'm not much of a baker, myself.

Our conspiracy is a small one inside a larger one. The outer one is widespread and growing. The inner is small and will not get any bigger. There's only one way into our circle, and none of us is pregnant.

"I know where Pherios is," I told them. That caused a stir. We all believed he was still alive, and that Vethru had him. But Vethru's people were fanatically loyal. I know every damn jarl and herse in Vanheim, and I couldn't find anyone who knew anything about Pherios in the four months I've been searching for him.

"How?" one of them asked.

"You will not believe me when I tell you. We have a friend on the inside."

They were of course suspicious. "Can you trust him?"

We can trust her, I thought, and I smiled. I told them everything. Fate had tipped her scales toward us, at least for a time. We discussed our options, and when the meeting ended, our plans were set. They would take time to unfold, and there was danger ahead for all of us. But when they did...Vethru thought Pherios was trouble. Hah! He hasn't seen trouble until he's seen us.

Marignon Declaring War
 

The Peaceful Dominion of Tien Chi received a message from the Great Dominion of Marignon. The message declared war!! Was this intentional?

Pasha Tzu

Re: Marignon Declaring War
 

Pashsa Tzu,

I would like to apologize for the mistaken declaration of war you received. In fact, we wished to declare war upon your UNholy nation*. The scribe responsible has, as always, been burnt to death. An announcement regarding this shall shortly be posted in the public square.

Father Muszinger

*The same correction applies to other declarations of war which may or may not have gone forth this month.

Re: Marignon Declaring War
 

Beware! You've awoken the Sleeping Tien Chi Dragon!

Re: Marignon Declaring War
 

Muszinger

Muszinger climbed the stair.

At the top, the pulpit where he would give his Carrofactum homily. In his pouch, a sealed letter from Afti-el to be opened at the end of the world, about half an hour from now when the great cathedral bells tolled midnight.

Muszinger was tired as he climbed. Nine years as head of the inquisition, and four of those during this last period of upheaval, which some heretic scribes called the Ascension Wars, reflecting various fools' recent claims to Godhood. The priests of Marignon knew better. God alone conquers. These tribulations were but preparing this drab world for the LORD's triumphant return.

'God', and it was both a prayer and a sigh. The end couldn't come soon enough. Muszinger was not as sure as when he'd started. Not as sure about the righteousness of the inquisition. He had tortured to death his last child only hours before, and good riddance to be done with that messy business. Tired, so tired.

Muszinger reached the pulpit and gazed out into the cavernous cathedral, filled with the Southern Army-- 'My army', thought Muszinger, 'My support through the Archbishop Marignon's grab for power'. They were all in battle garb of course, the knights' golden armor particularly stunning. The candles reflected off every metal weapon and bathed in every red-orange uniform. It looked like the sun itself was squeezed into the stone walls.

Muszinger began to speak.

He told the faithful the oldest story, the only story. Of a creator whose creation went awry, and of a God who came down to fix it. Then it was time for the traditional Carrofactum reading. 'How many times,' he asked himself, 'have you read or heard this passage?'

In the soft light he looked at the beautiful ornaments on the huge leather tome. His fingers turned easily to the passage...

"But the LORD did not leave us alone, nor did He foresake His people. For even as He ascended into the clouds He spoke one final time unto mortal ears and his command was seared upon their hearts and written on their minds: 'Keep though, the month of my coming sacred, and when you have remembered me two thousand times, there suddenly I shall be among you again.' "

And now Muszinger was reciting completely by heart:


I am the Alpha, the Iota, the Omega

I am the deathless roar of the pounding surf...

I am the still, small voice in the wilderness...

I am every new born infant's cry-- every last death rattle.

I am the Alone. One before numbers had meaning...

I am the indwelling soul of everyone...

I am beyond the other side of everything.

I am Faithful, and Pure and Holy.


Muszinger's voice trembled in awe as he finished the chant. Did he hear another voice taking us his words? Was that God, here now in the room, speaking alongside him? Muszinger's hand seemed to be glowing and slightly translucent, and it shook slightly as he closed the great book one last time.

"Tonight, we celebrate Carrofactum as we have celebrated it for two thousand years since the LORD's coming. Tonight the length of the world is measured in minutes and we shall all be lifted up, far beyond the sky. In the the twinkling of an eye we shall all be brought home, and the LORD will walk among us again, and wipe away every tear from our eye."

Muszinger paused. He felt some great magic rushing through the room. For a moment he thought... but, no... it was too soon. And Muszinger remembered that in the depths of the old broken tower Polgrave was struggling to bring a great magical being into the world: Catharsis, the spirit of cleansing fire. Afti-el had approved the project, but Muszinger was not easy. What need was there to bring some great warrior spirit into a world so much on the brink?

Turning back to the crowd, Muszinger spoke of the dead, the martyrs and saints who had sustained the Church through all the long dark years.

"Soon, very soon, we shall be reunited with them. What will that be like? To sit at the LORD's table with the greatest heroes of a forgotten age?"

A bell tolled

Suddenly it was all too much. This was it, the end.

A bell tolled.

Muszinger ripped open the letter in his pouch. What instructions did the LORD's right-hand servant have for him? Confused, Muszinger saw they were the attack plans he had laid out for fighting Marignon's enemies.

A bell tolled.

But, by the grace of God, an uneasy truce had been maintained for the last final months of the world, so... so...

A bell tolled.

Here was a note from Afti-el. But his hands were trembling too hard.

A bell tolled.

'You are immediately to implement the enclosed attack plans.'

A bell tolled.

That was it. That was all. No word about the end of the world. No news about the LORD's return.

A bell tolled.

The crowd was growing frantic now, hanging on each reverberation.

A bell tolled.

These were long range plans, for a war of many months at least. A hard strike against Man and C'tis, the two most dangerous. Force them to defend their turf for a few months.

A bell tolled.

And then... pull back and fight hard for every piece of land. The overwhelming numbers would force the defenders of Marignon back, and back further, scorching and burning the lands they had spent so long gaining, but always delaying the advance, protecting the great cathedral at Marignon.

A bell tolled.

It was not a plan to win. Only a plan to delay. Only a plan to hold off foes until this moment.

A bell tolled.

Maybe, it was all some mistake. But Muszinger knew that Afti-el did not make such mistakes.

A bell tolled.




Later, as he marched east, at the head of a fey army beyond hope and faith, he looked back to the broken tower and saw it shimmering in a sickly green light.

Re: Marignon Declaring War
 

Vanheim turn 51: not too many more to go!

In which Pherios's dinner is interrupted, and Vethru regards the rubble.


Pherios

Finally, a guard pushes my dinner through the slot at the bottom of my cell door. I don't see it, I hear it. I've been in a dark dungeon for a couple months now, deep underground.

"Do you know why you're being fed so late?" the guard asks. This is strange. Vethru's guards don't talk to me.

I clear my throat and rasp, "No." My throat works as well as it's ever going to, but I still sound like a strangled warthog.

"Because it begins now," he says, and he leaves, ignoring my questions trailing him down the long, empty hall.

I have no idea what that means. I tear hungrily into my bread, the only food I've had down here. It's left me weak, very weak. At least I don't have to fight the rats for it. They're scared of me.

Then my tooth hits something hard, and the universe accelerates.

It's a single gem, clear as mountain air, infused with power.

Somebody's got a plan. And they've just told me the only thing I need to know.

It begins now.

I don't waste time. I summon an air elemental, and I'm so drained I nearly pass out. And it's only a small one. But it blows down the cell door, and the one at the end of the hall.

I stagger after it, and in the guardroom one flight up, I stun a handful of guards with thunder. One of them comes for me, sword swinging. I block it with my left arm. I don't feel the cut. Then I touch him, and he crumbles to dust.

That's never happened before, but I don't have time to ponder it. The alarm has been sounded, but not by the men fighting my air elemental. It's coming from somewhere above me.

My elemental occupies the guards, and I head upstairs alone. I meet three men coming down. Damn. I forgot to pick up a sword off the man I killed below. They didn't forget theirs. They descend incautiously, attacking.

I cast another unfamiliar spell, and bolts of dark energy take out the first two. I stumble on the stairs, my legs weakened with fatigue. As a result, the third man's blow doesn't land with full force. But it still bites deeply into my right shoulder.

I scramble for a sword, find one, and swing it against his. It rides down his blade and jumps the hilt. Its tip grazes his chest, drawing a red line of blood. His eyes widen. He howls. He triples the ferocity of his blows, attacking in a berserk fury. I parry a few thrusts, but it's only a moment before his sword is stuck in my left side.

It's a curious sensation. There's no pain. No blood, really, not as much as there should be. It's just...inconvenient. Clumsy.

I touch him, and he crumbles to ash. I pull the sword out, and things start to go bad. My guts shift unpleasantly. I think I'm in trouble. I don't understand what, exactly, keeps me going anymore, but it's failing.

I drag myself up two flights of stairs and through an empty guardroom. One of the doors leads me outside, to chaos--shouting, howling, the clash of arms. I try to make sense of it. It's night, and dark forms run across the courtyard to a tower on the opposite wall. Most of the noise is up on walls, I think. I see flashes from silver-polished scale armor reflecting moonlight.

Then I'm knocked over by something low and fast-moving. An instant later, its teeth are in my leg. A second wolf takes the opposite arm, and a third jumps on my chest, snapping at my throat. I see two more fast approaching. I don't have the strength to fight them off.

Then someone, a woman's voice, shouts, "There he is!"

The wolf sinks its teeth into my throat.

I almost laugh. But then I remember how long it took to heal last time, so I struggle to free my arm, to touch him and wither him. But they're stronger than I am.

Suddenly, the air around me is filled with reflections. Scale armor jangles, a spear strikes, and another. The wolves die with great gobs of my flesh in their mouths. Many hands pull their bodies away, prying their jaws from my body.

The courtyard is quiet again. The lead Valkyrie jerks her spear out of a wolf's gut, its intestines coming with it. She drops her weapon, and she kneels and lifts my head in her hands. "My poor baby," she says. "Are you alive? Pherios?"

I look up at the dozen of them, and I recognize them all. Petema, Aunt Sennei, Mirima, Irulia--they're all here. House Alteion's Valkyries. Galameteia's mother, Thumestia of Lunetellerion, is there, too, and behind them all, with them yet standing apart, I see a lonely figure with a slightly crooked neck.

My eyes return to the beautiful warrior woman who rescued me. "Thanks, Mom," I manage to croak before I black out.


Vethru

The pile of rubble is impressively high. Usually when buildings fall down, it doesn't amount to much. Buildings are mostly empty space. The Lady's tower was solid. The pile of stones rises almost two stories high, and they're stained black by the still billowing smoke pouring out of the basements where the forges are still burning.

"Wow," says Quellian Ji. "She went and did it. First Pherios, then this. A real bad night, huh, boss?"

Ji can be so naive sometimes. Once is chance, twice, coincidence--but I sensed the third was already on its way: enemy action.

On cue, Hallixene rides up. Ji starts--he doesn't have the magical talent to pierce Hallixene's glamour. "My Lord!" he cries. "They've left! They're all gone!"

I'd sent him to find Anteirios and Petema. Damn.

"All who?" asks Ji.

"All of House Alteion! And others, too!"

"Who?" I ask.

"Lunetellerion, most of Zinos. At least part of House Pellena. I dared not seek further without bringing you the news. I have ordered the city to be searched."

"Any news from the army?" And Belletennares.

"No, sire."

Well. House Alteion hit the trifecta last night. No surprise, really. The locks on Pherios's cell weren't for show, and Anteirios pitched a fit when I sent the lizard ambassador home without speaking to him. He ranted about Vanheim's honoring its treaties. I knew I was pissing them off. But the Lady...I had hopes. I liked her. I thought we were simpatico.

It's the same old story. God comes to world, god begins to raise up downtrodden nation, god meets nice not-alive girl, and then it ends in heartbreak. Nation rejects god, girl runs back to her family, and god is left to fight fanatically religious neighbors all by himself. It's so clichéd, it should be on network TV.

No matter. She took her gnomes with her, but all of our new forces were loyal to me: spectral mages, necromancers, and the dragon-men. And what was House Alteion going to do? All their forces were in the north. They'd have no choice but to fight when Marignon comes over the border. They might betray me, but they'd never let Vanheim fall.

It wasn't exactly the plan, but it'd do. I only needed a little more time. The prize was close.

Man Yarn 48
 

I posted Yarn 48 on the Yarn site. It is not being repeated here because of the embedded images.

New Proclamation
 

Ralph, Prophet of the fine nation of Man, has posted a new proclimation entitled:
"The Inquisition Practices Death Magic"

Re: New Proclamation
 

Gawain

"Well, this is the forest of Idun."

"Indeed, sire."

"Seems like a strong province defense."

"Indeed, sire."

"How, exactly, does one, ah... kill one of these lizard things."

"I believe skewering it with a lance is traditional."

"Very good." Gawain looked out over the cohort of knights. There would be death before this was all over. Death, and lizard blood, which stains frightfully, or so Gawain had heard.

Muszinger

Wic,

I will not be able to coordinate the war plans very well from out here in the field, and I'm afraid I don't trust Polgrave as much as I once did. Thus, you must take charge of the unfolding situation. I must confess I do not understand Afti-el, or why the LORD's return did not come as the scribes had predicted, but we must trust in Him and in Her too.

The war plans are sound. Gawain and I will seize the fort at Pythium. Try to lure Manish forces into our dominion where we can defeat them more easily. I hope we will kill some lizards here in the south, but we must be prepared to absorb great loss of territory in the north. The inquisition must be out in force to prevent the peasants from losing faith. We will hold the lizards at Marignon and Camelot. Hopefully, our attacks on Man will give Pangaea a chance to regroup and distract Man so that we will be able to turn our attention on the scaly ones and beat them back.

By Fire and Faith and the Sword,

Muszinger

Esclave

I find it hard to concentrate on my work. We hear that Man has employed large number of magical creatures in their invasion. There is a weapon, the Elf-bane, that could come in handy against these unnatural things, but ever since the Archbishop of Amiridon disappeared, I am the only one in the kingdom with the skills to forge these things for the paladins who clamor for them. And I am distracted.

All my life I knew the world was coming to an end, and suddenly it stretched out before me, all my mistake and all my fear. And just as suddenly, my source seems to restricted. Surely our enemies will pour in from every side, and we will all be killed. I have received hints that the Archbishop of Elkland is holding onto my son while Afti-el flies around killing things. But I cannot journey to Camelot. The Plains of Eternal Peril will be the primary battleground in this war.

Is it any wonder that I cannot properly sharpen a blade?

Gawain

The second before his lance hit home, Gawain saw giant feathery wings rising from the back of a huge snake. Then, with an awesome force, his lance splintered as it ground a strange undead creature with a hundred vines into dust. He was off his horse, surrounded by monsters. Lizards the size of men who walked upright, and huge 10-foot snakes who struck with blinding speed. But the solid wall of charging knights prevailed quickly, and Gawain himself escaped without a scratch. The animals were running, and Gawain let out a mighty roar, chasing after one in fancy black robes and hacking it down in a burst of cold flame.

Muszinger

My lord,

Great news from the north. Sir Balide has killed one of the "Queens" of the Air. Also, the mercenary Tempestus has seized the rich farmlands of Solian in the heart of Man. The fort at Iron Range is under siege, by the lizards, but can hold out for many months. The dragon and his armies march into the north. As planned, we put up no resistance.

Wic

Foen

Tvinto, a druid I knew back in the sunlit days, has died in the foolhardy invasion of T'ien Ch'i. They say that the heathens have great demons of fire and water and that our little band never stood a chance. Closer to home, the forces of Ulm, luckily few in number, surround the dead city on every side, but have not yet tried to put us under siege. God knows we are too weak to repel such an attempt. What few living men remain in this desolate land have long since gone mad, and the only defenders left are a few dying vine men and the strange fiery snakes which crawl out of the Archbishop Marignon's mouth.

Meanwhile, fell tidings come from the utter west. On a dark field, and surrounded by a horde of the undead at her command, Afti-el fell upon a host of heavenly angels and slaughtered them with her fell blade. The blood of these innocent creatures spilt upon the ground and cried to the heavens -- blasphemy! blasphemy!

Is there war in heaven? Has the LORD forsaken us?

Esclave

I believe Wic truly enjoys this war and being in charge of it. He seems healthier and more full by the day, and by night, a steady stream of new maidens comes to his chamber. But I suppose sexual immorality is the least or our worries now. The inquisition patrols everywhere, and saying a word against the war is punishable by a swift death.

Polgrave has fallen utterly. The broken tower to the south glows with evil death magic, and Wic says that Polgrave, who tried to learn too much of the dark side, now summons foul creatures from the crypt. If the propagandists from Man are to be believed, a Wraith Lord, most feared of all undead warriors, lurks the plains just north of here, preying on invaders and townsfolk alike. Wic has informed Muszinger, and I can only hope he will leave the foolish siege of Pythium to return here and root out this infection. Muszinger is a fool, but just because he refuses to see the evil in Afti-el, I cannot believe he will refuse to see the devastating change in his old friend.

Muszinger

Wic,

I was pleased to have your letter. I am sorry your home in Wic Forest was burnt down. I approve your plan to reclaim it, but do be careful. The enemy may be reading this communication, so I shall say no more.

The news from Umidor is excellent. Two more battles won by Sir Balide and the trolls! We'll build a wall out of the heathens' dead bodies. Also, I want the friar who single-handedly turned back that pack of wolves made a saint. Philippe, I believe you said his name was. See to it.

What news from Polgrave? I trust he still holds the tower and temple in good faith?

Ah, I sense our enemies' alliance may be cracking. No attack from Vanheim yet, and surely Man will grow swiftly tired of taking the brunt of the casualties while Lizard armies make unopposed gains. Let's see how they react to our next move...

By Fire and Faith and the Sword,

Muszinger

Turn 48 yarn
 

Hi everyone,

Sorry I've been holding the game up, I've been out of town, and keeping up with the mayhem on Council of Wyrms sort of ate up all my dominions time. I am back now and ought to get my turn in soon, so hopefully we can progress a little further toward the end of the world (which I hear is located somewhere near Marignon).

Here's my turn 48 yarn; 51 will follow soon I hope.

-puffyn

----------

The attack, when it came, was both more and less than expected. For a sizable minority of lizards, who had not expected Marignon to attack at all, merely bluster, it was far worse than they had hoped, believing to the last that there was still some goodness and decency left in their friends and allies... well, allies, at least, to the north/south.

To others, particularly those who rallied around a certain aged shaman and his newly relevant plans on "How to defeat a trecherous alliance between <strike>Pithium</strike> and Marynown" (edited hastily by his clever young assistant Hema), the initial attack was, well, disappointing.

"You call this a war? Bah! Back in my day, when someone invaded your kingdom, they cared enough to make sure you knew it! Hatchlings these days..." rambled Lugal one day in council.

"Er, yes, great-grandfather, it's true that Marignon's first volley has not been as bad as we feared," jumped in Hema. She was a newly-appointed junior member of the council (advisory capacity only), and had quickly realized that she had been selected less for her academic brilliance, than for her (oh so occasional) ability to bring Lugal in line, and sometimes get him to shut up for a bit.

This was not one of those times.

"And another thing!" railed Lugal. These youngsters were too cocky, thought fighting a war with Pythium and not dying meant hey knew the first thing about war. He kept catching them in flagrant disrespect of his esteemed status as eldest of the clan, and he was not going to stand for that, no sir, not when the defense of C'tis rested on his bony shoulders.

"Their spies..." he paused for dramatic effect, "... are everywhere. Poised in the shadows in their deep purple robes, ready to stab you through with their coral knives, or blast your brains into smithereens, unless you have..."

"Brown robes," interrupted Hema.

There was an awkward silence.

"Marignon is known to send spies and assassins into neighboring lands, even in peace time, but they don't, ah, wear purple robes, so, you know, you can't, er, recognize them that way," she finished lamely. It had seemed like an important point to make, but for the life of her she couldn't figure out why. She couldn't imagine who would be foolish enough to select a gaudy color like purple for their assassins to wear, though.

"And we're doing the same thing," said Asalluhe, the new head of the guild of empoisonners, to scattered applause. He was young and popular and had quite a following. "Only our assassins blend into whatever scenery they're in, and then <thunk>," he said, and pantomimed a dagger thrust to the heart, complete with gasping sounds as the poison took effect. There was more scattered applause, and some cheering. Only last week word had reached the capitol of successful infiltration of one of Marignon's dens of scholars.

"And some of the really smart assassins," continued Asalluhe, insinuating that he of course belonged to this school of thought, "use poisoned bows to stay safely away from their targets. It's practically no risk at all," he finished, smiling.

Hema wondered idly how long it would take him to end up on her workbench, next to Lipit and all the others, and pondered whether she was a bad lizard for not being upset in the slightest at the thought.

"... constant vigilance!" said Lugal, seizing the gap in the conversation with a single-minded determination to finish his harangue that Hema couldn't help admiring.

"Mark my words, there will be attacks from within soon, oh yes, very soon," he went on. "Birds and beasts and even our own human populations, souls warped so they turn on us, ought've wiped em all out, really..."

"We've heard your opinions on the human question before, Lugal," said Kemosh, sighing. He knew he had to let the old lizard finish or there'd be hell to pay, but he was not about to let him rehash his stupid internment camp idea again.

"Yes, well, ahem, constant vigilance," said Lugal. Hema could almost hear him rummaging through his mental notes, trying to find the missing page. "And we should watch the seas – that's where they'll come for us in the end, rising up to engulf us all in madness and despair..."

There was silence, as the assembled councilors waited for Lugal to continue, or wondered why Marignon would go through their lone province adjacent to the sea when they could invade hundreds of kilometers of border directly, or (most likely) had fallen asleep. But after a few moments, the elder lizard shuffled out of the center of the High Rock and sat next to Hema, where he stared off into space, remembering something dark and damp and long ago...

Finally, Hema stood up to fill the silence. "What he means, of course, is that we must be prepared to expect the unexpected." She glanced nervously at Lugal, perhaps testing to see if he was really done talking so they might move on, but his eyes were far way in the caves of time.

Kemosh seized his chance. "Which is precisely what we are doing, my dear girl, of course," he said. "We have assembled a counter attack to the force of knights ravaging our northlands, which will be led by our, ah, esteemed colleague Lugal's own 'Big Snake'," he said hurriedly, spitting out the last words with some distaste. He eyed the elder lizard, worried he would jump in again, but Lugal was now humming under his breath and rocking back and forth a little, and paying the younger lizards no attention at all. Kemosh sighed with relief.

"Yes, I am pleased to announce that we have contacted one of the great and holy feathered serpents themselves, who is here at the High Rock today to say a few words about his plans for the defense of our people. If I may introduce Eshmun..."

There was a murmur in the crowd as the snake slithered up the stairs. "A Coatl!" "In this day? I thought they were all extinct." And he turned to the assembled lizards and began to speak, in a slightly halting, lisping accent, about his plans for salvation.

Hema got a funny feeling listening to him talk. It was like someone was trying to pull her tail, and she didn't like it at all. Sure, she had helped plan the clever communion that would empower the snake to strike Marignon hard. It was a very clever plan that Lugal had come up with and she wondered where he had ever picked it up.

But clever wasn't necessarily a match for a bunch of dumb knights in shiny armor with long pointy sticks. If someone would only ban the lance, then that might even things up a bit, she thought with a smile. But nobody else had a better idea, and the council was sure to vote to authorize Eshmun's forces to leave immediately. The only thing Hema could think of was to make sure someone responsible and experienced went with the snake and his growing coterie of young shamans, who had been trained specially by Lugal for this task, a thought that sometimes frankly terrified Hema.

Perhaps the great Arruli would be able to stop things from spiraling out of control, she thought. She would have to ask.




Laph was in her study when the chameleogram arrived. Shem and Tari were asleep, mercifully, curled up peacefully in their nest, but little Fela, the smallest and most insatiably curious of the hatching, was crawling all over Laph's books and scrolls. Laph was smiling to herself and thinking how much the little one reminded her of Ruli, and at first she didn't notice the sound of the door quietly opening.

And suddenly, there was a chameleon in the room, simulating a credible impression of a military uniform, handing her a letter, which could only be from the front, and by the way the lizard crisply deposited it in her hand, bowed slightly, and disappeared, it could only say one thing.

Laph choked back a sob, and reflexively picked up a surprised Fela, who had been clamoring for attention all morning and was startled to find herself the recipient of a sudden and prolonged hug.


A few hours later, when Laph had composed herself, she went the the part of the castle where the note said the box had been taken. There were many boxes there, too many, but at the moment she only cared about one. She stopped by the chameleogram headquarters herself, to drop off some urgent letters to the most skilled sauromancers in the land.

Laph wasn't about to let her egg brother be brought back as a revenant, not if she could help it. She had some words to say to him, and she expected him to be able to defend himself and tell her what exactly he could possibly have been thinking, getting his fool self killed.

Turn 51 yarn
 

---C'tis, turn 51 ---

"The last story is called Aetonyx gets burnt at the stake."

Laph paused for dramatic effect, but it was hardly necessary. All the hatchlings, even Shem and Tari, who had heard her practicing the story, stared at her wide-eyed, and a few of the littlest ones began to cry, until Mother Zisura came and comforted them. Only Fela looked unconcerned, but that may have had more to do with her paying rather more attention to the bizarre and unnatural way light seemed to fall on the floor next to her mother. Such interesting shadows...

<font color="gray">"Don't you have better things to do than make the hatchlings cry?"</font>

"Quiet, Ruli," said Laph. She cleared her throat.

"Now, this story happened long ago, in the days just after Ermor had finally fallen away from life and light, and there was much hatred in the newly formed theocracy to our south. The Marignonese blamed all lizards for the stupidity of a few thoughtless sauromancers, who had foolishly traded away the secrets of their great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers, and then gone and gotten themselves killed..."

<font color="gray">"Now that sounded almost bitter, egg-sister. It hurts me, right here,"</font> and he pointed to the ethereal hole in his side that was credibly lance-shaped. <font color="gray">"And here..."</font> and he held up his trampled tail. <font color="gray">"And..."</font>

"Shush!" said Laph loudly, which caused everyone to stare. Corporeal undead were one thing, but most lizards couldn't see ghosts, especially not these hatchlings, children of mostly average city-lizards, destined to become merchants or city guards, to whom the supernatural was better left to their rare and gifted cousins.

<font color="gray">"You know how you can get me to be quiet,"</font> said Ruli, but Laph had finally noticed the Fela was staring right at them. It shouldn't have surprised her, of course, her littlest hatchling had always seemed the sort, just like her (lamentably-deceased) uncle. But she felt a knot in her stomach anyhow, which puzzled her. Shouldn't she feel happy that Fela could See?

Laph herself had been a little surprised that she could see Ruli in this form, because she had never seen a single ghost before now. I guess haunting someone's every step would be no fun at all if they couldn't perceive you were there, she sighed. Brothers.

"Now Aetonyx had cause to journey to Marignon," she continued at last. "He went during the month of Carrofactum, because he hoped that the spirit of peace and goodwill of the holy month would allow him to conduct his business in safety.

"But alas, Aetonyx was betrayed. He was staying, as he had before, in the house of a prominent trader from Vanheim, named Vanlade. They had shared several interesting and amusing stories in years gone by, which I will not share with you today, but this was to be their last story together, save one. For one evening, not long after Aetonyx had arrived, there was a knock on the door.

"Vanlade and Aetonyx had discussed escape plans before, in case of just such an eventuality, and worked out a system of signals by which Vanlade would tell him it was time to flee, for the Inquisition was not unexpected. But Aetonyx was caught quite unawares when, with nary a sign from Vanlade, his bedroom door was roughly pushed aside and black-robed inquisitors filled the room, seizing him and binding him so tightly he had no time to think of escape.

"'But why?' he asked his former friend, as the monks began chanting from the Scroll of Remanding the Heretic into Custody, For Eventual Painful Burning Thereof, stanzas 15-23.

"'I am sorry,' said Vanlade, not looking him in the eye. 'My life here is too comfortable, too profitable to Vanheim. I cannot risk what I have worked for to help you, so the fathers and I have come to... an arrangement.' And he turned away as the friars argued over the proper number of Cleansing Whips to be used, and whether there should be shackles or manacles or both.

"On the day of Aetonyx's burning, he was led through streets packed with huge, jeering crowds, for word had spread that here was the leader of the perfidious death-lizards, who had tutored Ami herself in the arts of darkness, although in truth Aetonyx had never had much skill for sauromancy. But all lizards looked alike in Marignon, and they would all burn just as satisfactorily.

"Because of his reputation for craftiness, Aetonyx had been kept bound and guarded at all times by men made impervious to his wily tongue owing to the sensible provision of having had their ears cut off, and he was never given a single opportunity to escape. So after walking through a barrage of hurled fruit and insults and the occasional duck, Aetonyx was tied firmly to a wooden stake in the middle of an enormous pile of wood.

<font color="gray">"Will he escape? Gosh, Laph, I'm worried, what will happen?</font> Laph ignored him. Death had made Ruli so snarky.

"The Archbishops of Amirdon and Elkland, whose faction was in power then, read long and rambling homilies on the Evils of Being Lizardish, until finally Aetonyx yelled out that, if they would just set him on fire already, that was okay with him. So they did. The fire raged all night and into the next morning, and the pillar of smoke could be seen as far away as C'tis."

There was stunned silence when it became clear that Laph had finished speaking, and several hatchlings had tears in their eyes.

<font color="gray">"That was harsh. I thought all your stories had to have happy endings,"</font> said Ruli, snickering a little.

"Clearly you weren't paying as close attention to me as you should have been," said Laph softly.

<font color="gray">"Well, it's awfully hard to, seeing as how my own egg-sister doesn't care enough to do me a tiny little favor..."</font>

Laph waved him quiet with her hand. She scanned the dozen or so hatchlings, wide-eyed and terrified, though Fela, she noted, was glaring at her with a very skeptical expression on her face. Good.

"I don't believe that's what really happened," said Fela.

"No?" said her mother, then laughed. "I suppose not. When the people of Marignon finally put the fire out and dragged Aetonyx's body out of the rubble, no one knew enough lizard physiology to determine if he was dead or not, and since his skin was cracked and charred and he didn't move they assumed he was, and threw him onto the trash heap at the edge of town. By and by, Aetonyx was able to pull himself up and through a series of improbable events made his way back to... Yes, Shem?"

"But... but... the fire..."

Laph smiled. She should have had children long ago, they were wonderful for feeding her lines. "Oh, yes, the fire, of course. Well, Aetonyx had always trusted Vanlade to come to his aid, but at the same time he was not so stupid as to fail to take precautions on his own, so that he would still have a few tricks to play even if his friend deserted him. So every time there was a knock at the door, Aetonyx had made sure that he had secured upon his body a burning pearl, which he had gotten from the Cave of a Thousand Grieving Phoenixes which I told you about last week. That way, he would be mostly protected from fire, and only his skin would get burnt. And every hatchling knows how easy it is to change your skin..."

<font color="gray">"Oh, burning pearl, very nice, why didn't I think of that?"</font> said Ruli, rolling his eye-sockets. <font color="gray">"Didn't seem to do me any good..."</font>

"That's because they were troglodytes, you fool, fire resistance was totally pointless," she snapped. The yarn was over, and the little lizards looked satisfied, which was good, although Tari appeared to have fallen asleep, and where had Fela gotten to?

<font color="gray">"C'mon, Laph, next time won't be so bad, and besides, I'll still be immortal, so what could possibly go wrong?"</font>

"No, Ruli, for the last time, you were a terrible wraith lord," said Laph firmly, staring him down. "And you're making a pretty lousy ghost, too," she said, and nodded toward Fela, who was experimenting with passing her tail through her ethereal uncle. It went all cool and shimmery...

"Uncle Ruli, I know you're there, tell Mom she told the story wrong," said Fela.

<font color="gray">"And how was that?"</font> said Ruli, carefully enunciating, so his voice sounded as crisp and clear as it possibly could while still resembling leaves floating in the autumn wind.

"Because she was just making things up 'cause of the war and the meanies in Vanheim who won't help us, and that never really happened," said Fela indignantly. "And, and, she shouldn't lie."

<font color="gray">"Sage words, from a winter-egg,"</font> said Ruli, winking. <font color="gray">"Pity Mom doesn't like telling the truth and, oh, I don't know, keeping promises she made."</font>

Laph sighed. "Fela, I promise you that every word I said was true," she said.

"But did they really happen?" said Fela doggedly. The ethereal presence seemed to convulse with what might have been laughter.

"Go play with the others and we'll talk this over later," sighed Laph. "And Ruli, I promise, I'll find you a better form soon." Just as soon as she could come up with something... safe.

Re: Turn 51 yarn
 

Hey kids,

I've brought the maps for yarnspinners up to date: turns 42 - 51. Hopefully this will help any loyal readers follow the epic the battles now raging (slowly) across our fair land.

Start looking at the new maps here

Sedna

Re: Turn 51 yarn
 

I've written about half of my turn 54, and I need more inspiration! How about another turn?

We're close, so close now...

Re: Turn 54 yarn
 

Muszinger

Muszinger recalled a hymn from his childhood. He was sitting on a hard wood bench between his parents. Up front, a man convicted of heresy flogged himself in a wild frenzy of remorse. The choir, high in the lofty recesses of the cathedral lifted up a slow, lonesome song:

<center>And I will lift you up on eagle's wings</center>

The words echoed in him as marched the ornate halls of the palace of Pythium, always just on the edge of real hearing and imagination -- angels' music.

There had been angels defending the gates and towers of Pythium. Hosts of beauty which made the heart ache to look at them and flaming swords to cleanse the wickedness from the hearts of men. Gawain and his knights had tossed them aside like chaff in their charge, and then hunted them down on horseback, hacking their bodies to bloody chunks, which they burnt, dancing around the pyre. Then they sacked the rest of the city, burning and looting.

But now the palace was quiet. Little streams of water murmered in the stillness. Muszinger came to the foot of a spiral staircase. How long before, it could not have been more than six months, had he climbed that other tower in the cathedral at Saran Forest? How many nights ago had he read those orders which had started all this madness, which had plunged the world into bloody war?

<center>Bear you on the breath of dawn</center>

Muszinger reached the top of the tallest tower in Pythium, and gazed back toward the broken tower of Saran, and beyond that to the Mountains of Madness and Fort Doom. These few leagues where he had been trapped for years now-- fighting, always fighting. The broken tower still shone a sickly green, and the stories of the evil king of death, Antrax, unleashed upon a hapless world by Polgrave, had reached the ear of every soldier. Polgrave! Dear friend, lost to the light... and now death stalked the lands north and west of them, cutting of any hope of reuniting with loyal forces. Death rode at the head of a wave of nightmares: every heretic burnt by the inquisition, that was the rumor, each bent on seeking revenge upon the living, be they warriors of Man or Marignon.

<center> Make you to shine like the sun </center>

Muszinger watched the stars. Why had the LORD forsaken Marignon, and which in his time? For now, the borders still held, in one bloody battle after another, but they could not last. Avoca had been struck down by heavenly fire in his office in the capitol as he sat praying for angelic aid. Spire was even now stuck desperately alone in a flood of Ulmish and Van armies. The Archbishop of Marignon, if the reports are true, has been driven mad by the evils of Ermor. No, Marignon would fall. The mighty kingdom which had grown so great in the last years would wither utterly to a flickering ember.

But the greatest threat never came from without, but from within, from the rotten heart of man. Polgrave, utterly mad, and doomed, and fallen into blackness. Dear friend, now a pawn of death, and controlled by the black ichor infecting his veins. And according to Esclave, Wic was performing human sacrifices, and promulgating some now gospel about bringing forth the devils to hold back the flood of death which swirled around Fort Doom.

<center>And hold you in the palm of my hand.</center>

Yet the greatest darkness now in a sky of night was Afti-el. So pure when she arrived in this world, so full of heaven's light. What fell beast now stalked the weary world, trailing sickness in her wake? What twisted darkness had brought her low? How had the plans of the almighty LORD been so utterly perverted, that his greatest servant would lead to the destruction of Marignon?

Marignon would fall. But still Muszinger would ride out one last time on the LORD's crusade. He would track down and banish Antrax if he could, and if he could not... he would take his eternal reward. If those stars still held a heaven, he would see the living face of God. And death, afterall... What was it the prophet had said?

There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow.

Even drought bears fruit.
Even death is a seed.

Re: Turn 54 yarn
 

Vanheim turn 54:

In which Anteirios thanks his dead sister, and Molly says good-bye.


Anteirios

She was very pale, and when I embraced my sister Tilneia, she was cold and stiff. But she lived, or something like it. For forty years, we believed she was dead. Now, she stood before me. Someday my curiosity would prevail, and I would question her regarding her condition; not today. My emotions flooded my thoughts, for my sister had returned.

"Thank you," I whispered as I held her.

"For what?" she asked.

"For rescuing my son."

She pulled away from me. "Not soon enough," she replied, with pain in her voice. "Pherios will never be the same again."

"He's with us again. Shh. Don't say another word. Just know: I will be forever grateful."

She contented herself with a small nod and thin smile. She'd changed so much, and yet so little, still chastising herself for minute failings while ignoring accumulated achievements, just as she had before. She had changed, yet in her time away from us, she had not forgotten her family. I had not forgotten her. And now I had the opportunity to learn the answers to questions I thought unanswerable.

"Forty years," I said. "It seemed so much longer. But why? Why did you...leave us?"

"I've missed you terribly," Tilneia replied. "I was so lonely. I kept telling myself we'd speak again, eventually. I knew we would. Forty years is not forever. Our father traveled for fifty before returning to marry mother. Our view of things in Vanheim is always long."

"Father wrote," I said. "Please, dear sister, don't be offended by my questions. You know my faults. I haven't cured my curiosity. And I will bury every question if they would drive you away. But if not, I need to know. Why?"

We sat and drank our family's good wine as she told me.

"There is a way in which you and I are more alike than either of us is like Belletennares. You do not have Alteion's gift of prophecy. Nor do I--almost.

"It was a single blinding vision," she said. "I had not known it before, nor have I since. But in that instant, I saw Vanheim's need, and the means to fill it. You are a scholar, brother. You must have seen it. We were not what we had once been. Magic that had propelled armies to victory over the giants was lost, within our own living memory. Belletennares tried to explain it to me once, why he could not call lightning anymore. 'It is,' he said, 'as if my mind were a leaky cask. I continued to pull the tap, just as I always had, but the flow of ale became slower and slower, and eventually it was gone. And I no longer remember how to brew any more.'

"I knew we would need the knowledge of magic again, so I hung myself from an ash. I suppose it was audacious, or at the least, pretentious, to think I could follow the paths of the gods like that, as if I were some legendary figure. But it worked! It open my eyes to all the secrets of life and death. It was a beginning. Then I made peace with the dwarves hiding deep in the hills, and so I came to Vanheim. To learn, to research, to teach myself, for that moment when I was needed."

"In hiding," I said. "For all those years, I didn't know the Lady of the Tower was my sister Tilneia."

She would not meet my eyes. "I was afraid. Would you accept me? I hoped so, but I couldn't bear the thought that you might not. Could our house protect me? Forty years ago, I feared not. Vanheim had no tradition of necromancy then. Our house was not as strong. They would have persecuted us, brought us down. You know that is the curse of our house, to bring ill tidings of the future.

"And now...I would not give up what I've learned, but it seems my moment was lost. Perhaps I did not see truly. Perhaps my time is not to come for another decade, or century."

"You are wrong," I said forcefully. "You have guided Vanheim into this War of Ascension. We believed that Belletennares and Pherios warned us of the present times, but we were wrong. You were there first. This age is the age of House Alteion, and it is you who gestated it."

I believe she was pleased at the image, but her smile vanished quickly.

"Then let us see it remains so," Tilneia said. "For I do not wish to live in the age of Vethru."


Molly

At least we had a few more months together before Pherios had to leave. It was good having him around to help understand the visions. We worked on it all the time together. The future was a pretty big mess, but we made enough sense of it for Belletennares to do pretty well up north. Hurray for us!

It was fall when we went for our last ride. We headed up into the hills near his parents' estate, him on his big, black, spooky-untrackable Van horse, and me on my little pony. We both knew, without saying, that it was the last time. We're both seers. It makes things easy between us. He's like the big brother I never had.

We tied our horses and strolled along the hilltop overlooking the estate. We talked about the weather, the war, who was away and who was at home. But then I told him how Mistepeillia and Sennei treated me like family, and how much I liked that. And that was the beginning of the good-byes.

He smiled and tipped his head, which was funny, because unlike Tilneia, who could never keep her neck totally straight, Pherios still had really good posture.

"You've grown up a lot in the time I've known you," he said. "How old are you now?"

"Twenty," I told him.

Pherios laughed. "Still a child, if you were a Van. I'm only fifty-six, and if it weren't for the war, I'd still be at my studies.

"They've been tough times," he continued, "But you've come through them a fine young woman. You're bright, and loyal, and you've learned to stand up to Vans older than my uncle. And I've seen all the young man who trail after you with wide eyes and sweet words."

I blushed. I wondered how he saw it. I knew I appeared as a wren in his visions. I laughed at the image of a gaggle of silly geese following a tiny songbird around.

He laughed, too. "You've made my hard times much easier," he said. "You saved me, once. And I couldn't have done the rest without you." And then he said it, what we were both dancing around. "I'm going to miss you."

Knowing it was coming didn't make it any easier to hear. I felt my eyes fill up with tears. "I'm going to miss you, too."

"It isn't clear what will happen--"

"I know." It was the one future we never discussed. It was dark, really dark.

"I have to go," he said. "There's no other way. And you know that the things we see don't always--"

"I know. It's OK. I figured it out," I told him.

"Figured out what?"

It's funny he didn't see it right away. He'd been living it for years. "The visions. Why we have them. It's not to avoid the bad roads. It's so we know the right roads when we come to them. Right?"

Then he hugged me really tightly, and I didn't want to let him go. But we both know what has to happen, has to happen. We mounted up and started to ride back.

"You never flinched, or looked away," Pherios said. "After I came back. Like this."

"Shut up," I said. "You're practically my brother."

He smiled. "I don't know, you're not very tall," he said, "and all my female relatives have blond hair."

"Shut up!"

"It's true," he insisted, conveniently forgetting Irulia. I let him.

"I'll pack you some meals. You can't cook."

"You don't have to. My mom and Aunt Sennei said they would."

"You'll need it all where you're going," I said, and he sobered.

Because we both saw it. Vethru was headed into dead lands, where there was no game, no crops to scavenge. And that's where Pherios would follow. To Ermor.

vanheim 57
 

You know, we can still finish this thing up in under a year! Just a few more turns to go...

Vanheim 57

In which Pherios asks for Galameteia's sword, and Belletennares ponders the worth of it all


Vethru

"Damn," I swear, throwing the knife onto the table. "Take it away."

I toss the blood-soaked smock on the floor as the corpse is wheeled out. Quellian Ji flutters to my shoulder from the corner he's been hiding in. I should've made him a crow, way back when. Crows don't get as squeamish at the sight of carrion. But no, he was a sailor, and his world had some truly marvelous oceans, so I made him a seagull.

"Hey, boss, I didn't know you could read entrails," he says.

"I can do anything," I reply. "Usually I get other people to do it for me. But it doesn't work right in this world. Bleeping censored dammit, I need a gods-be-damned seer!"

"Are you sure about that, boss? The last four didn't work out so good."

"Shut it, bird."

"Or is that five? Let's see, Pherios, Galameteia, Molly, the lizard, Belletennares...OK, I guess that's one for you. He hasn't run away. Four!"

"Not now!"

Fortunately for him, he shuts up. What do you expect, philosophy from a seagull? He makes his jokes, then he shuts up. It's the only shtick he has.

I don't really need a seer. One of them visited me yesterday.

He'd gotten even sneakier since I hung him. Ji and I were walking back to the castle when he stepped out of the shadows in a small courtyard. There were guards everywhere; he found a way through them to the one place on my path they couldn't see.

"You have something of mine," Pherios said. In the dark, you couldn't even tell what he was. Dead like me.

"Right when I didn't expect you," I replied. "And that, I suppose, is what I should have expected."

"Galameteia's sword," he said. "I'd like it back."

"Your emotions betray you," I told him. I've always wanted to use that line.

"You don't need it. It means something to me. Give it to me, and I'll give you something you do want."

"The world?" I asked.

"The future."

He had me there. "Come up to my tower," I said. I wasn't planning to recapture him, and Pherios didn't ask. I guess he knew it already. He just smiled, and in that smile I saw a maturity that warmed my heart. OK, that's a metaphor. I don't exactly have a heart, and most of the things I use in its place exist on another plane and work best at liquid helium temperatures. But that's really beside the point.

It warmed my heart. I could see it in his smile, in his eyes, in his confident posture. He'd become what I had hoped he could become. I saw that he had mastered life and death, the past and the future. If only he hadn't turned away from me...we would already be ruling this world.

You bet I would trade him his dead girlfriend's sword to hear anything he had to say about the future.

I gave him the blade. He pulled it from its sheath, raised it to his eyes, and watched the thing glisten in the lamplight. For a long moment, I wondered if he had made peace with Galameteia's fate. Pherios couldn't hurt me, but I didn't want to have to hurt him if he decided today was revenge day. But without expression, he returned the sword to its sheath, and, as I knew he would, kept his end of the bargain.

"Ermor," he said. "It all ends in Ermor."

"When?"

"Three months."

Hmm. I guess that splinter sect in Marignon was right after all. Who would've thought it?

Before I could ask more questions, he was gone.

So I really didn't need another seer, or any more animals to cut open. I had it from the horse's mouth. Ermor. It made sense. The source code I was looking for dealt with density. And in this whole world, which was swimming in dead, where did one find the spirits? The insubstantial dead? The incorporeal? The ethereal? The bodiless? In Ermor. Where the Soul Gate lies.

I send word to Belletennares. We're going north.



Belletennares

I can no longer make any sense of this world. The armies of every nation run rampant; if alliances still hold, I can only assume it is due to oversight. We are plunged into chaos, and I foresee no peace for us, those who have survived the turmoil long enough to look upon this, the end of days.

Marignon is dying. We have pushed them to extinction in the north, save for Archbishop Spire and his damned ethereal lions. My scouts say they have few territories left, and they will fall within months. Elsewhere, our armies face other armies across new borders--Tenecheia's demons, Ulm's armored legions...will they move south? The dragon of Ulm, Griffin, has struck our lands and left as precipitously. Will he return in force?

And what of Vethru? His search, for I now know, thanks to the investigations of my brother, sister, and nephew, that he searches for runes of great power, take him north--to Ermor. He asked me if we could defeat the armies of Ulm that besiege Ermor. I told him their forces were vast, that they were a thundering herds whose iron boots trod the earth to dust. That they had iron priests and black Templars. But I also told him, truthfully, for deception in wartime must only be used against one's enemies, that I doubted their skill in magic. He promptly ordered us there, to face this army, so he may plunder whatever riches or knowledge that dead capital contains. It is perhaps the first order he has given me more specific than "defeat our enemies."

I do not know if we have any possibility of prevailing against that steel-clad host, and if we were to prevail, whether we could then defeat whenever forces the zealots still hide behind the walls. But he was insistent; I believe this end-of-the-world frenzy has taken him as well. And at the end of the world, it is best to be sure that god is on your side. So I shall obey, despite what he has wrought upon my nation and my family. I will go to Ermor. I will stand by him in battle. He will not be alone.

Not quite.

My nephew has a plan.

Re: vanheim 57
 

I'm all for finishing soon (says I, not having played my turn yet)... it would be nice to have a little bit of a pause before starting Yarnspinners 3 on Dominions 3: When version numbers collide (?).

Um, here's my yarn for Turn 54:

----
The army paused to wait for dawn. Pots clanged with the hasty evening meals, and lizards shouted to each other to erect the tents and sharpen their falchions one last time. The whetstone ground well into the night. Off in the distance, tall white spires rose from a battered looking castle; some of the damage was clearly years old, while the rest had a more recent origin. There were few lizards to mark the sunset, however, since most were curled up against the cold, dreaming of vengeance, and perhaps of an end of all this fighting.

Pythium was to fall again in the morn.

Laph squinted at the last stack of papers, with barely a centimeter left in her candle. She had hastily drafted her speech for tomorrow, to be given from one of the spires in the distance, and she hadn't even bothered to write a contingency speech in case things went differently. Was she getting lazy in her old age, she wondered? Or was it that foregone a conclusion that it just didn't matter anymore?

She smiled when she picked up the next letter. It was in a bright red envelope, with some bizarrely mystical line drawings on it, and was addressed: "To the yarnspinner. Super-duper-secrett. DONT OPPEN THIS!"

Inside, Fela wrote:

"Dear Mom, Uncle Ruli said I should always inkripped things I send you, and he gave me this super cool secrett paper to write on, in case this is stolened by the enemy. (PUT IT DOWN, YOU DUMB MARINON SPY!) Tari says they're too stupid to be able to read it, but I said Tari was dumb for thinking that. Anyhow, I have been very dillijint and have watched Man's border every day for the last week, and there are no strange cloud creatures or anything, and it really looks quite peaceful, so they're probably not going to attack us sneakily like you were worried. Also, Shem stole my baby scales, and won't give them back, make him stop. Love, Fela."

The next letter was very curt. "CONFIRMED. Engagements between Vanheim, Marignon continue; Vethru seems committed to our fight after all. T'ien Ch'i mobilizing to south, moving on former dead lands. Campaigns progressing well." It was signed by the new Head of the Guild of Empoisonners, who was leading the southern campaign. Laph didn't bother trying to remember his name; there was little point.

Cole wrote a very long and erudite letter, and Laph reflected that his long convalescence was doing wonders for his handwriting. She puzzled for a while over his last paragraph.

"... and I almost pity the few remaining archbishops in charge these days of a crumbling empire, abandoned by their divine ruler. I have some VERY IMPORTANT plans on that matter, but mustn't reveal my secrets before the time is ripe. Let me just say I plan on fighting fire with fire, as it were.... such a pity I cannot join them myself for a good knight roast."

Laph blew out her candle and went to sleep.


Aceline came from a long line of lizard-handlers, and even after the practice had been all but abandoned on order of the new lizard overlords, someone had (wisely) stopped and thought that, perhaps, a trained handler was actually a good thing when it came to bog beasts.

Aceline had two main qualifications for the job. The first was that she was a combat veteran, from the AYE war. The second was that she could count, which was a particularly useful skill in making sure none of the bog beasts wandered into the main camp and accidentally poisoned everyone to death.

".. three of them, come on lads, that's easy!" came the voice of the distant knight, rallying his band in a charge that was aimed more or less directly toward Aceline. She caught a glimpse of a bright shiny shield, and was momentarily disoriented.

"... five, sir..." she heard dimly, but things were moving fast now, and she had signaled the bog beasts to engage in battle formation seventeen. To the lay observer, all bog beast battle formations looked suspiciously like the giant reptiles just sitting there until their attackers fell over gasping from the poison, but that was why a specialist such as Aceline was necessary.

Besides, this time she was attempting a new flanking maneuver, and as the knights rushed past her hiding spot at the edge of the woods she motioned the largest of the bog beasts, who had been hiding with her, toward the unprotected flanks of the knights.

There were, as a matter of fact, six bog beasts. She noted idly where the innumerate knight commander fell, so that she could return for his shield, in a week or two, after the fumes had dissipated.

Re: vanheim 57
 

Great fun to hear from Pythium/Quantum again.

Marignon Turn 57 is here:

Esclave

The floodwaters of Marignon's enemies have covered the land. Now the deathless roar of their pounding surf laps at the few remaining rocks of resistance: Ermor, Fort Doom, Camelot, and Marignon herself.

Muszinger and Gawain are dead, their bodies eaten by the lizards who sacked Pythium.

The Archbishop of Elkland is dead. Madness took him, and he marched forth from Camelot against the Manish army, leading with him into death the last of the knights of the Chalice. Now the city on the hill lies empty and defenseless. If my son is there perhaps Man will spare him when they take control. Perhaps not. He is the spawn of Afti-el. Will an infant's cry be enough to save him?

Afti-el is/was dead. But Hell could not hold her and Heaven did not want her, so she has returned to slay more innocents at Marignon, and perhaps, if we're lucky, to butcher the lizard horde which tears and claws at the gates of the holy city.

Archbishop Polgrave is... undead? We heard he was killed when the lizards overran the broken tower, but we have also heard that he is now in Marignon, aided by two mysterious acolytes who fled T'ien Ch'i's destruction of the Shadow Watch. God's holy fire continually blasts this heresy, this man who used magic to cheat death.

We will not hear further news of the war. A vast company of Man's troops surrounds us, and slowly breaks down the defenses of our mountain stronghold. There is no way that Afti-el will be vanquished and peace made in time to spare us.

Wic remains as cheerful as ever, somehow still believing that the death which comes for us all swiftly will pass over him. He thinks demons will come to our aid and hold death at bay. But we are death. Marignon is now the corruption the LORD charged us to fight. The sound of daily prayers is a death rattle. And Man, like an unstoppable force of nature, will break through and kill us all.


Foen

I can no longer see. The blackness of Ermor has finally robbed me of sight. This is what I hear:

My fellow druids have abandoned the corrupt faith of Marignon and turned to our old ways. We have brought forth great vine ogres and summoned the spirits of the old trees of Ermor. These ghosts and mindless things mix with the awful snakes still crawling out of the body of Marignon where it hangs, chained before the Soul Gate.

There is no more than a half dozen living left in the land of the dead, but that is good, for there is no food. We sustain ourselves on an endless supply of foul wine. The Ulmish army sieging us is not so lucky. With nothing to eat for miles and a great force, the mass of living men out there are slowly dying as the twin horsemen of disease and starvation hunt them day and night.

The Soul Gate laughs as these, near death, kill themselves as they tear down the gate of Ermor in order to kill the few living within.

Perhaps I am not blind. Perhaps there was just no light. Now great arcs of fire flow from the Archbishop's withered form. It is Ulm, they are in the gate. I cannot but fight, and it is a simple matter to convince them that the air they breath is poison, for it is. The mass of fire snakes boils at the entrance. A once mighty charge of sacred knights falters, breaks. Poison and flame. Ulmish infantry roast in their shells and bile pour from their mouth. Most welcome death.

Now mighty stone crushers come forth and meet our ogres at the gate. There is stalemate: rock and vegetation fight their ancient, slow battle. But Marignon, crying each time in pain -- for he longs to be cut down and killed -- summons forth unearthly flame, melting the very rock of these creature ones by one by one. The granite melts and pools.

We watch, without emotion as the Ulmish magicians and priests on the other side of the wall who had fainted in the choking dust are trampled by a few rampant ogres.

But a new Ulm army has us under siege. They will break through again, storm again. We have no more power to restore the vine men. There are no more spirits to call forth. Death comes.

C\'tis 57
 

Coming up on the final turn here... I believe the plan is to host turn 60 as our last one, but not 61? Which means, after turn 59 hosts (which most of us have already submitted), we have but one turn left to play...

--- C'tis, Turn 57 ---

As the army rolled out of Pythium, the leaves of autumn were falling fast. Laph was one of the last lizards to leave the former capital, detained with harried last minute correspondences and other minutiae that fell to her as the senior non-military lizard. It was late evening when she mustered the final few troops, barely more than an honor guard, for the march north. Her mind was filled with a thousand details of things she should have done or might still be able to persuade other people to do for her, and so it was mere happenstance that her eyes caught upon the fountain.

She had walked through this courtyard, between the scholars' quarters in the center of town and the temporary camps of C'tis high command, many times in the weeks following the defeat of the Marignonese squatters, and had never thought much of it. But now that she stopped and looked around, she realized that it had once been quite a grand courtyard. Come to think of it, perhaps it wasn't a coincidence that all the grand boulevards in Pythium converged here; and she paused for a moment, imagining the massed hordes of soldiers crowding the streets, harangued into their final deadly war. The courtyard had been deserted as long as Laph had been in the city. But with the original Pythite residents long since supplanted and suppressed by first Mannish and then Marignonese conquerors... perhaps that wasn't surprising.

It certainly didn't look like much now. The former heart of the empire was now weed-grown, and here and there cobbles had been pried from the streets, probably to rebuild houses destroyed by war after war. Half a dozen stray dogs and iguanas slept in the fading sun. And the fountain in the center, heavily chipped, long since dried of water, though remarkably devoid of pigeons or other nasty scale-leavers so common in these lands, shouldn't have really caught her eye, except for the way it seemed to wink at her as she walked past.

And not a friendly wink, she thought absently, before whipping her head around to get another look. The fountain remained resolutely stony, worn, with no trace of any carvings that could be considered the face of any creature, or even eyes; it was, therefore, completely incapable of winking. But she stared at it nonetheless for a good long while, until one of her bodyguard finally prodded her forward, to the last conflict with Marignon and the inevitable destruction of their forces on this front.

It was just a broken fountain, after all, and Laph had a long march to the Saran Forest. She shivered a little, and blamed the nightfall, and the impending winter.

---

Time weighed heavily on Lugal's shoulders.

Or at least, it really should have. Hema knew he was far and away the oldest lizard in C'tis. He had lived through more wars than he could count, even considering that she suspected he couldn't count past five. To hear him tell it, he had lived through the end of the world more than seven times, and Hema wondered, as so many had before her, just what was the plural of "apocalypse".

He certainly looked scarred and ancient enough for Hema to believe that at least some of his stories of survival against impossible odds were real, even if she doubted that he had single-handedly defeated a million squids in the Caves of Time, as he had claimed just that morning before the council at the High Rock. Last week, he had gone on at some length about how he was the sole survivor of the Silver Forest Massacre, in spite of being set on fire by the great dragon Astairr himself, whom he had then cursed with the total annihilation of his realms. And so forth.

These days, most able bodied lizards were out at the front fighting, or holed up in their towers frantically devising clever ways to liberate Marignon from the tyrannous theocracy of the Inquisition. The council of elder lizards was the domain of the very old, and consisted, on most days, of half-mute revenants. Lugal loved the amount of floor space they gave him to propound his ideas, and how nobody ever interrupted him any more, and Hema had learned more about his past than she had ever wanted to know. He should be well on his way to senile obsolescence by now, barely able to muster up a good harangue.

But he remained remarkably untouched by the ravages of time.

Hema herself had woken up one morning to discover a mysterious wound – and not fresh, but long-ago scarred over, the memory of some distant battle she had been in, except that she had never seen combat in her life. Her most challenging day-to-day experience was surviving the job of Liaison to Crazy-Elder-Lizard, which had, admittedly, brought her close to death on more than one occasion. (The incident with the herd of rampaging dead elephants still stalked her nightmares.) But she had, remarkably perhaps, completely escaped permanent harm. Until now.

It wasn't just her. The streets of C'tis, though mostly deserted, saw more and more newly-made cripples, and reports flew in from all around the world, not just in lizard lands, that the young were aging and suffering maladies far sooner than they should, and the old dying prematurely. She had tried to see a healer, when she had first noticed her own malady; but he merely shook his head. "I fear that wound will never fully heal," he sighed. And he stared sadly at her through his remaining good eye, the other lost to forces unknown.

Laph had sent a cryptic letter trying to make sense of it, that Hema puzzled over. "... and at Saran Polgrave was killed in battle, run down by undead horsemen, but the few Marignonese we could question seemed overjoyed at his death, and cackled about him becoming 'more powerful than you could possibly imagine', before taking their own lives in an attempt to join him. Rumors are that he has been 'born again' in Marignon of all places, but it is hard to determine reality from religious hallucination with these people..."

So perhaps this was one final attempt by Marignon to hurry on the end of the world, and somehow they had sped the hands of time itself for everyone, as they had also hastily precipitated their own demise. Or perhaps Hema had really been in battle, in the AYE wars maybe, and had simply... forgotten her war wound.

It all seemed as likely as Lugal, walking jauntily down her path with a brace of coneys over his shoulders, come to borrow her spices or harangue her into working on his latest doomsday weapon, who could say? Perhaps even time recognized that this was not a lizard to be trifled with, and quietly left him alone.

---

Cole paused in his garden. His agapanthus had grown to such enormous height that even in dragon form he could stop and admire them without stooping too low; which was good, because his back ached these days. Cole's wounds, he cheerfully admitted, were entirely legitimate, the penalty for roasting one too many knight, and gladly paid.

He turned to his roses. He had had great hopes for this breed, a brilliant shade of orange, but the plant seemed on the verge of death. Perhaps a little more fertilizer, he reflected. He would have to remember not to eat all of the cows for lunch, though it was hard. The C'tis mountain cow had such a delicate flavor.

In the fort, where the dragon sometimes resorted to human form, there was a stack of letters from everywhere in his dominion. It seemed the small lizards were marching on Marignon itself, while Man and Vanheim and even T'ien Ch'i (such a cute little civilization, such quaint notions they had about dragons) were marching on all of Marignon's lesser fortresses. Epic battles were being fought, full of derring-do and stunning heroics.

Cole moved on to the gold roses. He had been too negligent of late, and little pyrite weeds were slowly encroaching on his magnificent creations, the finest of all the flowers of his garden. The dragon hummed happily as he puttered. Wars came and went; and after the last knights had disappeared from the land, Cole had frankly lost interest. But roses, now...

Re: C\'tis 57
 

edit: all removed; stupidity on my part regarding timing

New turn?
 

Hey Tauren,

Is anyone still missing a turn? I was hoping I could get Turn 60 (the final one I might add) to play before I start traveling on Saturday.

If someone still hasn't played, by all means wait for them, but I'd appreciate it if they could try to get their turn in. Marignon's getting stormed this turn, and my lizards are getting restless...

Thanks,
puffyn

Re: New turn?
 

Sorry... I've been really busy of late. I'll try to get it out when I get back home later tonight, like 5-10 hours from now.

Re: New turn?
 

Yay, thanks Tauren. You've been a good host, and very soon now we'll stop bugging you about our turns http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif

Re: New turn?
 

Ugh... sorry... got a little distracted last night.
So, this is the last turn; the world is coming to an end.
Obviously, though, if anyone is interested in continuing to play, I would be happy to continue hosting. Even if people are tired of writing yarns, we could continue on as a normal game, and maybe I'll try to enforce an actual schedule.
Whatever you guys want to do...

Re: New turn?
 

Just to clarify -- we're hosting one more turn, yes?

Re: New turn?
 

thats the plan

Re: New turn?
 

We're not gonna come this far without finishing, right?

--------------
Turn 60
--------------

Esclave

The Archibishop of Spire marched a thousand leagues from the dead lands East of Ermor with a few loyal priests and a pride of great lions, fighting every inch of the way against Vans, lizards, and Man. We assume he was trying to reach us, but for what purpose none can say. We watched, helpless, from our beleaguered walls, as this lion-hearted man was cut apart by Angels of Man, hours short of his year-long goal.

Yet perhaps his death was not in vain, for the leaders of Man launched their attack on our gate the next night. Perhaps they thought Spire came at the head of a grand army? They misjudged. Marignon has no armies any more. But attacking at night was folly for the army we can muster these days is a force of undead, and at night these terrors overwhelm the senses.

My dreams of late have been stalked by the King of Banefires, corruptor of the world, whose presence in the world causes us to grow old and sick and die. He appeared on the edge of shadow as Man attacked. Sickly archers came to serve his sickly crown, and their bolts shivered the flesh from the forces of Man: angel and devil, knight and wolf.

Wic stood laughing in a crowd of his young girls, bellowing with joy as he brought forth fire against the forces trying to breach the gate, standing unafraid as he shouted orders to the men of the tower guard, who somehow found courage to fight against the terrible foe and with our terrible allies.

Wic was invincible. He disappeared in a hail of arrows from the enemy longbow, but not a one touched him. A horde of imps tore through out lines, ripping body parts and leaving a trail of blood, but the boiling swarm passed around Wic like a summer's breeze.

Then he was gone. The sky opened and flames poured down, killing everyone around me. I watched for a second, untouched, as seasoned witch hunters around we burnt brightly in the night. I turned to Wic, but there was only his cloak, flaming and flailing. I think I heard his mighty laugh once more before the world exploded in flame again, killing every undead within sight. Then, all that was left were charred embers of cloth, floating up to heaven.

I guess we won somehow. We found ourselves still under siege, and Antrax still present, more blasphemous in the pale light of dawn. I looked around at the remaining witch hunters, but they all tried to avoid seeing where Antrax stood in flame. And so I said my last prayer to the God who has deserted us, and gathered the torn remnants of my cloak.

"Antrax!" I cried, "Foul corruption of fire, dark spawn of death. You cannot stay here. Vanish back into the grave."

The green flame parted and within I saw a young man with nine fingers and my eyes and Aftial's bright hair.

"What, father? Would you kill me now? Look how quickly I've grown. Look how powerful I've become. I just saved your life. Yours, and all these other pathetic fools."

I looked into the eyes of my son, but they were empty. He spoke again.

"But you can't touch me. Hurt me and you hurt yourself. It is appointed that I stay here, at the grave of Afti-el, and sap the youth of the world from its bones until everything dies."

I reached out an arm, and plunged through the sickly flame, which devoured my clothing, but not my arm. I grabbed him by the wrist. He grew into a mighty king, towering over the mountains with a crown of dark stars, but I steered his arm as easily as a child's, and brought him to the gate.

"Begone, devil. Farewell son I might have known. You may not return."

And though the fires outshone the sun and melted the gate of the fort, the thing snarled and floated down the road away from Ft. Doom. I watched my son within turn old and gray and wrinkled, and then he vanished into the waiting force of Man.

Foen

I saw, in my mind's eye, the city of Marignon fall to the lizards. I watched as mighty undead beings and warriors fell under the scaly horde. I looked, as Polgrave, now a leathery shell of his former self, returned again to the ground, this time to feed the worms forever. The last true-hearted defenders of the city fell under claw and bone. While Afti-el struggled outside on the field, the lizards reached the Cathedral of Marignon, built with the corner-stone of the old church at Ermor, before the fall. The building was torched and burnt long into the sky. The doors to the house of Just Fires were broken, and the inquisitors there all sliced apart. The dungeons were opened, and the rabble of condemned witches and heretics stood blinking in the bright blue light of the sun, and around them they watched the complete destruction of Marignon.

Still Afti-el fought outside the gate, and the bones of the skeletons melted as they closed upon her. But at last I heard heaven scream, and Afti-el was buried under a horde of the undead, and did not rise again.

And as Afti-el collapsed there came a cry from the heart of the dead city, once as mighty as vanquished Marignon. I rushed to the Soul Gate where the Archbishop of Marignon yet hung. The inky nothingness beyond the bridge was shrinking, swirling into nothingness, and I recalled the words of Ami to Afti-el: "By killing me you body and soul now hold the gate open."

I watched in disbelief as the gate shrank. Marignon let out a little sigh, and went limp. I rushed to his wasted, shrunken form, and took his head upon my lap. A dark crown lay upon his brow, and thorns twisted in and out of his skull.

"Marignon," he croaked, "How is Marignon?"

I turned my face from his and put on a brave voice, "My lord, the Pretender Afti-el is vanquished. She has left the earth for the last time."

"And the city? The cathedral?"

"They are lost."

A great shudder wracked his body, but his voice came again, stronger, "The LORD giveth and the LORD taketh away. Blessed be the name of the LORD." He looked at my skeptical face, "The LORD saw that Marignon was too corrupt, Foen. He sent us Afti-el so that our own pride would wipe us clean."

I could not help but think that an almighty God could reform the church in a less destructive fashion. The coming of Afti-el had torn the world apart and bathed it in blood. Marignon was still speaking,

"...now we can begin again. A new church, a new kingdom."

I did not share his optimism. There was nowhere in the kingdom yet where men of Marignon lived free. Everywhere they were under siege or occupation.

"Then come, my lord, we must get you away from this place. The armies of Ulm will soon break through again and kill us, but we might be able to hide somewhere in the darkest place in the old city."

"No. No. Don't you see? We are the last remnants of the old, corrupt Marignon. We, too, must vanish into the night. Can you help me to the gate?"

In the end I had to carry him, and prop him up against the gate of skulls. And there we stood, hand in hand, until the end.

Re: New turn?
 

Is that a speculative turn 60, or did I miss an email?

Re: New turn?
 

I got a turn 60 on May 30th and submitted the final turn. I haven't seen the results yet.

Re: New turn?
 

That's what I meant. I was waiting for the Final Hosting before my turn 60 goes up.

I am more than half through with my epilogue, though.

Re: New turn?
 

Woo-hoo! We finished!

Big thanks to Tauren for the marathon hosting!

Some random thoughts and questions...

What was Pan's pretender? I never got a look at it.

I didn't bring my characters 'onstage" into the game until the last minute, and wouldn't you know it, they wouldn't stick to the script. Pherios and Vethru were supposed to die in their final storming of Ermor. The yarn will reflect my intended reality.

I give an unofficial "win" to Man with C'tis in second. Marignon gets the "most dramatic suicide" award.

It was all great fun. I didn't think I would keep up, but it turned out better than I had hoped. I will post my last yarns before I move, and by the time I'm settled, maybe it'll be time for ys3 in dom3.