PBEM Game: Yarnspinners 2 (Running)

[puffyn]

I second that. It's a busy week coming up for me too, and I need a little more time to work on my next yarn(s)...

[djo]

Here is Vanheim 36: a long one, but keep reading...the second half is better than the first.


In which Vethru meets an old acquaintance, and Pherios loses more than his way.


Vethru

My scouts have found something interesting in Imictan, which we've finally retaken from Pythium. Again. The province is still chaotic, and I swear, if I didn't know that this world was without a deity at the moment, I'd say that God was pissed at Imictan. I take a tough crew with me; a small army of dead, led by Plague the Bane. Kor is here, or maybe it's Gor. Or was Gor the one who was killed in Venna? I can never keep the dwarves straight.

I've brought Irulia of Alteion with me. I don't know her well, but the word is she's a tough *****. Kestumaia and Lorakeia, my two Valkyrie bodyguards, know her, and they grumble and glare behind her back, so it's probably true.

I leave Quellian Ji home. He's getting moody. I tell him to go north and make sure the Air Force is doing its job against Ermor.

We reach the ruins by midday. My guards are all dead (again). "Pherios is here," I say. "Look sharp. If you see him, try to capture him, but don't hurt him."

We circumambulate the statue, widdershins, into a world with little light and less color. Irulia looks at me questioningly. Plague squints. "We're in a pocket universe," I tell them. "Watch yourselves. Different rules apply here. Be careful with magic--I get the feeling it's not as puny as in your world."

Kor grumbles--I'm sure it's Kor now--and I say, "I don't care what your grandfather told you about the old days, your magic is puny now."

When we reach the first branching in the maze, I send Kor off to the north, with Plague, because I want to keep her on my good side. I give them each a dozen dead and a few wights. "Look for Pherios. Bring him back if you can. I'm headed east." East is where I sense the first thread of what I hope will become a thick skein of power.

As I walk, it becomes clearer that what I'm feeling really is what the stone angel called "The Rune." I used to call it "The Plan" myself, before I found a better metaphor in a high-tech world. It's permeating this entire dimension. For someone like me, who's seen at least a piece of the bigger picture, it's a simple matter to follow the emanations to their source.

Along the way, I'm attacked by some strange shadowy creatures. They aren't real shadows. That would be too easy. I know a couple dozen ways to deal with things that are dead or ought to be. These things are kind of like cold holes in space. They try to grind you up and suck you in. I tell my Valkyries to stay back, and while the shadow things try to drain the life out of something already dead, I search my brain for the right spell to take care of them. Aha. Fiat lux. At my words, they explode in brilliant light. Oh, ho! Magic is strong in this dimension. This was going to be fun.

There's a palace, of course, at the end of the labyrinth. Totally black. Topped by three spires. Very predictable. Undoubtedly inside, I'd find some kind of self-styled existential evil, and judging by its guards, it'll probably be insubstantial as well. These guys are all the same. Let me give you some advice. If anyone ever offers you immortality, but you need to give up your body and become a "being of pure thought," or some such nonsense, refuse. You'll hate it, and like all the rest of them, you'll eventually go nuts. Keep your body, like I did. Food and sex, that's what keeps you sane. Friends don't let friends discorporate.

So I get myself psyched up for a fight against pure evil, which doesn't sound so bad, because this dimension has my mojo flowing, and when I walk into the throne room, I'm more surprised than I've been in a thousand years, because I know this guy.

"Who dares intrude upon my domain?" thunders the shadowy form at the end of the hall. "Know that your suffering will seem eternal, and you will beg to serve me before your ending."

At least he doesn't look like an eyeball. These dark, incorporeal guys always like eyeballs.

"Save it for the tourists, Graknor," I say, as I walk toward him.

He stops ranting. When you get old, you develop a lot of tricks to keep your memories straight, and Graknor is a lot older than me. It only takes him a few seconds. "Well, well, well...little Vethru. You've hung around longer than anyone would have guessed. And should I expect old Apichio to walk in behind you?"

"He's moved on," I say. "It's just me."

"And Vethru! What's this? You're dead! What would he say?"

That's the mark of a survivor. A couple dozen millennia pass, and he remembers exactly what an old wizard and his apprentice were arguing about. Always probing for leverage. And dead on, too--Apichio never approved of necromancy. He died and moved to a higher plane, his work unfinished. I took the path less traveled, and it's made all the difference.

More and more shadow creatures enter the hall. Many small ones, a few large ones. My Valkyries look around nervously.

"And what brings you here? Not still looking for magic words, are you? After all this time?" Graknor asks.

Wait--that was a bit too eager. "Curious you'd ask. Makes me wonder why I find you here."

"This old place? It's quiet, comfortable. Out of the way."

"Don't condescend, Graknor," I say. "This place is lousy with magic. You know what I'm after. You got anything?"

The darkness around me starts to ripple. There are now shadow creatures seeping out of the walls. Larger, more solid forms are entering from the corners. "You are in no position to presume so," he replies. "This is my world. I make the rules here."

Kestumaia and Lorekeia stay close, tense, but my intuition tells me Graknor is only bluffing. In the old days, he'd kill anyone who so much as looked at him wrong. He hadn't even leaned on me yet. Last time we met, I was young and still learning. He had no way of knowing my power now. He should at least be testing me, trying to gauge it.

Then I notice it. "Graknor! I can't see through you any more!"

"The darkness hides many mysteries," he says. "You'd be foolish to attempt to penetrate them."

Another passed opportunity! He should have at least killed one of my minions by now. It's almost discourteous of him not to.

"How long have you been here?" I ask.

"Long enough to make it my own," he snarls. "Long enough to learn its ways. Long enough to have buried intruders far more dangerous than you."

The power...it isn't a source I'm sensing. It's an effect--a vast effect, centered on Graknor. Solidity. Of course. I smile. "How does it feel," I ask, "to be trapped like a rat in a cage?"

"You dare!" he cries. "Do you want to leave this place alive?"

I don't bother correcting him. That slip tells me that I've hit it. I know his weakness. Time to put up or shut up. If this dimension isn't as mana-rich as I thought, this could be difficult. But I've got a number of high-powered spells that I haven't been able to use in Inland, and I was itching to try. "I'll walk out before you do. You're stuck."

That does it. He knows that I know. He signals his court, but before they can attack, I freeze my dead, to keep them out of the way, and shift my Valkyries to a timeless side dimension for safekeeping. Then I let loose.

It feels good. I catch the first wave of shadow creatures in a dimensional vortex, and dissipate the second wave with a mini-nova (always good against darkness-based enemies).

Graknor counters by opening holes in space-time around me, about twenty-five, I think. I feel their tidal forces trying to suck me in. I increase the local gravitational gradient in a ring around me, and they drop through the floor. I lose a few toes on my right foot in the process.

His more solid minions are upon me now. I take advantage of the fact that they're made of normal matter, and I suppress all the molecular orbitals in their bodies. Their atoms don't stick together anymore. Fortunately I don't need to breathe. Powdered minion is highly carcinogenic.

The hall is nearly clear. Graknor pulls out his trademark power. He's channeling the pure essence of emptiness, which is sort of what he is. Or was. He can't pull it off anymore. I shrug it off, and then I reach out and solidify his outer shell. Now he's just roiling black fog caught in a glass statuette.

"Damn you," he says, twisting in his prison. "How did you know?"

"How did it happen?" I ask. "Was that your palace, in the ruins? Or were you visiting? Or maybe summoned by the local wizard?"

He says nothing.

"And then a stranger came to the court. You threatened him, he took offense, you didn't back down, and he congealed you. Stuck you here forever. Not only turned you half solid, but bound you to the very spot."

The churning inside his shell increases, but it's secure. He can't get out.

"Over the years, the best you could do was create your own dimension, right here. And it's been a long time, hasn't it? Quite a comedown for world-shifting creatures like you and me."

"Just shut up and kill me," Graknor says. "I don't need to hear the ravings of a mere stripling like you."

"I'm not going to kill you," I tell him. "Not yet. I want to know about who did this to you, what he said, everything he did. Everything you know."

"Free me," he says, "And I'll tell you everything. Just get me out of this world."

"This isn't a negotiation."

"I'll serve you. For a thousand years."

"You don't get it, do you? I've been searching for fragments nonstop since the last time we met. And I've been successful. You can't stop me. Someone came along and plugged you into the equations. And I'm the mathematician."

"If you won't free me, I'll tell you nothing!" he says.

I really doubt that.

* * *

After I was finished with Graknor, it was a simple matter to fold this universe enough to meet up with Plague, Kor, and Irulia again.

"Is everything all right?" Irulia asks. "I heard a fairly unpleasant scream."

"I met an old acquaintance," I say. "He needed to be persuaded to answer my questions. But we're done now. Time to go. Any sign of Pherios?"

"None," says Irulia. Kor mumbles the same.

I hesitate before I collapse the dark dimension behind us. I regretted leaving it for the magic-poor Inland, but what could you do?

Oh, well. With the information I have, I'm one step closer to something beyond magic. Magic is only a way to cheat the rules. I intended to rewrite them.



Pherios

Imictan was a cursed province. Conquered by Pythium, then overrun by troglodytes, it had changed hands a dozen times since the beginning of the war. We owned it now. There weren't many people in the streets, and half the buildings were burned out or abandoned. It wasn't a pleasant place to be. But I had two reasons for coming: first, something Vethru wanted was here, and I knew where. Second, only in a place like Imictan could I find the people I needed to steal it away from him before he got to it.

"They're ready for you," said the barman. As he hurried away from me and the private room where they waited, I unwrapped the bandage around my left hand. The wound left by Galameteia's blade was still open and seeping. I hoped that the sight of it would give me a reputation as a badass. I was too well-educated to pull it off by my words or manner. An ugly, decaying wound might make the right first impression.

There were six mercenaries drinking in the back room, all of them too wild for organized warfare. My uncle told me they existed in every conflict. People who liked war too much. In Vanheim, we make them into einhere, and three of them were just that, renegades from our army. Another was a deserter from Marignon. He was brash, loud, and angry. The other two sat apart from the rest. Two women, as savage as the men, if not more so. One, a minotaur from Pangaea. The other, a Valkyrie. I knew her, or of her, anyway.

"Good evening, Maliana," I said. "Far from home, aren't we?"

"From what I hear, my lord, neither yours nor mine any longer," she replied, with a healthy dose of sarcasm when she said "my lord."

"So what's it about, then?" asked Reggie, the Marignonian.

"Seven gold each," I said, "For one raid."

They murmured. That was more than a month's pay for your average mercenary.

"Plus anything you can plunder, after I've found what I'm looking for."

Tasha, the minotaur, said something in a language I didn't understand. I interrupted Maliana as she started to translate. "Most likely half of you won't make it. And where we're going may drive a few of you mad. That's why."

Reggie snorted. "What scares you don't necessarily scare me, mate."

"He's coming, isn't he? Vethru?" asked Maliana.

"Sooner or later," I said. "He won't be alone when he does."

Reggie smiled and cracked his knuckles. "Well, then. Seven gold, and a proper fight besides? What are we waiting for?"

* * *

"Only five of them? And all deaders? No problem," said Reggie. And they weren't. Half of my mercenaries didn't get to draw their swords.

We were high on the slopes of a small mountain; leafless trees poked through a few inches of snow. The five zombies had been patrolling an area that was curiously flat. Once we reached it, the others could see what I found on my previous visit. We were standing in sparse ruins, in the remains of a courtyard. A few crumbling walls poked through dead ivy. The amorphous shape in the center of the plaza was an eroded statue.

"We're here," I said. "Now it gets strange. Walk around the statue," I told them. "No, the other direction."

"What the hell difference does it--" Reggie's jaw dropped when Tasha disappeared. "Sonofa*****!"

"Where are we?" asked Maliana, when we had all emerged into the eerie, twilight landscape. There was no color in this world. A dim full moon bathed us in pale light. One of the einhere lit a torch. It flickered gray and drew no color out of our clothing, our gear--or our flesh. We might have been ghosts.

"Somewhere else," I said.

"No [censored]," said Reggie.

"This isn't our world. Be careful. I'm looking for a building, possibly a temple. It'll have inscriptions." I was thinking of the papers that Vethru had me show around Triastellus, two years ago. Some of them had the look of stone-cut lettering.

They were unruly, as one would expect. We had spread out a fair bit over the dark, rolling plain, when I heard Tasha roar. "A labyrinth!" called Maliana. it sat at the beginning of rough, rocky territory. The walls were ten feet high, and it was open to the sky. It extended across our path, with no way around. It was the only sign of habitation we had seen, so I took us into it. Tasha, predictably, took the lead.

After only three turns, I'd lost my bearings. You wouldn't think it could be possible, but I did. The moon seemed to shift in the sky, as did the few stars I could see. By the fifth turn, I saw Tasha hesitate, just for a second. Reggie did, too. "[censored], are you lost? Damn animal."

"Why don't we rip off your balls to mark the trail?" said Maliana.

"Flying *****," I heard him mutter.

After an hour, we had found several small rooms, most of them empty. Inside the ones that weren't, bones. Old ones.

"Screw this, there's no plunder here," said Reggie.

"Do you want to go back?" I said.

"Quiet," said Maliana. "I hear something."

No one else did. "Take a look aloft," I said.

She was gone only a minute. While she was away, we struggled to perceive anything in the darkness. Nothing stirred, except perhaps the whispering wind. "It's too dark to see [censored]," Maliana said. "I'm not risking getting lost. But I definitely hear something ahead."

We pressed on, and soon we all started to hear distant voices, conversing quietly in a language we couldn't understand. I didn't need to order them to draw their weapons as we sneaked forward. We rounded one last corner, and then we all heard it. The whispering again, but behind us.

The dark pressed in on us. The wind blew chill, and ghostly forms boiled over the walls, surrounding us. They were diffuse, and cold. The einhere were cut off from the rest of us. "Onbec!" cried Reggie, "St. Onbec!", as he waded into the dark mass of them. His sword cut air. All their swords cut air. There was nothing to these monsters. They weren't proper shadows--I could deal with those. These were wispy, cold yet jagged when they slashed you. The fallen einhere began to scream, not the berserk scream of their kind, not even the scream of the tortured or dying. They screamed like their souls were being ripped from their bodies.

Tasha rushed in, trying to trample. They swallowed her, too. "Wing and spear!" yelled Maliana, and she surged forward, but I grabbed her arm and dragged her away. Only Reggie still stood, and his pointless fury was a thing to behold. I thought of Molly, then, and I cast a lightning bolt at him, just as they overwhelmed him. It flashed brighter than I had ever seen before. Some of them scattered, some disintegrated in the flash. Others came for us. Maliana and I fled through the twisting passages. Thankfully, the lightning had done its job: there were no screams to follow us.

* * *

"Rich boy had his fun? Are you done playing soldier now?"

I ignored her. We'd been wandering in the maze for hours. Twice the whispering shadows had come for us, and twice I had driven them back with violent, blazing lightning. But even though we had only seen them twice, we heard them whispering around every corner. And every corner looked the same as every other corner. The moon was now high in the sky, and even if it had never strayed from a predictable path in the sky, its position overhead made it useless for navigation.

"Did you forget your compass? What kind of a sailor are you?"

She wasn't as angry as Onbec, or even Reggie, but I could see why she got thrown out of the Valkyries.

"Are you sure you're related to Belletennares? He conquered ten provinces and lost fewer people than--" Suddenly she stopped.

And that was why I tolerated her. She had the senses and reflexes of a cat. "Someone ahead," she whispered. "Someone real."

We stepped silently through an opening on the left and came face to face with someone else moving just as silently. Only surprise kept our drawn weapons from being used.

"Pherios," said the woman. "I was told you might be here."

She was tall and thin, and dark haired, for a Valkyrie. Her face was carefully expressionless. I had never known my cousin Irulia very well, partly because of that reserve. She was always quiet, and somewhat mysterious, even to the family. She was thought to be clever, and rather fierce, when provoked. She had not been in the capitol when I left.

"Cousin," I said. "You have the better of me. But I'm glad to see you."

Maliana had edged behind me somewhat. She didn't say anything, no doubt sensing that I was her best chance of avoiding offending my cousin and the fifteen dead man behind her.

"Your old boss is here," said Irulia. "I think he's angry with you."

That statement was carefully noncommittal. She was working with him, but was she working for him?

"How is Petema?" I asked.

"We haven't spoken recently."

Not good. "I have my reasons," I said. "I haven't betrayed Vanheim."

"I suppose you haven't."

She wasn't giving me anything. "Irulia, please. Tell him you saw nothing. Point the way out, and we'll disappear."

Irulia motioned me to a corner of the dim room. "What do you know of what he is doing?" she said in a low voice, out of earshot of Maliana.

"If I knew, I wouldn't be here. I only know what he's done. Ask Petema. She knows the story. Ask her about Galameteia."

"What have you seen?"

I hesitated, not wanting any information to get back to Vethru, but I had no choice. I wouldn't raise my blade against family. If she wanted to deliver me to Vethru, she could. "Two wars," I said. "One outside, you probably know with who. One inside."

"Civil war? Why?" she asked. Damn, she was cold. How could anyone ask that question without any trace of curiosity or emotion?

"He's wasting us. He's going to burn through us in this...search. He's going to use us up."

She stared into my eyes. A minute, five, I don't know. The spell was broken by Maliana. "Whispers!" she called softly.

Irulia didn't hesitate. "Ignore the sun," she said. "Look carefully; there are three spires on the eastern horizon. Keep them to your back. And hurry. It gets much worse here at night." She paused, and I thought for a second she was going to embrace me. She didn't. Then she and her dead men were gone, leaving me no wiser as to her intentions.

Maliana and I ran west. We almost made it. On the way, we passed whispers, and moaning, and we heard a single, lingering, tortured scream from the depths of Hel, but we almost reached the entrance before they came. I threw lightning at them, but they were on all sides of us. I turned after every bolt, to cover all angles. Maliana pressed her back to mine as she futilely stabbed at them with her spear. As I tired, she grew furious. I learned that day that a Valkyrie, too, may become a berserker. When her frustration overtook her sense, she sprang forward and thrust her spear into the thick of them, wild and savage as any einhere, and that's when they took her.

I cursed my folly as I remembered the sword at my belt, a sword that she could have used, a sword that surely would have reached them. I drew it, feeling its chill. Fitting that the weapon of a dead Valkyrie would avenge another dead Valkyrie. I advanced, wondering how my rage would serve me.

When I walked around the statue again into the light, numb and battered, I was alone and empty-handed. No answers, no survivors. I evaded the new sentries Vethru had left in the ruins, and I quickly left the cursed province of Imictan. My plan had failed utterly. I'd killed six people in my ignorance. Next time, I would act alone. And I would strike directly at the location where I knew my answers must be: Paistellus. Vethru's castle.

[puffyn]

Here's turn 36... brownie points for whoever recognizes which important cultural works Cole cites to explain his love of gold.

--- C'tis, Turn 36 ---

Laph woke to a tinkling sound, like a thousand tiny bells caught in a stiff breeze, or perhaps hailstones pelting a cavern roof far overhead. But through her tiny window-slit she could the moon a clear sky, and there was only a whisper of a wind as she slipped out of her warm nest to look around.

The moon was half-full (or, as Ruli liked to say, half-empty, she thought with a smile). She could make out many constellations: Draco, the Hydra, the great Egg Nebula – and was that the Curiously Equilateral Triangle? Stargazing was so much more satisfying in the Mark than in the crowded capitol, especially since Ruli had convinced everyone to switch from tallow fat lamps to these clever new lanterns of his own devising, although they did have an unfortunate tendency to explode in the rain.

"Where are you, egg brother?" Laph sighed. She would of course hear if anything happened to him, at what was the fourth siege of Boddern Weald. It had just been so long since they had even been in the same city for more than a few days, and she was so busy these days, what with her new responsibilities...

She heard it again. This time the noise reminded her of a Great Hatching, when dozens or hundreds of tiny lizards all emerged at the same time and crawled over a million shards of broken egg. Laph slipped on her dark blue robes, still stiff and unfamiliar, and wandered out of her quarters.

The castle was quiet at this early hour. Lizards have never liked sitting watch in the cold of night, and since word had come of Cibragol's abdication and the virtual collapse of Pythium much of the tension had leaked out of what was still, technically, a border garrison. Most of the brave defenders of C'tis were elsewhere anyhow, besieging forts left in chaos by the purple people's retreat, or with Ruli and Cole at what would (Laph hoped) be the last great battle of the war. The few remaining city guard were doubtless patrolling somewhere more warm, most likely the heat-lamp district, and Laph did not begrudge them this. It was only her sleep that had been disturbed; and it had not been very restful. Nothing for it then but to figure out the source of that eery, distant sound.

She walked past the teaching halls, where in a few short hours she was scheduled to lecture some of the brightest young hatchlings. She pondered, for a moment, which story would better encapsulate her theme of The Perils of Foreign Entanglements and Empire Building. Perhaps "Aetonyx and the Pangaean Pact"? But no, that was a bit obvious. But would they understand the nuanced subtlety of "Aetonyx and the Noodle Incident"?

She almost walked past the twisting staircase leading deep into the bowels of the castle, before she noticed a faint glimmer of light emanating from below. That was odd. She turned back and stepped gingerly down. Nothing of interest was kept down there, because lizards found it hard to navigate the steep stairwells favored by human architects. It was mostly used for long-term storage or as a dumping ground: for human foodstuffs too unpleasant to eat except in a siege, or stacks of rusty armor awaiting re-smelting if anyone ever had the chance... oh, and Cole's auxiliary backup horde, of course.

Suddenly Laph wished she'd brought a weapon. She couldn't imagine who would be daft enough to raid a dragon horde – it was said dragons could smell each and every piece of their horde a thousand kilometers away, and they were not terribly forgiving of those found carrying liberated horde-gold. But anyone foolish enough to rifle through Cole's treasure was unlikely to be too respectful of the shiny blue robes marking her as his prophet. She rifled through some boxes of mouldering human supplies, and settled on an oddly-cylindrical but hefty club, before moving closer to the light.

It didn't sound like a robbery, though. The sound she had been following was definitely coming from this direction, and had now acquired a deep rumbling hum as counterpoint to what now sounded like a small avalanche of pebbles on a tin roof. For some reason Laph identified the hum as very satisfied, though that made little sense.

But there was a light shining from the door to Cole's treasure room. Someone had hung one of Ruli's sodium lamps by the massive doors, which were now ajar. Laph could now hear the clinking of coins quite clearly, and hefted her club above her head. She inched forward.

A loud voice boomed out.

"Oh, some people say it's folly

but I'd rather have the lolly,

With money you can make a splaaash..."

There was a loud crashing sound, and Laph looked just in time to see a large crimson tail disappear under a colossal mound of gold. The song continued for a while, in the form of a deep reverberating hum.

Cole's head popped up suddenly right in front of her. "Care to join me, Elaphe?" he asked, eyes afire with a kind of joy Laph had not seen in a long time. The dragon laughed as he executed a perfect backflip, and spotting the slightly dazed look in the small lizard's eyes at the sight, he said, as if reciting a creed, "I love the feel of it and the smell of it, and I love to dive around in it like a porpoise and burrow through it like a gopher and toss it up and let it hit me on the head." He gathered a large handful of coins, to illustrate the last points, and sent them flying.

Laph stared at the blissful red scaly face, basking in a rain of gold, and couldn't help but laugh. He made such a silly image, sovereign leader of one of the most powerful nations of Inland, dancing like a hatchling in a pile of red-gold leaves.

I guess that's why I went through with it, she thought to herself, as Cole, seeing his offer of a midnight swim was not instantly accepted, shrugged merrily and began chanting the popular dwarven ditty "Aurum Or" while doing a credible breast stroke.

It's not like he wants the people to worship him, she mused, though of course they did. Even humans living within C'tis lands had spontaneously erected temples in the dragon's honor. But much as Cole enjoyed the attention, it was quite clear that, deep down, he was just in it for the gold. And that purity of intent, for a dragon, made all the difference.

It was why, for all that she argued with Cole about his foreign policy, she didn't regret her choice to become in essence his second-in-command. And it wasn't just so she could try to rein in his more foolish ideas, or even that she'd noticed a small but significant improvement in the power of her stories and the way her audience was smitten by her every word. There was just no hint of malice in the dragon, in stark contrast even to their nominal allies.

She thought with a chill about the conniving self-styled prophet of Man, and naive young Selena, who not only had failed to notice how her growing power was corrupting her, but also was making the fatal error of believing the yarns other spun of her own divinity. Marignon's Inquisition and tangled web of political factions had always terrified her, but if the rumors were to be believed about the darkness of the angel Aftial, the troubled theocracy to the south was in for evil times – and, by extension, so was everyone else around them.

And as for Vethru? Laph just shuddered.

No, if she had to choose her god, even a made up one, she would have to go with the one who believed in letting his subjects more or less do what they wanted, so long as they kept the royal treasuries well-stocked with gold for him to play with, and did not disturb his afternoon naps in the sun.

And I guess I did choose. She understood Ash'embe a little better now, his fierce loyalty to the giant dragon, because for good or for ill she was tied to Cole, and to C'tis, and only death would sever that bond now. She could feel somehow that this land, and the treasure vault in particular, were powerful havens for lizardkind, and that filled her with a sense of peace and well-being. It also made her remember how weak Ash'embe had seemed during his travels, just before he had fallen, and her thoughts strayed to the catacombs back home. I hope Larch and Hema made sure he came out all right.

The mound of gold shook as Cole reluctantly pulled himself out of it. He shook his scales vigoursly, sending doubloons flying, and smiled a little wistfully at Laph. "That castle won't just siege itself, I'm afraid," he sighed. "But the gold gets so lonely if left alone too long..." He bowed slightly to his new prophet and flew easily above the troublesome steps, turing to cast a final looking of parental care back toward his gold.

"Please take care of them for me," he said.


Laph blinked a few times as quiet filled the castle again. It was still pitch black, hours before dawn. She trudged up the stairs back to her chambers, pondering her lecture and the thousand other things she must attend to the next day, all the preparations there were yet to make. At last, with the surreal scene of the evening almost faded from memory, she settled herself gently into her warm nest, careful not to disturb the eggs. She fell asleep quickly, and did not notice that as she did so she was softly humming the refrain to "Aurum Or."

[puffyn]

Say, what's the status on this turn? Are we waiting for someone, or is Tauren still not back in the land of the internetted (and if so, you have my condolences)?

[puffyn]

The wiki was getting hit with robots posting spam links, so you are now required to log in before posting.

[The Panther]

I posted the Turn 36 yarn for Man. I am not repeating it here because the embedded images would not show up properly on this forum.

So - If you want to see what a battle against 125 PD looks like, go read my latest yarn!

[Sedna]

"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.