PBEM Game: Yarnspinners 2 (Running)

[The_Tauren13]

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.

[puffyn]

Yay, thanks Tauren. You've been a good host, and very soon now we'll stop bugging you about our turns

[The_Tauren13]

puffyn said:
Yay, thanks Tauren. You've been a good host, and very soon now we'll stop bugging you about our turns

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...

[Sedna]

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

[The_Tauren13]

thats the plan

[Sedna]

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

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Turn 60
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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.

[djo]

Is that a speculative turn 60, or did I miss an email?

[puffyn]

I got a turn 60 on May 30th and submitted the final turn. I haven't seen the results yet.

[djo]

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.

[djo]

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.