PBEM Game: Yarnspinners 2 (Running) [Archive] - Page 2

Sedna

June 19th, 2005, 11:52 AM

"Come on you raver, you seer of visions,
come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner..."

----------
Marignon, Turn 9

Esclave

"Esclave."

I awoke with a hand on my shoulder. I had been working on cross-referencing a particularly tricky passage from Encyclopedia Illwinter with St. Quantum's Gvide to Bvffing (http://www.shrapnelcommunity.com/threads/showflat.php?Cat=&Number=356846&page=1&view=collapsed&sb=5&o=&fpart=1) , and must have fallen asleep on my pages where I sat working in the library.

"Esclave."

I turned, and beheld her. Close up, she was... and her voice was the soft glow of sunrise, and... she knew my name!

"Um, yes my lady?"

"I need you to make me a sword."

I hesitated, fearful that my pounding blood had made me mishear. "I fear a blacksmith might serve you better."

She laughed with a twinkling of bells. "I don't need you to forge me one, just put these," she poured five fire rubies from her hand onto my pages, "into this." So saying, she drew a short sword of common design and also balanced that on my books.

I was somewhat flummoxed by this odd request, not least because I had no way to fulfill it.

"Perhaps... my lady, you would be better served approaching the Archbishop Marignon with this request. He has many fine magi who could help you with this, while I, a lowly cleric, have most scant knowledge of magick. What I do know is purely theoretical..."

The golden-haired one paused, but her eyes twinkled. "Everything required is in St. Wordscigam's Compendium. Beyond that, all that is required is a pure heart, a keen eye, and a steady hand."

In the face of such beauty I was not about to deny any admirable trait. "I am at your service, my lady."

"I would be glad to show you how to begin." She moved closer and put a hand on the back of my chair.

"I...I believe I can make it work," I managed, hastily gathering my books and preparing my retreat, "But now, I think, I hear the call for morningsong, so... uh..."

"Then I will see you again tomorrow morning, oh, and Escalve?"

"Yes?"

She reached out with her pure-white sleeve and wiped my cheek with a smile, "You have ink on your face".

Ghost

The smell is overpowering and it has been 2 days since my last proper meal. In the dark, I clutch Aftial's gift tighter and a faint fire glows along its sharp edge, lighting my enclosure. I think back to that last conversation with her:

Father Muszinger is using the lord's rebellion to build his support. In each province he deposes the current lord for not accepting the church's new doctrine, but replaces him with a leader loyal directly to Father Muszinger.

A lurch! For a moment I panic. I calm my heart, and quiet my breath. I am not here. You cannot notice me. We are underway at last.

Spire Woods is the last of the old provinces on Father Muszinger's path of conquest. The prince, Leric, is defying the church's commands. The throne after him passes to his wife, Manthe, and after her to their son, Pagobar, but the fourth in line for the throne is a good man: loyal to me and well liked by the church. With him on the throne, Muszinger will have no grounds to attack.

The servants grunt on the stair. I feel a little sorry for them. If I fail, they will surely be put to death for their involuntary participation.

But removing the top three will not be easy. The royal family is paranoid about assassination. Worse, they cannot stand each other, and are rarely in the same building. If you kill one, the others will tighten security even more.

The door is open now. I can hear the servants being roughly searched and yelled at, for no reason other than that the guards hold swords and the servants do not. But everything is in order, and now I am moving again.

Your only chance is the midwinter feast. They will gather to celebrate together-- but not in some great hall where an assassin might be able to intrude. They will dine together in their private hall with only one set of great doors, nowhere to hide within, and a pack of their most faithful guards outside. Every dish will be sampled for poison, and every servant who enters will be thoroughly searched.

The voices are muffled, but I can hear. The servants leave the room. The royal family drink and eat noisily, bickering with each other. A knife intrudes near my face, and it is time to move. The calf's carcass is sliced from nose to tail and I arise. They fall like leaves, my sword and my arm in perfect harmony. My shield does not come off my back. Now it is quiet. I can have a quick meal before figuring out how to escape.

Esclave

I awoke in the bitterly cold morn. Careful not to disturb her, I incant to the candle, which flickers briefly in the stillness, then goes black. I decide it is not important to see anyway, and return to warm slumber.

In the morning the bed is empty and she is gone, leaving only a note about how she must go out to fight, but that she loves me. To fight! I gesture to start the fireplace and the room explodes into flame.

puffyn

June 19th, 2005, 08:00 PM

Oooh, turn 9 already. How time does fly. This time in Yarnspinners 1, it was just me and Karacan and this odd new person named Sedna whose idea of a good post went something like this:

"I believe I've come up with a winning business plan:
Step 1: Prophet
Step 2: ???
Step 3: Rule the world"

<a href=http://yarnspinners.improbable.org/index.php?title=YS1:Turn9>YS1: Turn 9</a>

puffyn

June 19th, 2005, 08:01 PM

And on to the good stuff...

---
C'tis, Turn 9

The late summer sun beat down as the lizards crossed the parched plains. Ruli couldn't imagine finer weather for a hike. Many kinds of lizards lived in the kingdom of C'tis � Ash'embe and the others were children of the damp swamps, and clearly unhappy with the dryness of the air � but Ruli was a desert lizard. And the plains were almost desert, this time of year.

Especially with the recent drought. Nothing green, and almost nothing brown, could be seen on the horizon, the only relief being here and there an interesting rock formation. They were walking on an ancient lava bed, Cole said one night at camp. "A very long time ago," the dragon had told them, "the Rim Mount used to glow for miles with molten rock." Ruli thought his use of such archaic units something of an affectation.

"Was... was... was the mountain killed by the frost giants?" asked one of the troops, a timid little fellow whose name Ruli really ought to remember. Clearly he at least had been listening to Laph's yarn.

"No", said Cole. "It was dead long before then. Even mountains grow old and die," he said, almost wistfully. "But we may find something interesting if we pick through its bones."

A few of the little swamp guards swiveled their heads around to look, nervously, at Ruli. Cole had been teasing him like this ever since the incident with the mouse, which for some reason he thought was highly amusing. Everyone else thought it was one more reason to be wary of the weird winter egg.

---

They had paused by a dry riverbed to rest. Ruli wandered off to explore. Smaller than most lizards in his cohort, he'd been pleased to discover he could easily keep up with and outlast these specially trained, elite lizards (except for Ash'embe, who was always running ahead, trying futilely to keep up with Cole). Of course, I'm not carrying a full suit of armor and a falchion like everyone else on this "camping trip", thought Ruli.

He wandered up the river bed, to a place where dead bushes lined the shore. How long has this river been gone? he wondered. A season? A year? A hundred years? Plants decayed quickly when they died, he knew, but it was hard to shake the feeling that these skeletal bushes had been there for aeons. He looked at the shriveled bark on the stubby trunks, the thin brittle tendrils that must have once held leaves, and fed and sheltered small creatures like... mice. There, in a mat of dried grass and twigs, a small nest. He counted three, no, four little mouse skeletons curled up in the nest, huddled desperately against the cold. They had failed; now they were only bones.

It was enough.

Ruli thought back to something Great Grandfather had said, during his brief apprenticeship. Lugal-zagesi was an ancient shriveled lizard who had journeyed to C'tis from somewhere very far away. There were other lizard nests on this world, of course, small enclaves surrounded by warmlings, but Great Grandfather had come from much further away. Lizards lived on thousands of different worlds, scattered across the galaxy, and it was not uncommon for some few to travel far from their home nest, the way Aetonyx had. But Great Grandfather never spoke of his travels, and the young lizards could only guess how he'd gotten all his scars. Rumor had it he had lost his tail four times...

"I really only know about living things," Great-Grandfather had said. "Some people say, when a thing dies, it's gone. But I've seen enough death... as long as there's something left � leaves, a tooth, bones � it's not really dead." When Ruli had asked him to elaborate, he had claimed ignorance, declared his joints were bothering him, and given Ruli a dozen musty books to look through. Most of them were in indecipherable scripts.

But one book... Ruli dredged up the memory. Yes, that was it, arrange them like so, mumble this... He closed his eyes, searching, reached out...

It was the most bizarre thing Ash'embe had seen in his entire life. They were all ready to march, until Cole had suggested that someone really ought to fetch Ruli, and then he'd looked right at Ash'embe. If Ruli were so bloody clever, he'd know not to disappear when we're about to leave, he'd thought to himself. But he wouldn't dream of refusing a request from Cole. Just last night, the dragon had confided in them that there was an outpost of men up ahead, stealing something that was rightfully his, and that they should... how had he put it? "We must be prepared for any eventuality." Ash'embe wished he could get his voice to sound like that.

So then he'd asked around, and little Zu, who Ash'embe privately thought shouldn't be there, too weak, always asking questions � just like another annoying lizard, come to think of it � had piped up that he'd watched the winter-egg go up the dry river bed. As usual, this made no sense: if there'd been water in it, of course, Ash'embe would gladly have gone to the water's edge, anything to be damp again. But who cares about a dry river? Nothing there but a bunch of rocks.

And then he'd seen the mouse. It was dancing, its skull bobbling on its bony limbs, its tail bones swaying despite the complete lack of breeze. A tiny little voice in Ash'embe's head admired the artistry, the way the joints fit together, the way Ruli was keeping it under control. The loud voice in Ash'embe's throat said, "What the scale-leaver's-feather do you think you're doing?"

The winter-egg startled, broke concentration, and the mouse fell to the ground, just a bunch of bones again. "We're leaving," said Ash'embe, as icily as he could manage in the thirty-degree heat, and strode off while the winter-egg sputtered something behind him. We're late, and Cole's going to be upset, thought Ash'embe, because Ruli was playing with a dead mouse. No wonder the guy gave him the creeps.

---

They reached the foothills an hour before dark. Cole had refrained from darting ahead, though it pained him to be so close and not swoop in; but it wouldn't do to let them know he was coming. He forced himself to trudge at the slow speed of the small lizards. They mean well, he thought. But what I wouldn't give to have Dagda or Alagon along... At least young Arruli was shaping up nicely. Cole was pleased that he had figured out how to work with skeletons without the aid of a mentor. He would have to arrange for some better lessons, to see what the hatchling was capable of. After they dispensed with the current interlopers, of course.

He could almost smell it, from here. The sound of hammers and carts and other man-noise came to him, and he signaled to Ash'embe to move his troops into position. The miners were completely surprised by the attack, though they fought back bravely, with their picks and shovels and a few swords. Cole noted with some sadness that the little questioning lizard, Zu, had gotten disoriented in battle, run straight toward the men, and been stabbed through. Ruli, who had looked a little shocked at the sudden onset of violence, was the only group healer, and rushed up to Zu's body. Then Cole flew out from where he'd been hiding, drew his wings out to their full length, and breathed fire onto the closest group of warmlings. They made pleasant crackling noises as they burnt up. He breathed on another group, and smiled thinly at the growing terror in their eyes. That's what you get for disturbing dragon hordes. The Rim Mountain stash of volcano-gold had always been one of his favorites.

The battle was over quickly; the warmling miners were no match for swamp guards, even if they were only children, nor the enraged fire of a dragon with a cause. Cole noticed with some interest that what finally got the men to turn and run was not so much that they were being cut down by Ash'embe's forces, but that the corpse of the small lizard Zu, the only lizard to fall, had gotten up, and was marching toward their lines with a purposeful stride he'd never had in life. Ruli's eyes blazed as he watched the dead lizard march down his murderers.

That went well, thought Cole. There was a cave in the next mountain range over, where an elderly dragon had lived long ago, fondly carving his gem garden until the chasm walls gleamed with a thousand glittering roses. The old dragon had long since disappeared, and nobody else had dared move in so close to Cole's dominion. Perhaps it would be time to pay the mountains a visit. Cole was very fond of roses.

PashaDawg

June 19th, 2005, 11:47 PM

Wow! Time does fly. Well, I finally took the time to write my yarn for Turn 6. I guess I better get cracking on Turn 9 tomorrow!

djo

June 22nd, 2005, 09:10 AM

Here it is, another long one: Vanheim turn 9:

In which Pherios writes home, and Quellian Ji speaks up.

Vethru

"Is this report accurate?" asks Rilia. She's one of the sharper minds on the Konella Koreia in the area of foreign policy. They don't listen to her much. Apparently one of her ancestors pissed off one of their ancestors.

"As far as I can tell," I say. The diplomats we sent to Man were old school. Very loyal, very trustworthy. And certainly lacking the imagination to come up with what she's just read.

"Wow. What are we going to do?"

"Figure out what this Selena is. Stupid, psycho, or just very, very green."

"Some of the Jarls will want you to take back Stone Grave Mountain."

"Back?" I say.

She smiles. "In a historical sense."

I snort. They have no idea of what historical really means. Historical doesn't mean, my grandfather lived here. It doesn't even mean, my great-great-grandfather's ancestors lived here. Because after a few thousand years, anyone, everyone can say that. People are like water; you can try to dam them up, but they're going to burst out and wash over everything until you can't tell the difference between rivers, lakes, and streams. My land, my ***.

As for me, the only use I have for real estate is to sell it. I mean, who wants to deal with tenants, anyway?

I suppose I should be tolerant; until I arrived, the Vans believed they had the monopoly on long memories. "Has she taken Copos?"

"Not as far as we know. Is it important to us?" she asks.

She's smooth. She manages to ask me, indirectly, just what are you after, while hiding it in a reasonable question about foreign policy. No wonder she's a diplomat.

"Let's keep her off balance," I say. "Let's be nice. She threatens war, so we'll send her gifts. Find her some nice jewelry, and a couple of paintings. And throw in one of those sapphires we've been mining. She'll like that."

"Right away," Rilia says. "And why don't we send a higher ranking party? Old Emeikos says he won't go back to Man anyway."

"Good idea. Let's send a woman. Do we have anyone from Alteion with some tact?"

"How about Mirima? She's awfully hard not to like, and she's pretty shrewd."

"OK. Put a couple Valkyries in her guard, too. And make sure a description of Selena gets to Pherios and his crew. She's going to be in our future, one way or another."

After Rilia leaves, I talk to Ji.

"Your sources know where this 'Ralph' is?"

"I can put a letter on his desk, boss."

"Good." I get out some paper and a quill.

Ji asks, "Is she right? Does she have blessed, invisible wardens? Because I swear, I can't find the Vans when they're on maneuvers, and if the wardens are anything like that, we're in trouble!"

"No. She's overconfident. She has wardens, but the Vans are better. They're quieter than wardens out in the field, and in friendly territory, they're impossibly good." I think a minute. Could she be that uninformed? Maybe she is just inexperienced. I finish my note to Ralph with that in mind. "It'd be an unpleasant war. No front lines. Guerilla attacks everywhere."

"Ick," says Ji. "With our upstanding, straight-arrow Vans? We are in trouble."

"Not at all," I say. "I've been reading their history. You'd be surprised what they've done in the past. And the others, you've seen them. No, dirty war suits us. You'll see. Operation Maros Gallupeidi kicks off next month."

"Maros Galliwhatia? What's that mean?"

I smile. " 'You have something I want.' "

Pherios

We separated. She stepped back, and I slowly let go of her hands. "Be careful," I said.

"I will," she replied. "Don't worry. I'll see you in a couple days."

After the door closed, and my heart slowed, I sat down to write.

Dear Mom,

Think you very much for the package. Winter has arrived, and the socks and scarf are already keeping me warmer. The cookies arrived in good shape. Sometimes I'm so busy they are all I have time to eat!

I'm sorry I haven't written sooner, but sometimes it seems that even though I'm very busy, there is nothing interesting to say. But this time I have news. I've met someone. Her name is Galameteia of Lunetellerion. I think you know her mother, Thumesteia. I first met Galameteia last month...

She stood up when I walked in. It was her. It was obviously her--I had only seen her once, from a distance, but I would recognize her anywhere. She stood right before me, in the little turret where I study, and the only thing I could say was, "Oh!"

"Pherios of Alteion?" she asked. The uncertainty felt out of place in her voice. She was a beautiful Valkyrie, proud, poised.

"You're here! I've been looking for you."

"Me? But I've been looking for you. Of course--you're a seer. But...if you're a seer, why are you surprised to see me?"

It wouldn't be the last time her quick intellect would trip me up. "Because...because...well, how did you know where to find me?" I asked her.

"Vethru sent me. I'm Galameteia of Lunetellerion, of Vethru's Black Wings."

Then she explained. Recently, whenever she painted, her mind was filled with images that she was compelled to put on canvas. Strange, alien images that she couldn't believe came from within her. At first, she put up with it, even welcomed it.

"I thought I was becoming inspired," Galameteia said. "Artists are supposed to have a unique vision, aren't they?"

But the visions invaded her dreams, and then her waking hours. She found the only way to banish them was to capture them in oil. So she did, flying with the army by night, painting by day. It was working, until one day, when hearing about the battle at Namor, she realized that she had already painted it.

"I couldn't believe it! I thought I had painted something abstract, a fantastic landscape, you know? But when I looked at it again, I knew. It was there, and I painted it weeks beforehand. Everything. I saw the battle, our victory, and the strange desert the Prophet discovered. I couldn't sleep. I didn't sleep for three days, until I told my lieutenant. She brought me to Vethru. And he sent me to you."

So I tried to help her understand what she was seeing, and how to live with it. I told her how I saw omens in the sky since I was young. How confusing I found them, until I learned to study them. "It's been getting worse for me, too. The omens used to come mostly when I looked for them. Now they arrive without warning, while I sleep, while I walk. " I told her that the anxiety ebbed once you understood what you saw. "The vision isn't what you're looking at. It's the impression it makes in your mind. The raven is just a raven, even if I see it flying with seagulls, until something in my mind says, 'Three huskarls will die in battle today.' That's when it becomes an omen. And that's when the vision leaves me alone."

"But then you're left with the knowledge..." she said. I nodded. She understood. Which was worse, frightening images, or dreadful certainty?

I told her why I had been looking for her. "I've seen danger following you. You're out searching for something, and darkness pursues you. You've got to be careful. What are you doing with the army, exactly?"

"I can't tell you," she said. "I'm sorry. Vethru's orders."

She showed me her paintings. I didn't see much information in them, but I didn't expect to. The prophecy would be in her mind. The birds are just birds.

As art, however, they were striking. I had never seen such vivid chaos on the canvas. The colors of one of them reminded me of a storm-tossed sunset. The shapes of another evoked the spring icepack breaking against the rocks in the coves of the gorge.

We reached a swirl of uneven purple that could have been an earthquake seen by moonlight, when her eyes widened, and she gasped. "Wing and spear!"

"What is it?" I suddenly saw the lonely egret soaring before the storm again.

"You," she whispered. "It's you."

From that time, we became hard to separate, each of us fearing for the other's life. It was a strange, awkward relationship at first. Over time, though, we found the company of someone else who understood bound us together more than our fears. Our visions began to trouble us less, and the information we gave to Vethru improved. My uncle said that not a single Van has died in the war.

But her job is dangerous; she flies into the night on missions she can't tell me about. I stay and wait, like tonight. Trying to write to my mother.

I didn't want to burden her with my fears. I didn't think she'd understand, but she would want to try, and it's hard to talk about. So instead I wrote a little more about how I met Galameteia because we both work for Vethru. I wrote that I often see Galameteia when we are both in the city. I told my mother that I like Galameteia very much, and it made me happy, because it was important, and it was true, and I could share it with her. The rest, I left out. I closed the letter by promising to write again soon, and I sealed it and set it aside.

I opened a window to get a better look at the sky. As much as it pained me, I couldn't stop looking for omens. There was a gull sitting on the ledge. I realized it had been there a few minutes. It hadn't flown away when I opened the window. I waited for another moment, then I said, "Well, do you want to come in?"

"I thought you'd never ask," the bird said, and it hopped into my room and fluttered nearer to the fire. "Was that a guess, or did you figure it out?"

"A little of both," I said. "I've seen you before. And not just with Vethru. I saw you in a dream. "

I swore the bird shuddered. "Yeah, that was me, but I didn't write the script. Quellian Ji, at your service," he said, and he gave me a little bird bow. "Hey, kid, I hate to drop in and run off, but I wasn't planning to have this conversation tonight. I was just checking in on your Valkyrie. The boss wanted to make sure she got out on time tonight. "

"You know where she's going?"

"Yeah, I'm going, too. No, I can't tell you where, and boss says, stop asking. He'll tell you in time." Ji looked uncomfortable. "Uh, while I'm here...if you've got a second..."

"What is it?"

The gull's voice softened. "Do you see anything ahead for us? In the next few days? Just between you and me."

I was going to say nothing, but a sudden swirl of wind drew my gaze to the window. It hit me then, hard--it dropped like a stone into my stomach. I swallowed.

"Kid? Are you all right? What do you see?"

"Falling leaves," I said.

Alneyan

June 22nd, 2005, 12:21 PM

My own yarn for turn 9 is in... and I am on time for once! Erh... well, I am so late I am one full yarn behind, but don't break the news to me. And I am still not happy with my yarn for turn 9.

On another note, I will be away for two weeks starting soon, so don't expect any yarn from me for a while. I may be able to get my yarn for turn 12 before leaving, but I won't make any promises, given my record of being late, and later still.

Sedna

June 24th, 2005, 03:13 PM

(The obligatory "Turn??" post)

The_Tauren13

June 24th, 2005, 09:21 PM

We are waiting on Pythium, quantum mechani. I wasnt going to force host, though, because some have been saying this has been going to fast anyway...

Sedna

June 25th, 2005, 02:03 AM

I'm okay waiting a little longer for quantum. He hasn't been on the board for the past 3 days, so perhaps real life has intruded? Heh, of course I advocate waiting so that my powerful southern neighbor doesn't miss his turn...

You might also want to award pearls to those who have already written turns 6 and 9. Others are still welcome to write and get their pearls at a later date.

The_Tauren13

June 25th, 2005, 02:36 AM

I believe I already sent pearls for turn 6 yarns.
Turn 9 yarn pearls will be coming with the next turn.

djo

June 25th, 2005, 01:47 PM

Here's turn 12, a little action thing with Vethru. Side note: the battle described did not actually take place, in the game.

Vethru

I have my small ship, but there's no star to steer her by. You pick a cloudy night for what we're up to. I've got an old Van navigating instead. They say he's been sailing the shores of the gorge since he was a boy, twelve hundred years ago. That sounds pretty good, but I heard another Van mumble that it didn't really matter, because that earthquake four hundred and fifty years ago changed all the shoreline, anyway. Either way, between him and me (I'm a damn good navigator myself), we have no trouble finding our way across the gorge to Cimri, at night, in silence. The Vans are good at that, too.

Quellian Ji lands in my boat and says, "Grey team and white team are both in position, boss." I nod to Hallixene, and he gives the order. The men at the oars pick up the pace.

One huskarl stares at the bird. He's new. Another man says, "Yeah, the bird talks." The first man shrugs. They're all veterans. Not much worries them, and they're not much for small talk.

We reach the shore and they have the boats up on the beach, quietly, quickly, as if their ancestors have spent several millennia turning ocean raiding into a high art form, which they have. The only one having trouble is Kor, the dwarf. By the time he's stumbled out of the boat, the scouts from team green are into the forest, and those from team blue are down the beach, keeping an eye on the nearby fishing village.

I'm an old man, and it takes me nearly a half hour to get up the hill to where the temple is. Of course, team green is way ahead of me; there are bodies all around the two buildings on the hill by the time I get there. The first is a modest stepped pyramid. Even in the dim torchlight, I can see bloodstains on its stones. Hallixene tells me our target is the other building.

From the outside, it looks like a wooden stockade, but once inside, I see that the wood is a facade; the building is solid stone. We pass through the main worship area, where the statue of a twelve-foot tall stag stands. In an inner room we go down some stairs, past broken doors and more bodies, before reaching the vault.

There's an unarmed old man standing in front of the door. "Blasphemers! Unholy! He will trample you, and your necks will know His sacred antlers!" His back is pressed to a thick, ornate oaken door. He's pretty feisty for being surrounded by men with sharp steel things pointed at him.

My men part, and he gets a good look at me. "You," the man snarls. "You are an abomination, and He will never suffer you to exist." He gestures, and a bright, searing light flashes. It's painful--very painful--but it's not enough. I step forward, and he says, "You cannot harm me, unholy thing. His blessings will shield me."

"Don't believe everything you read," I say, and I touch him. He cries out in surprise, then he wails in pain. He shrivels until his complexion is worse than mine, then he crumbles into dust and bone. As the echo of his screams fade, even the einhere and huskarls are silent. They have that stunned "and I thought I believe in god's power before" look. I tell Hallixene to take them upstairs to plunder the temple.

"Kor!" I say. "Open up this door!"

He scuttles forward, mumbling. He begins tapping on the door with his hammer. "Skar mar lrr grror ar!" he says.

"Well, I didn't tell you to leave your gauntlets in the boat," I reply.

He grumbles again and makes a great show of limbering up and swinging the hammer, but the door falls at the first blow. Wussy dwarves.

Inside, as you would expect, is little of any real value. Religious types chronically overvalue sacred scriptures and undervalue gold and jewelry. The one area we both agree on is old stuff. I locate the two items I'm looking for. A thick leather-bound book, with five stars on the cover, and a length of dark wood, cut into a long prism, sort of like an obelisk. I like obelisks. On this one is inscribed letters I have not seen in a dozen worlds. I wrap the items in a cloth and tell Kor to grab a few other things to mask what I came for. He's got sense; he grabs what little shiny gold and silver stuff there is.

"Let's move," I say, and we're up the stairs and into the temple proper. "What in Hel are you doing?" I ask, when I see my men gathered around the statue. With ropes.

"We're pulling down the statue, my lord. It is an affront to you," Hallixene says. He looks confused, as if his actions were self-evident.

Worshipers--who can figure them out? I'm trying to steal something, and they think I'm worried about a statue?

But it'd take longer to dissuade them than to convince them to do it quickly. I take a good look at the statue. After you've seen a hundred worlds, the patterns start to look pretty familiar. Standard nature deity. "OK," I say. "This fellow is all about birth and death. His coming in the spring represents fertility, and his death in the autumn represents the harvest. All you need to do is break off his antlers; they represent his manhood. Without them, he is impotent. So do it, and let's get out of here!"

One of them manages to climb up the statue and do the deed without breaking his neck. As he comes down, there are shouts from outside, and I hear animal noises. Howls and roars. And clangs. In what seems like an instant, Hallixene is outside and back in again. "We're cut off," he says. "Men and animals, coming out of the forest to the west. A dozen men, lightly armored, bows and swords. I saw wolves, boars, and bears. "

Outside, there's not much light, but I see my Vans and huskarls fighting woodsman and wildlife. Some of my guys were wounded. More men and animals are coming out of the forest. We're outnumbered, and certainly outmaneuvered.

A female shapes suddenly appears next to me. "Sir, grey two is under attack from the village. They have reinforcements--about twenty light infantry in addition to the village's twenty militia. The einhere are berserking, but they are holding. For now."

"How did they get word?" I wonder.

"Kesselar is missing," she says. "We saw hawks overhead."

"The bastards!" says Ji. Kesselar was one of Ji's lookout ravens.

"Galameteia, right?" She nods. "Tell white team to split: one half should reinforce grey two. Tell the other half to sweep around the other side of town and counterattack to take heat off us. After they counterattack, they should disappear and to make their way back to Vanheim as planned. Deliver those messages, then get right back here." She vanishes into the night.

The fighting is getting closer. We're piling up a lot of livestock, but we're slowly getting pushed back. "Ji! Get a message to blue two. Send a gull, don't go yourself. Tell them to set up an ambush at the edge of the beach. We'll be coming in hot."

"OK, boss."

I hear voices:

"How many of them are there?"

"Take that, bastard!"

"Right flank! We need help!"

"I can't see!"

"Where's Igestus? Where's Igestus?"

Hallixene: "Sir, we're not breaking through! They're turning our flank!"

Sweet limping Vishnu, this went south in a hurry. Hallixene's phantoms are helping, but my men are falling. There's a lot more of them than we expected. I'm going to have to string up some of my intelligence operatives. "Kor! Go throw rocks at them!" I hear grumbling moving off to my right. The dark doesn't bother him.

Galameteia is back. "Stay by me," I tell her. I whistle for Ji. "You wanted to be a general, bird--let's see what your girls can do. Call in team black."

Ji squawks. "The right flank will be toast!"

"No! Hit behind their center--clear the escape route. I've got the flank."

Ji rises into the night, shrieking like a banshee.

"Lord, no!" calls Hallixene. "You can't! Stay back, where we can protect you!"

"Shut up, and do what I tell you! Be ready--hit them hard when team black comes in."

I turn to Galameteia, and I hand her my package. "Get this back to Vanheim."

"But sir, I can carry you, too. I'm strong enough."

"Do it! I don't care if they cut off my head and burn my body. Listen! I will return. I promise you that. A bunch of tree-humping greenies can't keep me in the grave. "

She's uncertain. There's that crazy worshiper thing again. She can't decide whether to obey god or protect him. "Get moving," I say, and I slap her on the ***, because that makes any woman jump. When she jumps, she doesn't come back down.

With my package safe, I turn my attention to the battle. The right flank is collapsing; Kor can't hold back the wildlife pouring out of the forest. I put a couple lightning bolts into two bears, and then I dump some flares into the forest. The woods light up. Suddenly we don't have a problem anymore; we have a barbecue.

Then team black arrives. A hundred years ago, on a distant world, I heard one composer's impression of Valkyries riding to battle. He got it exactly right. They tear through the lightly armored woodsmen who never thought to look up into the night. They die in a hail of javelins, spitted on the spears of my fierce flying girls. It's so beautiful I almost want to cry.

Their line breaks, and we push through. We scramble through the woods, wolves and rangers on our heels. There aren't as many of us as made the trip up the hill. And I hate leaving perfectly good dead bodies behind. The enemy hassles us under the trees, where our airpower can't help us. We burst out onto the beach, and our pursuers are torn apart by the ambush. Neinos has managed a two-pronged attack, blue two and grey two hitting them from opposite directions.

I yell until everyone's scrambling into the boats, because I know there's one thing we haven't seen yet. And right on schedule, the druid comes out of the woods. By himself, he wouldn't be a problem. But the two great horned serpents with him kill my rearguard and slither down the beach toward the boats.

I can see how this is going to play out. I turn to Hallixene and say, "Get everyone in the boats, and set sail. If I see one boat turn around to come back for me, I will make the rest of your life miserable, and then I will make your unnaturally long afterlife extremely miserable." He pales but obeys me.

I walk unsteadily toward the snakes in the shifting sand. The druid knows what's going on. He'll gladly let my men get away for a shot at me. He's even smiling.

I smile back. Then I drop him with a lightning bolt. He wasn't expecting that. The reason is, by casting a spell at him, I give the snakes a chance to bite me. Most people won't make that trade, but I have an unfair advantage. I'm a real bastard that way. I dodge one snake, but the other one gets me in the left forearm and hangs on. That's good; that keeps him in reach. I put my dagger into his eye and stir. He backs away quick. The poison, I don't worry about. I'm past such things. But I'll need to fix my arm later.

The second one comes on again, but by now, I'm playing electric eel. I give him a good shock, and he circles, and he gets ready for another pass. He hesitates, and that's all the time I need. I stand up as straight as I can in the sand and throw my arms in the air.

The snake is mildly surprised when I rise out of his reach. As the Valkyries lift me into the night, Ji flies by, and I say, "Good job."

"Just like we practiced," he says.

"Stay with the boats," I tell him. "Make sure they get back in one piece. Ladies, let's swing by the boat so everyone can see I'm all right. Then it's home to Vanheim."

One of them takes me in her arms so I don't have to dangle by my wrists for the whole flight. "Thank you, Kestumaia, for your assistance," I tell her.

"It's my pleasure to serve you, my lord," she says.

I wonder how much. "You have beautiful eyes," I tell her. I can't tell if she's blushing or not, but that's OK. I've got the whole flight to work on her.

quantum_mechani

June 27th, 2005, 05:14 AM

Turn 3 yarn finally in. Hopefully I will be able to continue catching up in the next few weeks.

Zen

June 29th, 2005, 10:33 PM

Sorry for the delay in turning in my turn. It's kind of a big one for me as far as game and plot decisions.

Praise Ami!

djo

June 30th, 2005, 08:59 AM

A turn delay now and then is fine by me.

I've been happy with the almost-but-not-quite MWF turn schedule. Keeping up with the writing has been tough enough as it is. I get caught up, then I go out of town for a weekend, and kerblammo! I'm behind again.

The Panther

June 30th, 2005, 09:42 AM

Try going out of the country for 12 days...

djo

July 4th, 2005, 09:51 PM

Vanheim turn 15

In which Pherios sees the sights, and Vethru has dinner out.

Vethru

She sews up my skin with small, careful stitches. Every so often, she stops to smooth the skin so it doesn't bunch up where she's sewing. Her dead fingertips linger, caressing, when she does this. Once, she looks up while I watch her. She smiles, and her teeth are white.

She looks much better than that first rainy night I met her, deep in the tower. She is younger than she appeared then; I'd say she was between Belletennares and Pherios's father in age. Today, she's traded in her blacksmith's apron for a low cut black dress. It fits her well; in dim light, she might not even look like a cadaver. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

She's finished stitching now, and I say, "Thank you. That's a much better job than I could do one-handed. And Ji is hopeless with a needle."

"My pleasure," she says. "It's the least I can do after the surgery you performed on my neck. I do enjoy seeing the world straight again."

And now her silver hair flows properly over her shoulders, too.

"Can you read it?" she asks.

"Read what?"

She raises an eyebrow. Of course. Kor already told her what I brought back.

"I don't know yet," I admit. "It's the book I was looking for, but I can't tell how accurate the transcription is. If it even is a transcription of what I think it is."

"And the rod? Is it a key to a cipher? Perhaps to the Codex of Five?"

She wants very badly to look at them. She's a language nut herself. But I'll be damned if I let her look at them before I do.

"Something like that," I say. To call the thing a key is too limiting, and to call it a dictionary, too expansive. She doesn't have the concept of what it really is. I wonder, though, how long it would take to teach her?

She pouts. It makes her look alive. Not that there's anything wrong with that; we were all alive, once. And really, it's not a black-and-white thing. She's probably more alive than I am, by most popular standards. Should I think less of her because of that? I don't see why. What's the fuss? We're all going to be alive and dead at some time in our existence. Once you get to be my age, those kinds of details matter less and less.

"Well," she says, "Maybe you could explain it to me over dinner?"

* * *

Apparently, she's been giving the dwarves cooking lessons. Some of them are even passable servers. They manage to open a second bottle of wine without shattering it, unlike the first. We drink a fairly good pinot noir and sample the light repast set in front of us. Neither of us is a heavy eater, for the obvious reason that neither of us needs to eat.

"Have you heard from Belletennares lately?" she asks me.

"He is well," I say. "He performs his duties exceptionally."

"I knew he would," she says. "What about Pherios? I hear how well he is doing, but I never see him. Tell me how he is. Tell me something not in the reports. Tell me something about him."

The things we live for--they can't be hidden. She happily works day and night with her magic, but when she sits down with me, over wine and food, and asks about my prophet and my seer, she comes alive. Thus proving my thesis; life and death come in small pieces. She and I have more of the former than we lack.

I tell her a few stories, including one I heard from Ji. She hangs on every word. It's hard for her, staying in the tower all the time. We live--all right, exist--in the same world as the living. We walk the same earth, under the same sky. They accept us. The earth doesn't tremble when we pass. The trees don't bend to let us by. People are different. They push us away, and if you happen not to be a god, you're left on the fringes. In a dark tower, all alone with a handful of dwarves.

I visit with her for a couple hours before I take my leave.

"Thank you for a lovely evening, my lady of the tower," I tell her.

She curtsies deeply. I get a glimpse down the valley between her breasts, and I'm impressed that she's kept herself smooth and firm. Skin care is so difficult when you're dead. "I enjoyed your company," she says. "Please come back soon."

"Of course," I say, feeling unusually courtly. "Perhaps I will bring milady a small gift, or perhaps some magical gemstones."

Her face lights up. "You have been reading my memos!"

"Yes, my dear, and I have sent my seers to find you more gems. Some of our new...allies have exactly what you need."

"...and are so close to another thing I would like," she says demurely.

"And what is that?"

"It's the dwarves, you see," she says. "Their talents lie at the forge and the summoning circle, not in the library. And the scholars on the hill, they are focused on your search, whatever that is. Not that they know much magic of practical value anyway. That is my dilemma. I need better minds."

I smile. Women can be so demanding. It makes things a lot easier when a woman desires that which you already intend to purchase. Obtain? OK, conquer. Whatever.

Pherios

It was vast, and impersonal, and very, very old. The granite stones, each as big as a horse, rose tier after tier above the brilliant white sands below. We had climbed to the top, and I tried to imagine what it had been like to see this coliseum filled with people watching, what? Sport? Fights? Races?

"Was it built by giants?" I asked.

"No one knows," my uncle replied. "Certainly, giants have used it. So have we, in times we barely remember. I brought your father here once, and he maintained that the structure existed before the waters receded, constructed by some aquatic intelligence whose trace is barely left on our world. When we returned home, he showed me books in support of his theory. We could not agree on whether they were fact or fiction."

"It's magnificent," said Galameteia. "If I weren't here, I don't think I would believe it. I'm going to take a better look." She lifted into the air and began to circle the arena in lazy loops.

When she had risen out of earshot, I turned to Belletennares. "Can I ask you something, uncle? About your visions?"

"Of course."

"Do you ever...see things..." I wasn't sure I could ask him. I'd known him all my life, but now, he glowed with Vethru's power. I felt small. I didn't want to bother him. But there was no one else who would understand. He waited, patient, attentive. Serious. As he always was, always had been, just like in my memories. Still family. I finished. "...about Sennei?"

He thought for a moment. I was relieved that I hadn't offended him.

"Yes, of course I have. How could I not? She is my life, more than anything, even this war." He looked out over the quiet landscape. "You have had a premonition about Galameteia. A terrible one, if I'm not mistaken."

I would've answered him, but the words stuck in my throat.

He nodded. "Do you intend to marry her?"

Again, I hesitated. Belletennares was finding my questions even though I couldn't speak them.

"You aren't sure when the right time is, or even if you should do it at all," he said. "Pherios, I can't give you the advice you think you need to hear. I can't tell you that you will know the right moment, that your decision will coalesce out of the myriad possible futures that fate presents to you. I can't tell you that your feelings will guide you truly, because the heart is as fallible as the vision we share. I can only tell you this: it is possible. You may marry her, and find happiness you only imagined. In that, it is no different than love without the intrusion of the future in your mind. You know, of course, that she will understand you, and you, her, even better than Sennei understands me, something I can scarce believe possible. I have long thought that I married the most understanding woman in the universe." He was lost in memory for a breath. "You have not spoken to your father yet."

"No, sir."

"Don't be worried," he said. "He will surely approve. And, I have heard, House Lunnetellerion would welcome your marriage."

"How do you know? Do you know someone in that house?"

"Nothing so simple. It was hinted at in a letter from Sennei." He smiled. "There is a gentle conspiracy of females through which information flows with efficiency that would shame the spies of my army. You nor I will ever penetrate its workings, so be content with the knowledge that it works to our benefit."

"Thank you, uncle," I said, and we clasped hands.

"She's returning," he said, looking past my shoulder. "She's a fine warrior. You've chosen well for yourself."

Galameteia landed. "Fiery deserts, misty plains of ice, and this place, all within a few miles. Extraordinary!"

"These are the places Vethru seeks. We must watch for them in our portents," said Belletennares. "Their power will be mined and sent back to the tower to support our magic. Tomorrow, I will show you one more location of interest before I leave you for the front. Tonight, though, we stay in civilized quarters, in town, under a roof."

* * *

I woke to the sound of her sobbing. It was still night. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"Coyote dreams," she said. That is what we'd say to each other when we had dark visions that we didn't want to talk about. Coyote dreams are small, furtive things that slink in the shadows. They can be chased away. We pretended our dreams were coyotes, because we were afraid they were dragons.

I held her until she calmed. "Why am I an egret in your visions?" she asked. "Why not an eagle, or a hawk? I'm a warrior. I'm not prey."

"You are not an egret," I told her. "You are not a bird at all. My dreams can't encompass you. They only give me a sketch. Not even a portrait. Everything you are would fill my dreams a thousand times over."

"And I wish you were all my dreams gave me..." I whispered.

She rolled over to face me. "In your visions...do I die fighting?"

Her eyes were still wet. I could feel my own tears beginning. She wasn't supposed to ask me this. We agreed. It was too hard on both of us to hear the details of what we see.

"Please," she whispered.

I didn't know. The battles, the danger--they were always scattered, shadowy forms, poorly represented by clouds and birds. I never saw the event. I just felt the doom.

"Yes," I manage to say, before my voice broke. "Always."

We comforted each other until dawn.

* * *

"I feel it, too," said Galameteia. "There's something hidden here."

"But you don't sense it, uncle?" I said. "Then, how did you know to bring us here?"

"We had just taken control of the province when Gor's troops were hit by holy fire," said Belletennares. "We search for enemies, but there were none. The barbarians had no holy men. Later on, it happened again. The cause was clearly something in the environment."

"I don't understand. Holy fire? Don't you mean unholy?"

Belletennares said, "The troops were dead. That is why they were struck by holy fire."

"We have...undead troops? I thought..." Galameteia wouldn't meet my eyes. "You knew?"

"I suspected," she said. "About the troops. But Vethru--you see him every day! How could you not know?"

"Those are just rumors! Vethru is old, he's not dead." I looked to Belletennares. "Right?"

He regarded me tolerantly. "We do as Vethru commands. If he gives me troops long dead, I will use them. I serve. I'm sorry, Pherios, that the world is not what you expect. But it is the world." He seemed at a loss for words. Finally, he shook his head and said, "I must return to the army. I hope your journey back to Vanheim is pleasant and safe." Then he rode away.

Galameteia led me to a rock where I sat down. "Vethru's...what is he?" I mumbled.

"I thought you knew," she said tenderly. "It seemed like an open secret. Something everyone figured out, but decided would be impolite to talk about."

"This is our world? We raise the dead? In Vanheim?"

"You know our history. You know the magic they did even up to Alteion's time. The blood sacrifices. The demon summoning."

"It seems so long ago. So what is he? A vampire? A ghoul?"

"I don't know. Some say he is a revenant. No one really knows."

So many things were becoming clearer, and none of them for the better. I wondered about images I had seen in my visions, and what I might make of them, knowing what I now know. "And the woman in the tower?"

"They say she is just like him."

All of this in the castle I was living in. I don't know why I was so surprised, or why the surprise offended me so much. I know that as Galameteia and I made our way back to Vanheim, one thought would not leave my mind: if this is the world we live in, what other terrible things I once thought forbidden might now be possible?

Sedna

July 5th, 2005, 09:33 PM

<h3>Marignon, Turn 12</h3>
Pr. Muszinger

On this very day, one-thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-seven years ago, the impossible happened. The Potter took his foot from the wheel, and entered into the pot-- yet the pot did not shatter. The Author became a character in the great book-- yet the story continued. The infinite LORD of all creation walked among us to teach us how we might be freed from the shadow of death by purification through fire and faith and the sword.

On this very day, nine-hundred and ninety-seven years ago, the inconceivable happened. While the faithful sat in quiet remembrance of the manifestation, the corrupt leaders and faithless magicians of the empire of Ermor, forsaking the teachings of the church and seeking to master the grave on their own terms, opened the forbidden gate and let death pour in.

On this very day, one year ago, the inspirational happened. The LORD sent forth His faithful servant Aftial to lead the church triumphant against the hosts of darkness and bring the light of faith to the lost and confused people of the whole world. You have seen Her fight today-- seen how the heretical and barbaric spells of these druids melted into mist in the face of righteousness. You have seen how the forces of Marignon, inspired by Her presence and reunited under the direct leadership of the church have swept our enemies before us time and again these last glorious months. You have seen God himself lean down from heaven and smite the unbelieving.

Yet if you look to the west you will see that the sun is setting. Night is coming, and the servants of darkness stalk the fetid fields and dying forests, reveling because they are unchecked and unmatched in their conquests. Until THIS day! I set here the cornerstone for the topless tower that will rise upon this plain. At its top shall be a never ceasing flame, and it will maintain a faithful watch upon the lands of death, protecting the lands of the church beyond, never sleeping, never turning aside-- a dagger pointed at the heart of our enemy-- a ray of light shining down to the craven creatures below who long for God's loving sword to free them from their misery.

This shall be the Shadow Watch, and the men chosen to serve here will carry a awesome responsibility, holding the blackness at bay and waiting until the promised time when the LORD's most faithful servant will lead us on the final, great crusade to cleanse this stain from His creation. If the defenders of the Shadow Watch ever feel tainted by the stench of decay which rises from those foul fens they should climb to the highest point of the tower as the golden sun rises in the east. As far as the eye can see will stretch the Church and Kingdom of Marignon. Every cottage you spy will be the house of a devout believer. Every fire will be from the cleansing of the flock. Every road will be one along which the armies of Marignon march to bring salvation to the people of the world. As the sun ascends high in the sky let it's fiery rays penetrate you, burning your despair and rekindling the light of your faith; for darkness does not love the light.

And every night must end in glorious day. Through time and tides of time the everlasting light will bring this death-infested world to an end. We who have the good fortune to live through the fires of the LORD's most precious gift must be prepared to be singed as His righteous anger scours the world. Yet prepared by the fires of the Church, and protected from deception by the Church's leaders, we will all by lifted up by LORD. And above the broken confines of this world He will make us live to never die.

Esclave

On the last day of Carrofactorum, we passed into the town square where an angry mob had gathered.

"She's a witch, burn her!"

There was a crowd gathered around some woman, who certainly was dressed like a witch.

"Hey, maybe you should step in," suggested Cleric Virgilie with a wink and a nudge. Ever since I started displaying my increased knowledge of practical magick he's been insisting that it won't be long before I make the rank of Witch Hunter. But it's one thing to master the arcane magicks (only the non-evil ones of course), it's quite another to acquire enough political friends to make the necessary rank in the church. Normally a cleric spends many years mastering basic fire magick, and so has enough time to find friendly church leaders to sponsor him. Me... I think I spent too much time this year with my angel in the library.

"Let's just keep going," I muttered under my breath, but it was too late, we'd been spotted by the extremely loud leader of the crowd.

"You, good sirs! You are from the House of Just Fires! We have found a witch, may we burn her?"

I sighed. "How do you know she is a witch?" You won't believe some of the ridiculous charges people have brought against supposed witches. There was this one time when a guy brought in a newt and insisted that it was really all that remained of his best friend...

"She was overheard speaking ill of the Most Righteous Aftial!"

This was about to get a little tricky. The inquisition had surprised everyone by making criticism of Aftial blasphemy, arguing that

'... as you do unto the most pious of my servants, you do also unto me.'

And then they went into the village to buy meat."

meant that speaking ill of Aftial was speaking ill of the LORD. Myself, I was not sure about the Angel. Certainly she had helped the Church expand it's realms, but she seems to inspire worship, which belongs only to God. I realized suddently that I never had never asked my goddess of the morning what she thought about Aftial, and now she was gone...

"Burn her, burn the witch!"

The mob was getting out of hand. "Quiet, quiet. There are ways of telling if she is a witch."

"Tell us!"

"What are they?"

"Do they hurt?!"

"I shall perform the sacred test of St. Lynad. Stand aside, good people, and let me near the accused."

Virgilie gasped a little, since the test of St. Lynad was notorious for getting out of hand and spreading fire to innocent bystanders. The crowd knew this well, and drew back as far as they could.

Chanting loudly, I approached the young women who, hands tied behind her back, quaked in fear. Her witch's hat was far too big for her, and fell down over her face. I tried to reassure her with sympathetic eyes, but realized that the chant, which describes in awful detail the burns which will be inflicted upon the unrighteous was probably not helping.

Best get this over with. I raised my hands to heaven and a tongue of flame fell down from the sky directly on top of the witch. Immediately the dust in the air began to burn in a maelstorm that carried sparks everywhere. In seconds, the heat from the inferno had singed my robe and hair. With a loud cry, for the heat was unbearable, I dropped my hands. The fire vanished, and the smoke settled. There, on the blackened cobblestones, stood the woman, completely unscathed, but looking very shaken.

The crowd was stunned, and I seized on their uncertainty. "The LORD has protected this woman from the divine fire-- yet since she has brought this suspicion upon herself, I hereby cast her out into the Plains of Eternal Peril, there to reflect on how to lead a more godly life."

As the crowd milled about, I gingerly stepped over the heated rocks to the woman's side, and whispered, "Sorry for the exile, but you'll be safer there. The after-effects of being turned briefly to stone should wear off soon."

As I strode off, not feeling like talking to Cleric Virgile, I bumped into a perfectly proportioned man, whose face shone with a look of divine health. "Very impressive, my young friend," he said in a smooth baritone. "Come with me, for there is much to discuss..."

Sedna

July 5th, 2005, 10:13 PM

<h3>Marignon, Turn 15 </h3>

Ghost

The tree branch is smooth and the sun is warm. To the east, I spy rising dust. The armies of Pythium march north towards the Plains of Eternal Peril, covering the world under their purple banner. The wind tosses the tree, but I remain motionless.

Down below the tree there is a a rough dirt track. Used frequently enough to prevent large plants from blocking it, but not enough to prevent a covering of low weeds, grasses, and wildflowers, it is perfect cover for my line. This finest thread, strong as a rope many times its size, is loosely stitched to the tree across the way. It runs invisible across the path, then up into my tree to where it is tied onto a large boulder which I hauled up via a pulley with much effort earlier in the day.

My eyes flicker. The long evening had started at the pub...

"May the devils take your soul sir!"

"They most assuredly have yours already!"

"You spit upon the church, and turn your back upon the LORD of hosts!"

"Lies, and filthy lies! The Emperor Telicus, Lord of the Emerald Throne, worships the LORD in more truth than the blood-sucker Wic."

Wedged between the frightening Forest of Wic, the aptly named Mountains of Madness, and the new lands being conquered by Pythium, the most powerful and cruel fragment of the old empire, the horse people of Tapanete were quickly realizing that there would need to choose sides. Aftial had told me that there were many loyal worshipers of the church here. They would bring Tapanete over to the side of right if a few disloyal leaders could be removed.

"You dare insult the Archbishop! Right! I'll have your leg for that!" And the pub descended into chaos while I sat sipping my hot water against one wall, unnoticed by all.

A hoofbeat. I am awake without moving. Stupid to have fallen asleep, but still plenty of time. Mestor is alone, flying down the track on his horse to respond to the dreadful news that his prize stallion was murdered last night.

Horrible horse screams, and blood everywhere. Soon there would be guards, but I couldn't help feel a bit of remorse for this poor creature. Every man whose life I have poured out into the earth has been a man of power, with a thousand crimes, petty or great, which merit death, but this poor animal...

I shake the memory, plant my feet noiselessly. Mestor is only a few heartbeats away. I shove mightily and boulder plummets to the earth, snapping the thread up to exactly throat level. He makes no sound as he tumbles off. I leap lightly from the tree. Somehow he has fumbled his sword free. A weak stroke slides off my shield, then my sword flickers up under his rib cage and a sharp twist spills entrails into the sunny morning light.

The LORD has granted me victory again. All praise the name of Aftial, protector of the weak, goddess of courage, swift, terrible vengeance upon the unworthy!

His horse, confused by loosing its master, turns around, comes over and is looking at me. I reach for its reigns gently, "Come on, let's get you to a better master."

Esclave

997 A.P.P.M.
Salutations Magister Esclave,

The time is almost at hand. Your mastery of earth magick under the guidance of Amirdon has proceeded quickly, and my construction here in the forest is complete. Soon the Magus Temple, with you as the first student and teacher, will host many capable magicians not bound by the politics and strictures of the church.

But we must be careful. The Three of Three has uncovered a treacherous letter which appears to seek some sort of understanding with the undead menace to the west. The Church has always used such opportunities to purge those who scare them, and I fear they will try to pin this letter on me. In the council I can count on the support of Polgrave, Muszinger, and Amirdon. I cannot say how Forest will decide, but with Elkland's seat still empty, a tie will be broken by Marignon voting against me. Before this can happen, we must make ourselves strong.

I am disturbed, for I can find no information about the true author of this note. Post-scriptum I pen the portions released by the council. I know it is not much to go on, but I hope you will help me uncover this traitor and clear my name.

In His Name,
The Archbishop of Wic

Greetings,

The Church,----------------, has a wealth of --------------- notions about you. There are those of us, however, who take a more practical view of the world. ---------------------------- --------------------------------------

I must stress that I cannot speak for the entire Church, ---------------------------------------------- Perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement, temporary truce, or at least a sham war to placate ---------------------------- my side. If you are interested in discussing such a policy simply send back a note with this messenger.

In peace,
A lesser foe

Esclave,

Be not afraid. You have sought me in your studies all your life. In vain did you look in books and ancient prophecies while I stood beside you and held your hand. In your heart you have always known, why else did you never ask my name when we were together? The LORD dwells in the heart of every man, granting him the knowledge of good and evil-- how to recognize angel from devil. When first your eyes beheld me they glimpsed a heaven you had never known in the dark cathedrals of the church.

And yet good men are still led astray. Seduced by power, they seek to use that power to save others, the kingdom, the church. Ever and again they are lost to the light. Be on your guard, but be not afraid. You have known me and your soul is claimed for God. Neither the dusty grave nor the hosts of Hell can separate you from His love, and thence from mine.

I go now into the wild. Though I will visit you in dreams ever and anon, I will not write again for a season, but which time it will have been three of three months since I left your side...

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given.

Aftial

Zen

July 6th, 2005, 10:43 PM

I haven't gotten a new turn in a while, is this on hold or did I miss an Email or something?

Edit: Also I think Very Hard research settings is a pretty crapple idea for a 50 turn game. We're more than 1/4 done and even though I'm the second highest in research I'm pretty powerless. I imagine that Pythium has far outstripped anyone else in research possibility to start using el cheezeass tactics.

Sedna

July 7th, 2005, 12:23 AM

I just got a new turn this evening, so perhaps yours is on its way? If not, you should let Tauren know. The rather long time between turns could be used for writing...

I agree that the research feels dreadfully slow, but I'm not sure that "powerless" is the correct adjective. We're all in the same boat; if the aliens only have clubs than a board with a nail in it can turn the tide. The idea, of course, is to make people use some of the low level stuff and national troops-- hopefully providing more flavor than everyone fighting with the high-level summons.

We'll see how it goes, but if the game is still very unsettled and people wish to continue beyond turn 60 we can always do that. Of course, that's easy for me to say, since I already have my priests counting down to and "end of the world" which will happen on turn 48.

The Panther

July 7th, 2005, 06:41 PM

Actually, I am a huge fan of Very Hard Research. It forces everyone to make tough decisions. It makes you think hard about what is REALLY important to you. It makes you truly consider depending on many of the lower level spells far more than usual. The normal research games where you simply complete everything by turn 50 is not near as challenging, imho.

It even makes a nice current (and future) topic for my yarns. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif This game is not about winning anyway, but about writing.

As for Pythium, he would be leading in research no matter the settings. That is simply a huge advantage for the nation of Pythium (as if they do not already have enough advantages anyway).

Alneyan

July 9th, 2005, 09:18 AM

The Panther said:
Try going out of the country for 12 days...

Seconded.

This game is not about winning anyway, but about writing.

Seconded; if we were trying to win, I would start looking for a war just to bother someone and get killed as soon as possible (I have just been reminded of why I stopped using Rainbow Pretenders: they just die too easily, and when they die, it hurts).

So, I'm back online, and will resume posting as soon as possible.

Cainehill

July 9th, 2005, 05:51 PM

Alneyan said:
(I have just been reminded of why I stopped using Rainbow Pretenders: they just die too easily, and when they die, it hurts).

Heh. Twiceborn is your friend - no human rainbow should go anywhere without it. Also, having 5 solid bodyguards, or being set to retreat (though neither one is perfect, due to the "Die retreating from assassination feature).

And happily, Zen's pretender mod does make those rainbows a little more survivable.

Alneyan

July 10th, 2005, 06:07 AM

Alas, my hull was not even a human Pretender, and was *tough*... and supposed to take down those independents handily, I think. Twiceborn would have been kind of a downgrade here actually, if memory serves.

Then again, I never pretended to have the slightest clue on how to play Pangaea, and things ain't looking up. Well, we love our neighbours, so all should be well.

Sedna

July 10th, 2005, 11:34 PM

Since the game has slowed down a little bit, I'd like to remind everyone that they have a great chance to catch up on yarns. If it's daunting to face several unwritten yarns, then why not just do the latest one? You can always hope to go back and fill in the gaps later if you wish, but that way you get back in the saddle. We're at 5/9 for turn 9 and 4/9 for turn 12, though I trust Alneyan will soon regale us with the tale of how his/her god died. I think two-thirds participation is a very reasonable goal http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif

djo

July 11th, 2005, 08:19 AM

I heartily second what Sedna said.

And it doesn't have to be long--in fact, if you look back at Yarnspinners I, you'll notice that the yarns tended to be a lot shorter (albeit twice as frequent). Take, for example, a randomly chosen turn deep in the game: (Turn47 (http://yarnspinners.improbable.org/index.php?title=YS1:Turn47)). Certainly just as good as what we're spinning out now.

(Frankly, I could keep up a lot better if I split my yarns across a few turns. But I can't help myself...)

The Panther

July 11th, 2005, 09:58 AM

As for the game slowing down, our host Tauren moved into his dorm in Utah over the weekend. His University (Northface) is assigning him a laptop computer on Tuesday. Until then, he has no way of getting on line.

He expects to be up and running by the end of tomorrow, or Wednesday at the latest. After that, we can hopefully get back to a decent schedule.

I really ought to use this time to finish my latest yarn, except for the small problem that I may be buying a house today and moving very soon...

PashaDawg

July 13th, 2005, 08:49 PM

I am going away from Friday - Wednesday.

Dragonfire has agreed to fill in for me while I am away. I will email the necessary parties with the necessary information & files, etc., etc., etc.

puffyn

July 14th, 2005, 10:41 PM

Apropos to nothing, Djo, but could you tell me this:

What color is Quellian Ji?

Thank you.

djo

July 15th, 2005, 08:46 AM

puffyn said:
Apropos to nothing, Djo, but could you tell me this:

What color is Quellian Ji?

Ji is a plain old seagull. Now, there are of course many kinds of gulls, and purists will not call any of them "seagulls". Unfortunately, I don't have my bird book at work, so I can't be more specific right now. He's one of those white/gray trash-pickers, except he tries not to let anyone catch him doing it.

See also: http://www.geekculture.com/joyoftech/joyarchives/701.html.

And Ji's eyes are normal bird eyes; the violet-eyed gull in Pherios's visions is an amalgam of Ji and Vethru (who does have violet eyes). And while I'm giving away stuff, the gulls in Pherios's visions can also represent the nation of Vanheim.

Fans of prophesy & Pherios's visions: lots coming in turn 18!

puffyn

July 16th, 2005, 11:57 PM

Hi folks,

Posted my turn 15. Here it is. Thanks for the delay to allow me to get caught up http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif

C'tis Turn 15

The sun slowly bled to death in the lake.

Ash'embe had never seen so much water. Rivers he knew, though rivers in lizard lands were seasonal things, dry all but a few weeks a year, then torrents of raging flood waters that no civilized lizard would go near.

This water was very placid. Perhaps it had been lulled into complacency by the knowledge that it would never run out, never dry into nothingness. Ash'embe eyed it suspiciously, watching the last sliver of sun cling desperately to life before being subsumed in the blue. It was time to go. Darkness fell quickly in the mountains, and he had to hurry back to the fireside before he stiffened from coldshock.

A loud squawk came from the cliffside, not three hundred centimeters away from him. It was too dark to see what kind of bird it might be, but that didn't matter. He knew it was a white gull. It was always the same damned white gull.

Too many damned scale-leavers here, he thought. Between that and the huge expanse of water, it was no wonder his troops were jumpy and on edge. He rummaged on the ground for a large, smooth rock, picked it up carefully, and turned to face the gull. It eyed him curiously, no hint of fear in its eyes. He hefted the rock, calculating trajectories and impact parameters; at this distance there was no way he could miss.

The bird calmly sidestepped the rock, straightened itself up again, stared at Ash'embe as if nothing had happened. It squawked again.

Damn bird, said Ash'embe, scampering back to camp before he froze to death. He always missed.

"Hey, Ash'embe," came a voice, and he winced. Not again. "I've been reviewing your plans for the morning, and I was wondering if I could make a few slight suggestions..."

He glanced longingly at the sheltered cliffside, where a score of lizards nestled together, dreaming warm dreams of fame and glory. Then he sighed, and turned to face the voice, steeling himself for another sleepless night.

- - -

Ruli slinked into town at midnight on a new moon. For good measure, he made sure it was cloudy, too. It didn't help.

"RUUUUULIIIIII!" He felt his tail being ignobly grabbed by somebody's teeth, who for good measure also cuffed him in playful hatchling style. Somebody acting entirely unbefitting of the solemn dignity of the purple robes she...

"Hi Laph," he said, trying not to sound sheepish. He also tried to break free.

"Oh, no no no, little egg brother," she said. "'Hi Laph?' Is that the best you can do? You've been gone for three seasons. You could have sent a messenger... or, you know, come back yourself five times over." She was smiling at him, clearly overjoyed to see him alive and whole-tailed. Just as clearly she was not going to let him escape until she'd pried every last detail from him.

"You missed all the Trials, the Enyarnment itself... for Aetonyx's sake, last time I saw you you were slipping out of my Egg ceremony," she went on. Her face was implacable.

"So spill."

He gave placating a shot anyhow, just for kicks. "Oh, you know how battles go, so hard to get away or spare a runner," he tried. No luck. "Have you heard about this cool trick I figured out, took me such a long time to get it working, see, you take some bones and..."

"Ruli," she said. "I told that story to the kiddies yesterday. I've been telling it for months. That was ages ago."

"Plus," she continued, before he could speak again, "the rest of the army's been back for ages, gotten reinforcements, gone out to fight more campaigns, and should be back again any day now. So WHERE have you BEEN?"

He sighed. It was all quite hopeless. Better tell her now and get some rest tonight... Somehow, that seemed implausible.

"Well, I stayed behind to scout out the land. Cole said there were some fascinating sites that he remembered from his youth, and I found this place where the rocks howled in pain from an ancient battle..." she was shooting him a look he knew all too well "... and you want me to get to the point now, before you're forced to rap me on the skull with your ceremonial staff, don't you?"

She nodded, a slight smile escaping briefly before being swallowed by a very determined expression.

"Ah, well, you see, the howling rocks weren't all I found. There was also a huge pile of bones, warmling or lizard, it was hard to say which, and there were all still armed, of course, so I thought I could try..."

Laph sighed, as if she had been expecting this. "How many were there, Ruli?"

"Um... thirty-seven?" He had counted them all as he laid them out in neat formations, before he set to work. Afterwards, he couldn't get an accurate count, owing to the fleeing. "But some of them weren't very stable, I'm sure I saw at least three of them fall apart before..."

"Thirty-seven," repeated Laph. "Armed with what?"

"Er, mostly broad swords," said Ruli. "But some of them just had sharp pointy claws..."

"Broad swords," repeated Laph. It sounded almost like she was making a mental checklist. Things to Bear in Mind Lest We Be Ignominiously Crushed for Want of Proper Preparation, she probably thought of it as. She seemed to be taking it rather calmly, given how close the army of deadls had been...

"You knew." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, Cole flew that way on his morning exercises," said Laph, but grinning this time. Ruli was so funny when he looked all guilty and furtive. "For an egg-mate of mine, you sure suck at spinning good lies, Ruli," she laughed. "You really think we wouldn't find out and would think it was just some random bad luck that a horde of dead things was menacing out outer provinces, oh Arruli Bone-master? Or should I say, Bone-semi-masterer?"

He still looked a little mortified. "Oh, c'mon, relax, we're not going to banish you," she said. "C'mon up to the royal caverns, we have a special cavern all prepared for you, as befits a lizard of your stature." She turned and strode off toward the High Rock, the majestic flow of her robes offset slightly by the undignified snickering sounds she kept making.

Ruli had no choice but to follow.

- - -

When Ash'embe returned, flush from victory against rather well-armed peasants (who had naively thought that meant they could deprive C'tis of some fine farmland), he advocated leaving immediately before "the damned winter egg only made it worse." It was all Laph could do to make him settle down and come up with a plan first.

"They're not peasants with pitchforks who'll run screaming at the sight of a walking, talking lizard carrying a sharp pointy stick," she said. "They're battle veterans. Oh, and did I mention they're dead? You won't be able to scare them with your little walking skeletons trick, either," she said, cutting off an attempt by Ruli to speak.

He spoke anyways. "There's a counterspell I've been working on, it'll make their bones fall apart..."

"Got it working yet?"

Ruli was silent. He'd never seen Laph like this before. She had always been bold: once, she had talked Cole into letting her ride on his back, and made out like flying came perfectly naturally to her, although Ruli knew she had gotten very sick from all the swooping. But this aura of command and authority � that was new.

"No," he admitted.

"Then you'll just have to stay with Great-Grandfather Lugal and work on it," she said. She turned to Ash'embe. "We have a squadron of new hatchlings from the guild of empoisonners, strong tails on all of them, excellent aim I'm told."

"Won't do much good against undead," the young commander said.

"Well, there's always the new recruits," said Laph. "With them we should have more than enough."

"What you really need is some way to keep them from fleeing," said Ash'embe. He spoke more easily now that the conversation had moved to familiar territory. "A lizard is just as strong hand to hand as any skeleton, if he can only be persuaded to stand his ground..." It was a mystery to Ash'embe why anyone would choose to run from a glorious death in battle, but he had learned to accept the limitations of the lesser lizards in his command.

Then he said the words he would regret forever.

He would even regret them after the longdead warriors had crumbled and fallen, while not a one of his own lizards had turned tail and fled. He would regret them in spite of the admittedly motivational yarn that was spun about the Curse of the Longdead Ghouls, who were fated to die again at the hands of green recruits, which the young swamp lizards eminently were.

He said the words anyways, even though before he spoke them he somehow knew that they would be followed by days upon days of many, many more words, words beginning with "Now have we thought this through fully?" or "Let's be sure we're not missing anything here." He said the words, he sometimes thought later, to test his resolve never to bite a fellow lizard, only warmlings. Ash'embe was no biter. But he would wish he were sometime real soon now.

What he said was, "Laph, you should come with us."

djo

July 17th, 2005, 07:05 PM

Puffyn--are scale-leavers birds? Context shows they aren't warmlings (mammals?), and at one point Ash'embe swears "What the scale-leaver's-feather...".

Oh, it just hit me..."scale-leaver" = "creature that leaves feathers (scales) behind". Right?

puffyn

July 18th, 2005, 10:47 AM

Djo,

Brownie points* for figuring that out. The lizards take a very evolutionary view of other species, and consider birds to have made a very poor choice when they traded away their fine scales for nasty feathers.

-puffyn

* Not redeemable for actual brownies.

Sedna

July 18th, 2005, 12:19 PM

Speaking of mysteries to be unraveled...

It is now clear (to me at least) that Vanheim is playing Helheim. This is the only way for an undead god to be appropriate for the theme. There aren't too many undead who make sense. I quote Galameteia:

"I don't know. Some say he is a revenant. No one really knows."

Obviously a revenant is impossible (the Lady in the Tower could possibly be a revenant, but Djo warns us that the cast of characters will not be identical to the commanders in his game). The only two gods really possible are the lich and the lich king. Not much to differentiate between the two... except that it's clear Vethru has air magic (if we are able to infer anything from the battle in turn 12). With Vanheim's easy access to air, I would assume this means Vethru will be used in battle, which would strongly favor the more durable lich chassis.

djo

July 18th, 2005, 01:02 PM

Sedna is correct in every matter where rationality would give one the correct answer. You can have some of the brownie points I just got from puffyn.

Helheim, I haven't tried to hide. The theme just cries out with stories waiting to be written. Pherios is kind of innocent (a perfect protagonist); he just figured it out himself in turn 15 ("This is our world? We raise the dead? In Vanheim?"). Boy, has he got some nasty surprises coming.

There are enough clues to figure out what the Lady of the Tower is.

Vethru is an arch lich, mostly because I wanted the extra death gem/turn he generates in Zen's mods. In the story, I have ignored the disease cloud Zen added, though. I agonized over it-is it fair to ignore it?-but there you go.

I hide as much truth as I can in the tales. Vethru *can* throw lighting bolts. You may be able to guess some sites I've found. And in turn 18, there will be dropped an accurate piece of intelligence about someone else's pretender that is *not* common knowledge (as far as I know).

Sedna

July 19th, 2005, 01:04 AM

Sedna is correct in every matter where rationality would give one the correct answer. You can have some of the brownie points I just got from puffyn.

Wohoo, go rationality. But since puffyn's brownies are non-redeemable for store credit, I'll have to try a little harder. If The Lady in the Tower is a real character in the game then she's clearly a Hangadrott:

I quote turn 6 which references her ladyship:
"Why? It's no different than what I did. A little messier. What she did took cojones. I like that."

Referring, of course, to the hangadrott tendency to hang oneself from an ash. It is perfectly sensible that there should only be one of these very expensive units yet in Vanheim's employ.

So, the only question remains what random magic path she has. Death and air are givens, so if she got an extra in either it would be darn hard to tell. I have the following clues:

"She's a language nut herself"

"Apparently, she's been giving the dwarves cooking lessons"

But neither of these tell me much... in Marignon philosophy these would add up to a fire mage, but we're not in Marignon anymore.

She hangs out with the dwarves all the time, and thus could be earthy, but that association could simply reflect the reality that these are Vanheim's only serious researchers.

Finally, she works on Project Excelsior. This probably means "higher" in this context (rather than shavings of wood).

The signs are unclear. I'll guess astral for the tenuous connection between language and that primal source of magic and her preference for tall, star-gazing towers.

djo

July 19th, 2005, 08:56 AM

Some more worthless bonus points for you!

The Lady will indeed be a Hangadrott, if I ever get around to recruiting her. Vanheim is kind of cash-poor right now. The Hangadrott is the #1 reason I wanted to play Helheim. It's just so cool. You can imagine a Hangadrott and a lich would have a lot to talk about. They could invite Larch the revenant from C'tis over for a tea party. (I don't know enough about the Ermorians to know if they'd be good company or not.)

Somewhere in the rest of your post you hit on another clue to something else, but not what you thought.

If you like these games, you're gonna love turn 18! Draft done last night, final to be posted hopefully later this week...

[edit] And let me say it's a pleasure to see that someone is reading my yarns so closely!

Sedna

July 19th, 2005, 01:55 PM

Perhaps it's time to raise the stakes a little beyond worthless brownie points.

I'll send a shiny astral pearl to whoever can correctly guess the identities of the Archbishops. For clarification, the Archbishops are Grand Masters (not all recruited yet obviously), and thus each has a random magic path. Duplicate randoms become regular bishops (none of those so far). So, each Archbishop is associated with one of the eight paths of magic. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to figure out which is which.

The names of the Archbishops are the names of the provinces surrounding Marignon. Some names fit well with the magic path, and others are unrelated. From this, the yarns, and the section on the Three of Three, I believe you should be able to narrow it down to one or two guesses.

Faithful readers are welcome to submit guesses also, although the prize is moot in that case. One guess per entrant. First correct response wins. Void where prohibited.

The Panther

July 19th, 2005, 08:35 PM

In my Turn 15 Yarn, Selena issued her very first proclamation. I have reprinted that here (but not the rest of the yarn narrative). I was wondering if it might be worthwhile to make a Proclamations page like that Treaty page. Not that I would have a clue how to do that if people think it worthwhile anyway. Heck, I can't even figure out how to change the font on the site...

Anyway, here it is:

The First Proclamation of Man

Let it be known to all parties in the Land of Inland that the Powerful Nation of Man will not tolerate any other nation capturing lands adjacent to the Castle of the Queen Enchantress. We will also not tolerate any attacks on land controlled by Man. And we also will frown greatly on other nations attacking any neutral lands currently under control of the Dominion of Man without first seeking permission from our nation. Any such acts will be treated as an overtly hostile act towards our nation which could result in battle.

As for the Pythium invasion of Solian, this will not be tolerated. We are taking that kingdom forthwith and will secure ownership with haste.

However, with Man�s beloved Queen Selena being a very peaceful Great Enchantress, she will consider the Pythium invasion to be an error in scouting on their part. Our Queen has even offered her thanks to Pythium for clearing the rebel scum from Solian, thus making it much easier for Man�s powerful armies to take over rightful ownership.

But if Pythium insists on continuing aggressive acts towards the Kingdom of Man, then we will fight them down to the last able-bodied soldier loyal to our Queen. We will summon powerful magical beings to fight on our side. We will send potent mages to kill all of our enemies. And finally, we will actively court allies against the grave threat of a rapidly growing evil Pythium empire.

So it has been proclaimed on the third month of the second year of the Reign of the Beloved Great Enchantress, Queen of Man.

== Selena ==

djo

July 19th, 2005, 10:01 PM

The Panther said:
I was wondering if it might be worthwhile to make a Proclamations page like that Treaty page.

Abraca-wiki!

Edit as you please...

djo

July 20th, 2005, 10:21 PM

Vanheim turn 18 is here! (Posted & wiki'd)

With that done, I'll have some time to try to answer Sedna's riddle...

In which Galameteia is lost.

Pherios

We separated. Galameteia stepped back, and I slowly let go of her hands. "Be careful," I said.

"I will," she replied. "Don't worry. I'll see you in a couple days."

After the door closed, my heart wouldn't stop racing. I tried to sit and study, but my mind wouldn't settle. I decided to go for a walk to calm myself.

Out the window, I saw a flock of finches on the roof of a nearby tower. One stood apart, twittering to the others, and I knew, somewhere, a lizard was telling a story. Her audience huddled in twos and threes. I do not think it was a happy tale.

Overhead, the silhouette of a hawk gained a brilliant corona as the sun broke through the clouds behind it. Fire. Vanheim burned, and iron boots trod on its ruins.

I closed my eyes. They usually didn't come so close together, with no gap between vision and interpretation. I threw on a light coat and walked down the winding stairs. Just before I reached the ground floor, I spotted a goose feather in a dusty corner. In my mind, a human hand picked it up and trimmed it. The studious young man set to writing. Behind him stood two women, shimmering, translucent, outlined in flame.

I leaned on the door frame. Fresh air. No, food. That's what I needed. I'd walk to the great hall and get something to eat.

I open the door and keep my eyes down, on the ground, the gutter, anywhere but the sky. In the kitchen, I scrounge for some bread and cheese. Zainos holds up tonight's dinner, a brace of pheasants. One of them lifts its head and looks at me, a tear in its eye. My mother. I see her and Aunt Sennei in armor, flying over a battle. The enemy carries purple standards, and they've overrun our estate. They slaughter our cooks, maids, and hostlers. My mother falls to the earth with a dozen arrows in her.

I rush into the courtyard, gasping. Wine. Or something stronger. And quickly. I walk toward the street, always looking down. But there's a gull with purple eyes standing there. "Do not look away," it says. "Examine every image. You must help me find--" And then he tells me, but the words are just scribbles in my brain. Spells that aren't spells, a machine that isn't a machine, and a mind that isn't a mind.

I hear the wind rise, and see the light dim, and I know that clouds have covered the sun. But I don't look up. I stop before a carved wooden owl on the sign of a shop. "I know you," I tell it. "But it can't be. I don't see you anymore."

"Have courage," it replies. "When the time comes, I will help you."

I hear a low *kwock* behind me. "As will I," says the night-heron. Petema. Where is she? I think she lives nearby. I stumble away from the shop. Maybe I can make it to her house.

Thunder crashes, and an egret shrieks. "Galameteia!" I cry, and before I can stop myself, I look up.

The sky swirls and opens above me.

Nothing is stable; the heavens rotate. Every light in the universe traces circles around me. My head spins. The stars dance and streak across the towering clouds. The air races, rain joins the leaves and dust, and every manner of flying thing races around me in a cyclone. I can't stand. The rain turns to hail. Lightning flashes as straight as the sword of an angel, and it cuts down the egret. Again I shout her name. I fumble for my sword, but my hands are bound behind my back.

Two red dragons tangle overhead, clawing each other, erupting in a fireball. The light from the explosion casts shadows of a square wooden frame on the flagstones in front of me.

I can't feel the ground underneath me anymore. The winds carry me over the forest. I look for a place to set down. A young woman with a staff of thorns frowns. There is kindness in her face, but nevertheless, she shakes her head no. I may not stop in her land. I drift toward the mountains.

Suddenly, I feel hope. I know for a certainty that I will see her again. Then, with horror, I do. My snowy egret's feathers have turned to black. Hope dies. Doom breaks over me. It will never be the same again. I will have no last moment of happiness with her.

I fall on my back in the snow. A gull lands, and another. A heron. An owl. As I lie there, they gather. They surround me. Herons, egrets, pheasants, gulls, an owl, an osprey who is a prophet, and an osprey who is more. They stand in a ring around me and the violet-eyed gull standing on my stomach.

"He is mine," says the gull. "You are all mine."

The larger osprey spreads its wings protectively over the flock and says, "No. You are old, but we have always been here." The blue heron speaks first, then the osprey, the owl, the pheasants. All the birds' voices rise as one in a cacophony of squawks and shrieks. The sun flares, then grows dark as the clouds eat the sky. Lightning slashes the air. The universe cracks.

I pass through many arches in the labyrinth: petrel, plover, piper, puffin...under the heron arch, I find it. I open the cask, spread out the scroll, and read the name. "Now do you see?" asks the gull. "Do you understand at last?"

I loosen the rope so I can speak. "You are wrong," I rasp. Her feathers are still warm. "We are worth far more than what you bought with us." There is nothing in her eyes. There is nothing in her heart, there is nothing in me. It's cold. She's cold. There is nothing. It's cold, it's dark, she's gone. I'm cold, she's cold, I'm dead she's dead it's cold I can't feel I can't I'm

Quellian Ji

So we're off on a field trip to find another piece of the puzzle. "Hey, boss, couldn't you find some place with higher ceilings?" I say.

"It is where it is," Vethru replies.

"It's just, I like some room to stretch my wings, you know? In case, uh, I want to go somewhere. In a hurry."

"Galameteia and Kestumaia aren't complaining," the boss says. "And their turning radius is bigger than yours."

Of course his pet Valkyries aren't complaining; they worship him. I've known him too long for that. But still...they're probably the best company here. Hallixene is boring, the dwarf just mumbles, and the stiffs, well, carrying the torches is the limit of what their brainpower can accomplish. Conversation is a bit too advanced for them.

I'm in no mood for the boss's philosophical digressions, so I flutter over to Galameteia's shoulder. I get a good grip on her mail and say, "Hi, sweetie."

"Hello, Ji," she says in a low voice. "Me, too."

"What?"

"I don't like these caverns, either."

"Thanks for speaking up," I say. "Local 554 of the Vanheim Air National Guard thanks you for your support."

"There's a difference," she says. "I can agree with you about not liking being underground without complaining about it. A complaint is a dislike you've gotten too emotionally attached to."

"I'm the sidekick. I'm not paid to make those distinctions."

Our sparkling banter gets interrupted by our arrival. "Cracks and shards," I say. Everyone else is silent. Except Kor, whose mumbling sounds suspiciously like, "I told you so."

I'd say he's entitled. Damned if the earth's blood really isn't seeping out of the ground. It looks like honey, or sort of like amber, except honey or amber doesn't look like it's charged with about a bazillion volts of electricity. Or magic. Or something.

Vethru bends down to examine it. He's happy. When Kor leads us to the next chamber, Vethru is ecstatic. There's an opening there, circular, with inscriptions all the way around. It looks like it goes down to where that stuff in the other room is coming up from. The fact that the opening is closed by a giant, faceted, blue-green crystal sends Vethru into fits of joy.

Hallixene just looks thoughtful. The stiffs don't care. But Galameteia, she starts to shudder.

"What's wrong?" I ask her.

"I've seen this," she whispers.

The boss doesn't miss a thing. I suppose that's why he's still alive, er, around after all this time. "This is familiar? What did you see?"

"Power," she says. "A great concentration of power. Danger. A gorgon."

"Are we successful?" he asks.

"I...you are," she says. "I don't think I am."

He hobbles up to her and looks her straight in the eye. "Don't be afraid. The futures you see aren't set in stone."

"I know," Galameteia says.

"Do you want to turn back?" he asks, and I think that's kind of low. It's exactly the right question to shame her into carrying on, and she does. But I can tell; she's still really nervous

The show goes on. Kor and the Big V take down the crystal, and we make our way down the stairway behind it. On one claw, I've been in enough tombs that haven't been opened since the dawn of time to know that the biggest danger in most of them is allergies. On the other claw, the exceptions tend to make you want to drop your feathers and fly away screaming.

When we walk into the big chamber at the end of the stairway, I get a bad feeling that it's the latter case.

Everybody does their job: Kor has the stiffs spread out to shine light through the whole room. Hallixene and the Valkyries step out in front of Vethru. The room is fairly big, and there's a dome somewhere up above us, so I take off and began circling.

There are statues all over the place. Warriors, wizards, some of those half-animal people, a couple lizards, and even one giant. Half of them look angry, and the other half looked terrified. It's pretty impressive, but across the room is the centerpiece. There's a glowing inscription covering about two hundred square feet of the wall. Lots of geometric figures connected by lines with arcane letters all over the place. Underneath it is a statue of as noble a creature as I've ever seen. About ten feet tall, robes, beatific expression.

Oops. It's not a statue.

"You Shall Not Possess The Rune. I Have Been Called; I Protect The Rune," it says. Its voice doesn't fit under the dome. It rumbles all around us. One of the stiffs actually falls over.

"Can't we discuss this?" asks Vethru, which I know is one of his delaying tactics. I know why. I recognize the thing on the wall, sort of. I've seen some of the other ones. They're all different, but they all give you the same feeling in your gut. The boss is buying time, while he gets his tendrils into it.

He's almost not fast enough. I feel my wings begin to stiffen. Ouch. My control surfaces need flexibility. I pitch and yaw, then I see the glowing thingie change. I stop plummeting and start flying again.

The mouthy statue isn't very happy. "You Have Interfered With The Rune! You Are Not Permitted To Manipulate The Rune!"

"If I had a credit for every time I heard that..." says Vethru.

And you know, I could kill him for being so flip about it. I mean, I know he can't help it. It's just the way he is. And I know it didn't make a difference in what happened. But I liked the kid, both of them, so I still hate him for it.

The damned statue unfolds these big stone wings and launches itself at the boss. The Valkyries, they're pros, they don't hesitate. A half ton of stone angel comes hurtling toward the boss, and these two little girls jump right in the way.

In flight, the statue whips out about eight feet of stone sword and beats Kestumaia's spear out of the way. Galameteia, she's just a little bit quicker. Her spear finds its mark and splinters on the statue's chest.

Its sword goes right through her. She doesn't scream, not really, as she slides off the blade and falls all the way to the ground.

Vethru frowns. I go for its eyes.

silhouette

July 21st, 2005, 04:58 PM

It looks like several folks are getting behind on yarns already. Don't get discouraged; it's ok to lower your standards and keep putting something out there on a regular schedule. I know I will appreciate reading whatever you have to get some flavor from the other nations.

Also, I'm really missing the maps and graphs from recent turns. It feels like a media blackout.

Keep up the good work folks! Make it fun, not like it's work.

Sill

Sedna

July 21st, 2005, 09:22 PM

You raise a good point Sillhouette. Tauren, can we get maps for turns 12 and 15? I'll grab the score graphs from turn 15 and have them posted later this evening.

P.S. Thanks for reading.

puffyn

July 21st, 2005, 11:07 PM

Hey PashaDawg,

Welcome back. I wrote part of my latest yarn just for you... the story is called "How Aetonyx Lost His Tail". Enjoy!

Turn 18 (http://yarnspinners.improbable.org/index.php?title=Turn18)

-puffyn

PS. I should also add that, in a deeper, more fundamental way, the yarn is really for Pythium.

PashaDawg

July 22nd, 2005, 12:19 AM

Sounds like I have some good reading coming up!

Ugh! And, I better get off my duff and do some writing, too! http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/biggrin.gif

Sedna

July 22nd, 2005, 04:34 PM

Well, a day late, but not a dollar short. Here (http://yarnspinners.improbable.org/index.php?title=Graphs_Turn15) are the score graphs from turn 15.

Hopefully maps will come soon.

Sedna

July 24th, 2005, 01:05 AM

Courtesy of our fine host Tauren, there are now maps posted for turns 12 and 15. See the latest map here (http://yarnspinners.improbable.org/index.php?title=Turn15). Wonder no more who adjoins the provinces of your foe!

Sedna

July 26th, 2005, 11:14 PM

It's been 5.5 days now since the last turn. At some point we probably need to start hosting the turns even if one or two people stale (unless, of course, they've asked for a delay of game)

djo

July 27th, 2005, 08:24 PM

Sedna said:
Perhaps it's time to raise the stakes a little beyond worthless brownie points.

I'll send a shiny astral pearl to whoever can correctly guess the identities of the Archbishops.

Well, I finally had time to think about this...my guess is (rot13 so those who wish can work it out themselves):

Znev unf nfgeny zntvp (unq gb or gung be svrel zntvp), Nibpn vf sver (fgnaqf arne gur sver...), Fcver vf nve; gur rneguyl zntvpf: Nzveqba vf rnegu (gnhtug Rfpynir ("fynir"?) rnegu zntvp), Ryxynaq = j (zbirf dhvpxyl), Sberfg vf boivbhfyl angher; gur vasreanyf: Jvp pyrneyl vf n arpebznapre, naq guhf Cbytenir vf oybbq.

I will return the pearl if you will tell me (public or private) what Aftial is.

Sedna

July 28th, 2005, 12:31 AM

Thanks for playing. I feel bad not declaring you the winner. Your logic is quite reasonable, and it's only my twisted reasoning that prevents you from being completely correct. I guess I can say no more without ruining it for anyone else who might take a guess.

I never meant to make Aftial's physical form the object of suspense. After all, there is only one pretender form which the Church could possibly recognize as a servant of God.

Turn 12: "Myself, I was not sure about the Angel"

Turn 18: "I reached out to the angel, to Aftial"

Where by "angel", of course I mean the Virtue.

The deeper question of "what" she really is... well...

djo

July 29th, 2005, 08:56 AM

I can think of another configuration for the Three Above that makes sense. Is that where my errors were?

anonymousy2

July 29th, 2005, 10:45 PM

Pythium Baby-Killing Alleged

Inland (ONN) Rumors continued to surface alleging the wholesale slaughter of infants in territories conquered by the Pythium military. Sources, who asked to remain anonymous for fear of reprisals, indicated that Pythium standard practice after conquering an enemy province is to put to death any children who might grow up to avenge their father's deaths. The heads of widows of fallen soldiers are shaved, and the harvested hair is used to stuff the pillows of the conquerors.

Reaction from neighboring governments was swift. "It's a clear continuation of Pythium's rampant militarism. After the tragedy of Solian, is anyone truly surprised?" said a source within the nation of Man.

Following Pythium's explosive territorial expansion, diplomatic channels have become more active with calls of condemnation for the so-called "renegade nation." While no nation will go on record as openly calling for a multilateral intervention in the situation, privately, great concern is being expressed in the back hallways of government of all of Pythium's neighbors.

A representative from the government of Pythium could not be contacted for comment before press time.

Sedna

July 30th, 2005, 05:38 PM

<h3>Marignon Defends Culture of Life</h3>

The LORD has forbidden men from raising up the dead, and has given us an example in Ermor of what happens when foolish prides causes us to forsake His wisdom.

It is the policy of the Church of Marignon not to side with the tergiversators who are known to practice death magic and thus imperil the souls of men. This means no trade of materials or information, no mutual defense agreements, and no alliances against a third party. The best such heretics can expect is a frosty peace while the Church chooses to focus on greater threats.

If an offending nation is willing to relinquish the use of the death magic: using neither undead soldiers, nor artifacts made with death gems, nor casting dark rituals, then Marignon will resume normal and friendly relations and work to convert that nation peacefully.

Father Muszinger

997 A.P.P.M., or Turn18 in the common tongue.

Sedna

July 30th, 2005, 05:42 PM

Since it looks like no-one else is going to guess...

Your comments on your first guess lead me to believe that you would guess the configuration for the Three Above correctly the second time. However, you were also mislead by Turn 18 when contemplating the Three Below. It was Polgrave who actually made the Skull Talisman for Wic. I didn't think about this contest when writing that yarn or I would have tried to make that more clear.

djo

August 2nd, 2005, 09:59 AM

So, what's our status? How many people are we waiting for?

puffyn

August 2nd, 2005, 10:45 AM

Yes, what is taking so long? We've been slipping into 5 or more days elapsed between turns lately, and it would be nice if we could pick up the pace a little bit...

djo

August 3rd, 2005, 11:09 AM

I note in other threads that Pasha and Panther are/were having computer problems. Anyone else we're waiting for?

I've written my turn 21, but it was an easy one (a collection of letters). It'll be up after I see turn 19 or 20, probably, to allow for last-minute additions. But I have trouble getting too far ahead without some deadline-induced panic. Turn 24 needs that kick!

puffyn

August 3rd, 2005, 11:54 AM

Djo,

Perhaps you should offer ghost-writing services to some of the quieter nations, if you're running out of things to write? http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif

djo

August 3rd, 2005, 12:07 PM

What I need is the oh-god-its-turn-24-I've-only-got-a-draft panic...with a side order of and-I-still-need-to-play-the-turn-I've-got-no-money-and-Pythium-is-on-my-doorstep.

I suppose I could use my time to write slanderous accusations against other nations, since that precedent has been set. Or proclamations. Or something.

djo

August 3rd, 2005, 12:25 PM

Pythium turn 18:

Monday: got up late; headache; don't feel like researching today. Need to tell slaves to polish statue base!

Tuesday: what is Brutus doing? Expense account all out of whack. Note to self: slaughter more babies.

Thursday: never order Marignon take-out again; sick all night

Saturday: met attractive female statue in courtyard; just my type, not too chatty, but I don't think she fancies me

Monday: where did weekend go? sigh, back to work; what to do today: (a) conquest, (b) hire more mercenaries, (c) kill babies

puffyn

August 3rd, 2005, 04:24 PM

Hehe http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif

Ermor shouldn't be hard, either:

Ermor, Turn 3:

BRAAAAAAAAAAINS...

Ermor, Turn 6:

BRAAAAAAAAAAINS...

Ermor, Turn 9:

(after killing off some researchers)
BRAAAAAAAAAANES...

djo

August 3rd, 2005, 07:37 PM

Ermor, Turn 12:

(zombies in the desert)
BAHRAAAAAAAAAIN....

quantum_mechani

August 4th, 2005, 12:42 AM

*sigh*

This stale was particularly annoying as I had finished my turn, I was just waiting to send it until I got the notice E-mail, in case of diplomacy changeing my orders.

Sedna

August 4th, 2005, 11:31 AM

If it's super-critical to you we could re-run the turn I suppose.

It was, however, 8 days between turns 18 and 19... so I understand why Tauren just ran the turn when the natives (see previous posts by djo and puffyn) started getting restless.

A more consistent schedule would avoid these problems. Since, sadly, a more relaxed schedule doesn't seem to have prompted yarns from all the non-writers who were so excited at the beginning of the game, I propose we should return to a strict three-turns per week schedule once the summer is over.

The Panther

August 4th, 2005, 12:01 PM

Ok, I am back up and running (sort of). Late last night, I could not find all the mods for all my games, so I was unable to do anything about any of my turns. I do not even recall which mod I was missing from this game, for it was just too late last night and I was very tired.

Also, because my motherboard crashed in the old computer, I lost all my saved emails. I am going to try and install my old hard drive as a slave in the new computer, but I am a bit worried that I may mess it up since it was unclear from the printed instructions what exactly I should do with the jumper. So I have not done that as yet.

Meanwhile, I would appreciate if the people who sent me emails on this game would resend them so I have them all on record. I do recall that I did not reply to the latest one I received, which was perhaps from Sedna or Alneyan?

Anyway, I hope I am now past this latest crisis, though I am going out of town tomorrow for the weekend to visit the Overseer at his new college.

quantum_mechani

August 4th, 2005, 10:27 PM

Sedna said:
If it's super-critical to you we could re-run the turn I suppose.

It is not super critical, though if it were easy I would certainly like to re-run it. In the future though, I would really like a warning mail or post if I am about to be force hosted.

Sedna

August 11th, 2005, 07:48 PM

Are we still waiting for Alneyan or Zen?

I think it's important to keep the game moving along...

Aegis516

August 12th, 2005, 12:14 PM

Well, I finally got a login and I wanted my first post to be kudos for the writing in the original Yarnspinners- Which I will be wasting all day reading (only skimmed so far to see quality). And additional Kudos for everything so far on Yarnspinners II. I esp. identify with Sedna's take on R'lyeh and I do the same thing when I play. I can't believe a community like this exists kudos for everyone...

quantum_mechani

August 12th, 2005, 01:02 PM

Glad you liked the writing, hopfully I can supply a little more of it...

BTW, I saw you log on to the dominions channel, it is kind of empty on weekdays but on the weekend it is pretty active.

puffyn

August 12th, 2005, 09:24 PM

Hi Aegis,

Always nice to hear from a fan http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif I only question your use of the word "wasting" with reference to our beautiful, beautiful yarns...

-puffyn

P.S. Turn?

djo

August 13th, 2005, 12:10 PM

For all our fans...Vanheim turn 21:

In which we read other people's mail.

* * *

Dear Thumesteia,

I am so sorry to hear that your husband has left to fight in the war. My Anteirios is almost never home, either; he spends most of his time in Vanheim. But of course it is far worse for you, coming so close after your daughter's death.

You should know I think about her every day. I cannot express to you the grief I feel. It has hit all of us very hard, especially my own dear Pherios. He has still not recovered from the shock. Even now, he will not come home to me. He remains in the city, convinced that someday, somehow, she will return to him.

Please come to the estate and stay with us for the winter. It will do us both good. I think it will be a gloomy time for us, as the days grow short, and the nights long. Together, we can take comfort in our memories, and assure each other that these dark days will soon end.

Your friend,

Mistepeillia

* * *

My dear Vethru,

We have had major breakthroughs in Project Excelsior. I would like to lock this Father Muszinger in a room with one of my creatures and have him explain his ridiculous proclamation to it. You must come see. And bring Quellian Ji. I have something for him as well.

If you can spare the evening, I have finally found a dwarf who understands that pasta need not always be served with tomato sauce.

And if you can spare the night, so much the better...

Yours,

T.

* * *

To Belletennares of Alteion, Prophet of Vethru, General of the Armies of Vanheim

Cousin,

By now you have heard of Galameteia's death. You should also know that Pherios is not doing very well. He's been staying at my house, since he won't return to the castle. I'm hoping you can help me do something for him.

I found him, you know, on the day that Galameteia died. We haven't told many people, not even Vethru, but his breakdown came before he heard of her death, not after. I was walking home in a storm, when I found him in that courtyard two streets south of my house. He was soaked and shivering and babbling. I got him inside and warm and dry, but he still wasn't making any sense. Over and over, he said, "No joy. No joy."

When he woke the next day, he didn't remember much of it. He said he had some visions and got dizzy and after that, nothing was clear.

And then the news came about Galameteia. He fell apart again. From his ranting, I think he foresaw it. I think he knew that she was going to die, and the vision overwhelmed him.

Cousin, any advice you can give me would be helpful. He barely eats. He sleeps poorly. He won't go home to his mother, and he'll barely speak to his father. Your share his gift. Can you tell me what to do for him? What to say? He's a dear boy, and he has a long life in front of him. We can't let this hang over him.

Love,

Petema

* * *

Anteirios,

Get your *** back to Vanheim! Did you notice the three wagons, forty-seven boxes, and six burly lads that came with this message? They're going to pack up your frelling personal library and bring it back with you. No more back and forth--you stay in the city. Understood?

And do you know anyone who can make sense of this damnable Marignonian politics? I can't make head or tail of these ecclesiastical writs, statements of canon, or whatever other logorrhea they're afflicted with. Start files on all the archbishops, if we haven't already. They aren't all working from the same playbook, and after that silly proclamation of theirs, we've got to figure out who is who.

We need to move on Pythium. Frankly, it'd be easier if they just invaded someone. Maybe we can set Marignon on them, paint them as death worshipers or something like that. Who knows, it might even be true.

Finally, when you get back to the city, could you encourage your son to come back to work? Yes, it was a tragedy, but it's been six weeks, and we're looking at a potential war. We need him now more than ever.

V.

* * *

Lord Hallixene of Ketuzimion,

Sir, I beseech you, please: tell me anything you can about what happened to Galameteia. I know the mission was secret. But I serve Vanheim, too, and Vethru. I am faithful and loyal. I do not ask what you were doing, only what happened to Galameteia. By all that is holy, will you at least tell me why her body was not recovered? Why could we not bring her to the peaks for our final goodbyes?

I pledge to you that I ask no more than is decent and proper. I loved her; will you not give me the peace of mind of knowing how she was lost?

With respect,

Pherios of Alteion

* * *

To Vethru, Prince of Air, Bestower of Good Gifts, Patron of the Rich, Patron of Herbalists, God of Vanheim,

My lord,

Your pardon, sire, for the intrusion, but I believe I have found something you are looking for. Recently I was contacted by a family friend who served with my father in the last war. It seems his granddaughter has begun describing events occurring in far-off lands of which she has no prior knowledge. Her name is Molleteiria, and she will be in the capital next week. If you would like to meet her, I will arrange it.

Your servant,

Neinos of Vanheim

* * *

My dearest Sennei,

This war is wearying. Today I stand in the fields of Belmar, yes, that Belmar, conquered so long ago by Alteion, and once again ours. It is senseless--we fight, the enemy dies, as do some few of ours, while others flee in fear as months of war take their toll on their psyches. And had Belmar merely remembered its place, remembered that it belonged to Vanheim once and therefore always would, all these men, on both sides, may have lived to tend their fields in peace.

But these are not happy years. I hope you will look in on Pherios when you are in the city. He is with Petema. I have written him, but your kind words and understanding ear will serve him better in person than the mere paper I send him. Remember how I was when I foresaw Essemeneilia's passing. You soothed me then; would you try to help him now?

We are one province from open water, my love, but we have been ordered home. I will see you soon, at least for a time. I miss you terribly.

All my love,

Bel

* * *

My lord Vethru,

I regret that I cannot immediately fill your request for information on magic sites within Man. Selena is very protective of her nation. The resources of the capital, you already know. However, although our relations with Selena are now quite good, our diplomats here are under constant observation. Any inquiries on a sensitive subject such as magical resources would be met with instant distrust.

In answer to your question: I don't know. There is no overt evidence, but Selena is a powerful enchantress. She may very well work in the dark arts. Shall I inquire about her thoughts on Marignon's proclamation and see what happens?

On another matter, I ask that you grant me greater latitude in negotiating with Selena and her Minister of State. I believe the time is ripe for a more formal agreement between us. Time, however, is of the essence, as is illustrated by the recent Solian incident.

I await your instructions.

Your voice in Man,

Mirama of Alteion

* * *

My dear Pherios,

I grieve for your loss. These are hard times; war takes more than it gives. It strikes blows that none of us deserve.

Yet it is the blow that strengthens the iron. You, too, will be transformed by your pain. Have courage, and you will persevere and become stronger. Everything Galameteia was remains in your mind. Use those memories. Let them influence what you will become.

Know that we are all with you, and we will always be with you.

My thoughts and hopes go with you,

Someone close to you

* * *

PashaDawg

August 13th, 2005, 05:13 PM

You are TOO FUNNY, Djo!

Alneyan

August 17th, 2005, 12:31 PM

Sedna said:
Are we still waiting for Alneyan or Zen?

I think it's important to keep the game moving along...

Seconded; Tauren knows about my status (or lack thereof), so I don't think he was waiting for me. I hope so, anyway. If you can find another player for my little nation, feel free to do so: it should be a player interested in spinning though, as my Pangaea isn't exactly shaping up to become a major power.

*Grumbles* My time on that computer seems to be running out, so I'll cut that post here. */Grumbles*

Sedna

August 18th, 2005, 03:06 PM

From Tauren's latest e-mail I assume Zen has staled these last few turns. That would explain why the Ulmish attacks on Ermor's borders appear to have gone unchallenged. Zen, are you around? If we don't hear from him soon we should find a sub or go AI (the AI plays Ermor moderately decently).

Any readers/lurkers interested in subbing? Aegis?

Alneyan, you should try to stay in. I enjoy your yarns a lot and you might find that writing them leads to you doing better...

quantum_mechani

August 19th, 2005, 04:19 AM

I hope we don't have to many players dropping out, it will probably be difficult to find subs who will write yarns too. Yes, it hypocritical of me to be demanding yarns, but in my defense I finally got the turn 6 one in. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/wink.gif

PashaDawg

August 19th, 2005, 08:21 AM

Greetings all:

I am going out of town today until late Aug 24 (Wednesday).

Dragonfire11 will be filling in for me while I am away. Be nice to him.

Thanks.

Pasha

Alneyan

August 22nd, 2005, 09:27 AM

Sedna: my comment about the game strength of Pangaea was more along the lines of "not a leading nation, so leaving it stale isn't so bad" and "the main interest of it is to write yarns"; regular Pangaea was more or less bound to be a weakling, after all, and it doesn't matter that much. I wouldn't expect any yarns anytime soon from me though.

quantum_mechani

August 22nd, 2005, 12:14 PM

Alneyan said:
regular Pangaea was more or less bound to be a weakling, after all

Sorry, but I have to disagree. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/wink.gif

Even apart from the very popular white centaur earth/nature bless, base pan is a solid nation. Stealth troops that can be of use even late game, always rolling in nature gems, some very nice unique pretenders, and decent blood magic (with very good patrolers).

Sedna

August 22nd, 2005, 09:23 PM

To return this thread to trash-talkin'... I saw this article on the wiki the other day and thought it should get cross-posted.

<h3> Imictan Asks: Where Is Pythium? </h3>
Imictan (ONN) They came from the hills, destroying homes and businesses, killing livestock and citizens. Months later, the people of Imictan have still not recovered from a devastating troglodyte attack. The reason? The troglodytes still roam the streets, unchallenged.

The people in this former colony of Pythium have nothing but scorn for their abandonment by their former masters. "They dropped their spears and ran," said one resident. "We thought they had gone for reinforcements, but where are they?", asked another. After five months, no reinforcements have arrived.

A sense of betrayal permeates Imictan society. Similar sentiments are echoed in every coffee house--but only during daylight hours, when the monsters are sleeping in their caves. At night, the streets are deserted, as residents huddle together behind makeshift wooden barricades, praying that this night, the troglodytes will attack elsewhere. The people have given up hope that Pythium will rescue them. Increasingly, the discussion is not about to whether to leave their homes and farms, but when.

Imictan's closest neighbor, Vanheim, expressed frustration with the situation. "Our deepest sympathies go out to the people of Imictan," said a spokesman for the Konella Koreia, Vanheim's ruling council. "They are innocent victims in Pythium's war of expansion. A nation that makes no pretense of protecting its citizens exhibits the lowest form of moral cowardice."

The people of Imictan appreciate the sympathy but would prefer armed assistance instead. "They're tough SOBs, but they ain't unkillable. Give us some armor and swords, and a couple dozen men, and we'll take 'em out," said a grizzled survivor. One can only hope the people of Imictan can maintain this spirit until somehow, from somewhere, help does arrive.

Sedna

August 23rd, 2005, 01:18 PM

<h3>Marignon declares war on Pythium</h3>
To the false prophet: Cibragol,

The LORD alone may justly see the future of this broken world. Those who seek to read the stars and divine His holy plans are blasphemers with no faith in His grace. For this reason, the LORD's most worhty servant Aftial has commanded that we attack the empire of Pythium and smash the heathen oracle. Atone for you sins and prepare to meet the Almighty God!

His weapon on earth,
Father Muszinger

djo

August 25th, 2005, 09:05 PM

Vanheim Warns Pythium

Earlier this week, two ships belonging to citizens of Vanheim were attacked and burned off the east coast of the Black Gorge. Five crewmen died and six more were wounded when the ships sank. The two ships, the "Miss Fortune" and the "Maid of Alteion," were entirely destroyed by Pythium's fire catapults.

The vessels were part of a small convoy bringing food and medicine to Imictan, in a humanitarian relief effort following Pythium's brutal reassertion of power over the province's nascent independence movement. We, the rulers of Vanheim, chose to aid our neighbors, who found Pythium's occupying army more brutal than even the troglodytes. Our overtures were met with fiery violence.

We call upon the civilized world to bear witness to these atrocities. Pythium has shed every last vestige of moral decency in its mad, head-long rush of bloody territorialism. No longer can we consider the Pythium empire to be other than a cancerous presence in Inland.

It ends here. Vanheim warns Pythium that its transgressions against the common civility of the community of nations will be the cause of immediate and serious repercussions. We are not the largest of nations, but we are the eldest: we cherish peace, but well we remember war.

So proclaimed, this midwinter's day, second year of Vethru's reign,

In Vethru's name,

The Konella Koreia
Ruling council of Vanheim

Sedna

August 27th, 2005, 08:12 PM

How are we doing? I guess we missed Friday as the deadline...

djo

August 28th, 2005, 08:19 PM

Vanheim turn 24, for your amusement...

In which Vethru visits a neighbor, and Pherios is disturbed by art.

Vethru

Neither of us feels the cold, of course. She grew up with it. I've got no circulation to stop. Nevertheless, a little warmth in winter is pleasant. I use my magic to heat up the mulled wine I've packed. She reaches one white hand out from under the sable furs that cover our knees to take the mug. "Thank you," she murmurs.

"My pleasure," I say, and I transfer my own cup to my left hand so I can return my right arm to its place around her shoulders. We settle back into the loveseat I had installed in the longboat.

It's a beautiful night for a moonlight cruise. The wind is low, the air is crisp, and the ice hasn't formed on the waters of the gorge yet. Everything is frozen and still. It's very romantic. She knows that's not the only reason we're out here, but she doesn't mind. I like that.

"So what have you brought me to see?" she asks.

"The stars, the moon, the waves...the landscape," I say.

"Landscape? These rocks? Why, whatever for?" Her voice is alilt. She's teasing me. She's probably figured it out herself already. I like that, too. I like smart women.

I direct the dead men rowing our boat to bring her about to the southeast. I hand my lady a spyglass and press close to help her aim it to a point on the shore. "Do you see the light at the top of that tall, thin shadow? That is the wizard's tower at Iron Range. We are just off the border of that province and Imictan."

"How curious," she replies. "Now, why would you bring a girl here?"

"For the spectacle, of course." I give a sharp whistle, and Quellian Ji flies up.

"Hey, boss, Lady, how's it going? You folks having a nice night?"

"Yes," I say. "And I think we're ready for the main event. Give the signal. Tell them to make it loud and flashy."

He's gone in an instant. "A show?" she says. "For me?"

I get the boat turned to the north, then I snuggle in next to her. I find a warm place to put my hands.

About five minutes later, we see two large firestorms erupt a few hundred yards away, still a half-mile offshore. They are accompanied by a great deal of shouting and screaming, and the sounding of two ships' bells and horns.

"Oh, my!" she says, with patent insincerity. "I hope no one is hurt."

"Not likely," I say. We watch the fire for a few minutes, then I order us home, before any would-be rescuers arrive.

The dead make a very good oarsmen; their technique is impeccable, hardly a ripple in the water. As a bonus, they hear nothing, and they tell no tales. After a bit of pleasant time-passing, she asks me, "Will take me to that tower, after you invade?"

"My dear, whatever makes you think I want to do that?"

I'm sure she already knows the answer, but it's a fun game to play. She likes to show me how clever she is in picking up the clues and fitting them together. And I like to hear it. As I said, I like smart women.

"All of Paistellus heard your teeth gnashing when Pythium retook Imictan. Now that you can't save them from the troglodytes, I'm sure those burning ships will give you some kind of excuse. The question is, why?"

"It is, indeed," I whisper in her ear.

"Oh! Um, well, you found something in Cimri that brought you to Birman Heights. And there, you found something that made you very happy for a week, at which time you became somewhat disappointed," she says. "Mmm...that's very distracting."

"It's meant to be," I tell her, and I keep it up.

"Ahh...so obviously, you're still searching for whatever it is you're searching for, and you're going to check every place between the two places you had any success finding it. Am I right?"

I tell the dead to stopped rowing. "Exactly, my dear," I say. "What I found under the earth was...an inspired distortion, but one that could only have been created by someone who saw the real thing. It's close. It's got to be nearby."

"What is is?" she asks, excitedly, breathlessly.

"Later," I say, not at all sure that I will tell her later. "You've solved tonight's puzzle. Would you like to collect your prize?"

I make sure she doesn't get in another word.

Pherios

Petema knocked at the door to her library, where I was working. "Am I interrupting?" she asked.

I had been sealing the packets of reports I had been working on. They were not very informative; all I could see for months ahead was turmoil. True war was about to begin. I hoped that my uncle would find something of use in what I had seen.

"No. I was just going to call for a messenger to take this to the castle."

"I'll take it. I'm headed there later."

"You're not my personal courier," I reminded her. "But thanks."

Petema had been very good to me in the last six months. She gave me a room, let me use her library as my office, and never lectured me about why I should talk to Vethru again, or why I should go back to the castle. She just left me alone and let me live, something my parents had a hard time doing.

"Cousin, you have a visitor. I had her wait downstairs until you were through. It's the new seer."

She waited for my reaction. I didn't blame her. When Vethru sent word that another seer had been found, I didn't take it very well. I wasn't ready. I didn't want anything to do with him, after he refused to answer my questions about Galameteia. But I had started working again, and Petema finally convinced me that it would be in the best interests of Vanheim to a least talk to her.

The human girl sat quietly in a chair in the parlor with her hands folded in her lap. She was small, as all young human women are, and plain, even for her race. She stood up when I walked in but didn't say anything until Petema introduced her.

"Pherios, this is Molleteira of Vanheim."

She curtsied deeply, never meeting my eyes. "Thank you for receiving me, Lord Pherios." After that, nothing. She fidgeted, glancing around the room. She looked toward Petema as if seeking permission for something.

Petema said, "Sit down, Molly. Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, please. If it's not too much trouble."

Petema called for her maid, and after the woman left again, glared at me.

I didn't know quite how to start. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen, my lord."

"Are you full grown? I forget how it is with your people."

Before the girl had a chance to answer, Petema said smoothly, "What Pherios meant is, since you are young, you must find it disturbing to see these visions."

Molly looked uncertainly from me to Petema and back. "Your pardon, sir...ma'am. They aren't visions, not exactly."

Another pause. "Why don't you tell us about it?" said Petema.

"I hear voices," she said. "And sounds. It's like I'm listening in on the future." She seemed reluctant to say any more.

The tea arrived, with some small sweetcakes. I filled my mouth so I wouldn't have to talk.

"How do you make sense of it?" asked Petema. "You must hear things in different languages."

"Yes, Lady, a little. I don't pay attention to that much. But the rest...I understand the words, but I don't understand what they're talking about. Or who's talking. But over time, I started to recognize voices. And pieces started to add up." She had been talking mainly to Petema, but she turned toward me a little. "Lord Pherios, your voice is a lot like your uncle's," she said tentatively.

"You've talked to him?" I asked.

"No, sir."

More silence.

Petema stared at me.

"So have you heard anything recently?" I asked.

"Today I visited the castle. I saw the Valkyries practicing. They were throwing their spears at the statue of an angel. It was screaming. In my mind. I don't know why." She started to sniffle. Her voice became soft. "I hear a lot of shouting and screaming. I hear battle noises. Swords hitting armor. Swords hitting people. It scares me."

For the first time, she looked directly at me. "Is it true? Are we going to war? Have you seen it? Are we all going to die?"

In that moment, I hated Vethru more than ever. There was no cause to bring this poor girl here. "You're not a warrior. What do you do? Are you a farmer?"

"No, my lord. My father is a tailor. I sew dresses."

She sews dresses? What was she doing here?

"This is folly," I told her. "Go home. Ignore the voices if you can. If you can't, climb a high hill and shout what you've heard to the wind. Let everything pass through your mind. Don't keep it. Let it go. You'll be happier."

Petema frowned at me. Molly looked confused. "My lord? Vethru said Vanheim needed me. That I could help."

"You need to help yourself. Don't you see, it will consume you. You may think you've heard horrors, but you haven't even started. What will you do when you hear a woman begging for her baby's life, and the soldiers who laugh at her? When you hear a man burning to death? When you hear the whisper of an evil thing as it pulls itself from the grave?"

Molly shrank into her chair. Tears started to run down her cheeks.

"And that's not the worst of it. Someday you'll hear the voice of someone you love, dying. But you won't know where, or when. What then?"

She was crying loudly now.

"It hurts!" I told her. "You see everything, and you don't know what's true, or what to do. And usually there's nothing you can do. All you can do is watch it happen."

"Pherios, that's enough!" said Petema. "You're upsetting her. Stop it."

"You don't understand. It's like falling into a pit. She can still walk away."

"Can you walk away, cousin? Can you ignore it? I doubt she can. Help her. Help her like you helped Galameteia."

Suddenly, the air froze. Petema opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing. Molly stopped weeping and tilted her head. I saw two birds outside the window--a tiny wren watching a gull with a length of string in its beak. The string had a loop tied in one end.

The moment broke. Molly was staring at me. She burst into fresh tears and fled the room. Petema went after her.

I wondered what she had heard. My voice? My screams? Her own? Molly's face had held that same expression I'd seen too many times on Galameteia's. She'd just been touched by doom. My warnings were too late. Fate marked her, just like it had marked me. And Galameteia.

Petema returned. "That was inexcusable! What is wrong with you? Whatever your problem is with Vethru, you should not take it out on that innocent creature."

"I..."

"I'm not done! We serve, Pherios, never forget it. What you just did is a disgrace to this family. She needed help, and you turned your back. That is not what Alteion does. That is not what you should have done."

"I know. I'm sorry," I said. "It's just so hard..."

"It doesn't matter, cousin. You're better than that. You failed. Are you going to fix it?"

"You're right," I said. "Will you tell her I'm sorry? And ask her to come back again tomorrow?"

"No," she said. "I won't."

"Will you come with me? If I go talk to her?"

After a moment, "No." Her tone said, and you should know better than to ask.

I closed my eyes. "Where is she staying?"

"At the Green Leopard. On Rock Road," she said. "Don't be afraid. You can do it. You've got a good heart. Just remember, she is who she is. She's not Galameteia. She's probably never seen a Van before this week. She's just a scared young woman."

"I'll see her tonight. I promise, I'll be kind."

"You'll go tomorrow. We're having dinner at the mansion tonight."

"Do I have to? Is my mother in town?" My family's concern could be stifling. Intrusive. Uncomfortable, however well-intentioned.

"Everyone is."

"Sennei, too?"

"The whole family. Mirima is back from Man for a week, receiving instructions from Vethru. Belletennares is here with the army. All of Alteion will be under one roof." She didn't say, for what might be the last time. Belletennares would be marching to war again soon.

"I don't know..." I said. Too much potential history in one room. Too much risk of seeing something. Someone. "I don't like going to big dinners anymore."

"It's OK. They know. No poultry. No quills on the desks. No feathers in their hats."

"All right." I wanted to go. I hadn't seen my uncle in nearly a year. But I didn't want the future ambushing me when I was with them.

And then it happened. Damn. I didn't even have to be in the same room as them. In my mind's eye, a flock of birds flew in the wind--gulls, pheasants, herons. Again, as always, recently, a storm arose. I hoped, I prayed...let none of them fall to the earth. Let them all soar.

* * *

A few days later, I visited Galameteia's studio. I'd been paying the rent so her paintings had a place to stay. I hadn't been there for a couple months, but now I needed to feel her influence. If she were still with me, she'd know how to talk to Molly.

I lit a lantern and paced along the wall where Galameteia's visions hung. Where she had seen the future, I only saw her.

"I'm trying," I mumbled. "It's hard. We're too different. Our beautiful city scares her. She doesn't know the first thing about the military. She doesn't know any geography, or much history. She's a country mouse. If only you were here...she'd talk to you."

I stopped by the purple chaos Galameteia said was my doom. "I just didn't want her to end up like you. Or like me, without you."

I went to the end of the room where the big window was. Wait--something had changed. I froze. Only I had the key. Who could be coming in here? And...painting?

I held lantern high to illuminate the partially completed canvas. I had never seen it before. It showed an angry green landscape, with a dark horseman slashed in black in front of the trees.

I began to shudder. I knew the brushstroke. It was hers...almost. Cruder. Angrier. And left undone in frustration.

"No," I said. "Not yet. I'm not ready." I backed out, locked the door. I hadn't protected myself yet. I needed to solidify my memories of Galameteia, set them in stone so firmly that nothing could dislodge them. I wanted to freeze them so they could not be tainted by the tragedy I knew was still destined to occur.

I walked home, head down. Nonetheless, I saw a shadow of something blink across the moon. Whether I was ready or not, no matter how much I dreaded it, the time was coming. I would see her again soon.

djo

August 31st, 2005, 09:58 AM

Thinking ahead on the schedule...

The current turn (24) is due today. Assuming the usual MWF, we'll have t25 Friday. However, Monday is a holiday in the US. Would anyone (player or host) prefer to push Monday's turn forward? We could run Tues-Fri next week, or something like that.

For the record, I am not going anywhere and can keep the MWF schedule.

The Panther

August 31st, 2005, 10:13 AM

I will be out of town at Mesa Verde National Park from Saturday morning through Monday evening.

I think there are several people in the game not making their moves, which is why all the delays.

quantum_mechani

September 1st, 2005, 12:08 AM

Hmm, I can't say I wasn't expecting a little ganging being on the top of the graphs, but this is getting ridiculous.

djo

September 1st, 2005, 08:42 AM

Make diplomatic overtures! You never know which of your neighbors is able to be cheaply bought off (especially if it's done discreetly)!

And...you're not #1 anymore (in provinces)...and the new #1 nation is kind of preachy...

Disclaimer: all opinions are those of the author, and have nothing to do with my characters, who will do what they want anyway.

Sedna

September 1st, 2005, 10:02 AM

I was going to say something similar to djo. I'll just add that this is not a normal game-- in particular, don't suffer in silence. Shame the cowardly gang that's attacking into giving up with stories of bravery and good in the face of evil*.

* Evil being the parties attacking you excluding the brave inquisition

Sedna

September 1st, 2005, 12:12 PM

Readers at home who wish to see what Quantum is talking about can see the latest graphs here:

http://yarnspinners.improbable.org/index.php?title=Graphs_Turn25

Also, for anyone following the game, this is probably the most useful page on the wiki:

http://yarnspinners.improbable.org/index.php?title=Special:Recentchanges

quantum_mechani

September 1st, 2005, 03:08 PM

djo said:
Make diplomatic overtures! You never know which of your neighbors is able to be cheaply bought off (especially if it's done discreetly)!

And...you're not #1 anymore (in provinces)...and the new #1 nation is kind of preachy...

Disclaimer: all opinions are those of the author, and have nothing to do with my characters, who will do what they want anyway.

Well, with this many nations ganging at once, there is not much I can offer that they cannot simply grab for themselves. As for allies, even if every nation not attacking me and currently submitting turns joined my side, it would still be an uneven fight (and the chances of that are nil anyway).

Not that I'm complaining, doomed struggles against impossible odds are the things poignant epics are made of. And 'Chronicles of a Doomed Empire' is certainly a catchy yarn title...

On another note, having units that are actually characters really adds some spice to the game. It makes battles so much more interesting when they barely escape death/don't.

djo

September 1st, 2005, 03:37 PM

No, no, no...you're being far too rational. We're all approximately playing the game, but we're not necessarily doing it as purely rational game-theoretic entities. I (at least) am making decisions based often on story purposes. If I were playing "rationally", the Vans would probably be visiting poor PashaDawg on my south border.

So people may settle for a lot less than what they've already taken! I mean, a carefully-crafted press release, an (insincere) apology (if it's in character), and a few gems given away, who knows what might happen?

And I meant to say something about the characters in battle, too. It's very cool to suddenly see the names you've been reading in the tales show up live and in person (in pixels?).

quantum_mechani

September 1st, 2005, 04:24 PM

djo said:
No, no, no...you're being far too rational. We're all approximately playing the game, but we're not necessarily doing it as purely rational game-theoretic entities. I (at least) am making decisions based often on story purposes. If I were playing "rationally", the Vans would probably be visiting poor PashaDawg on my south border.

So people may settle for a lot less than what they've already taken! I mean, a carefully-crafted press release, an (insincere) apology (if it's in character), and a few gems given away, who knows what might happen?

And I meant to say something about the characters in battle, too. It's very cool to suddenly see the names you've been reading in the tales show up live and in person (in pixels?).

Well, I don't know about you, but my characters are very rational. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/wink.gif

You really entered the war for thematic reasons? It seems the story with the ship could have just as easily applied to T'ien Ch'i...

Oh, and were those indie light infantry bought for thematic reasons? Because the Pythium commanders were laughing their heads off that those guys finally found a sucker to pay their outrageous prices. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/wink.gif

PashaDawg

September 1st, 2005, 08:14 PM

Hey! No invading my Tien Chi Shangri-La!!!

djo

September 1st, 2005, 08:45 PM

quantum_mechani said:
You really entered the war for thematic reasons?

Well, er, not entirely...

Rationally, I figured I could get away with increasing a buffer zone between big scary Pythium and small peaceful Vanheim while Pythium was (hopefully) busy with more serious threats.

Thematically, I did want to dominate around the water. I've made that a theme in the yarns, the Vanheim/sailing thing. (For one of our many restarts, I had what is now Ulm's home, on the BIG lake; that would've been sweet...)

As for the light inf, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time (sometimes "not rational" can mean "stupid").

djo

September 3rd, 2005, 03:46 PM

(This news story has pictures on the wiki)

Students Turn Back Pythium

by E. John Smith

(Editor's note: the text and artwork for this story were censored by Vanheim military officials.)

In the last two months, I've witnessed an atrocity and a miracle.

Last month, commandos from Pythium attacked the province of #####, inflicting heavy casualties on the civilian population. I saw women and children being driven through the streets as their homes burned. The local university was attacked and its scholars scattered. I myself fled with a group of students to the neighboring province of ######, with the invader close on our heels.

But this month, it all changed. Led by ###### the ####, the students turned and stood their ground. Armed only with their own magical knowledge, and backed only by a few militia and a number of ##### ##### from the ####### ### ######## #####, these brave men and women stood against the grizzled veteran soldiers of the enemy.

The battle was long and hard-fought, uncertain until the final moments. Wizards traded spells. Soldier slew soldier. As Vanheim's last militia fell, it seemed as if nothing could stop the ethereal bodies of the Pythium invaders. But two students held firm, summoning phantasmal warrior after phantasmal warrior, ######## after ########, until, at last, the Pythium invaders were forced to retreat.

Today, the scholars are eager to return to their work, hoping to make yet another effort in the war with Pythium. Surely it will not be smaller than the effor they have already made. I have only seen one small part of this conflict, but if what I have witnessed is any guide, the brave hearts of the Vanheim people have nothing to fear from all the legions their enemy may throw at them.

Sedna

September 4th, 2005, 05:17 PM

Ghost

The peasants of Towen shiver under a bitterly cold sky. The land is rich enough, but the local lord is the last independent prince between Marignon and Pythium, and he has no desire to let either power learn that he has been letting his peons get above their station. I earn a living killing nobles and stealing what I can. Perhaps this earns me a few points in the Good Book.

I awake to the blowing of clear trumpets and the straight columns of Pythium's legions. The full wealth of the depraved local prince has gone to equip a score of heavily armored knights. They clash across blighted farmland. Their chargers, fed on the grain denied starving people, do not falter. Their shields and lances come up and slam into the front lines of the legion... which hold. The knights are pulled down, the wealth of the land strewn broken across the frozen mud.

That night, as the Pythium army enters the gates of the city, I pull a cloak over my undead friend and slip inside also. I don't know why. I've seen military occupation before. The peasants have too; they hide their babies. I watch a squad of soldiers turned looters, rapers, pillagers, kick down the door to one hut and draw their swords...

One man in emerald armor grabs them by their belts and one-by-one tosses them over his shoulder, back into the street. He apologizes to the family huddled in fear, then takes the looters to the center of the city, reprimands them, and has them whipped in the flickering light. The city remains unlooted.

The man is Brutus, prophet of the Pythium Oracle.

I awake in the dead of night, back in the forest. That wretched pile of bones has picked itself up and is shambling toward the Pythium camp. I can't find the right words of deadel to make it stop. I follow it. Wouldn't do to have it killing people. The camp is utterly still, the sentries all asleep. The skeleton goes straight to one tent and raps on the doorpost with its knuckles, than falls into a dissembled pile. I approach, am I free at last?

The door opens, it is Brutus, open-handed.

"Yes, my lady?"

I cannot speak. His eyes move to my ear. A smile crosses his lips.

"Ah, it is that time. Well, you're frozen, please come in."

Inside, he pours himself a glass of mulled wine.

"Et tu?"

I shake my head, my eyes are fixed on the many open coffins.

"My friends," he says. "Men who I led many years. I have always sat one night with. But... tonight... The Oracle has told me; you are here to send me on as well."

I shake my head. A flicker of confusion passes his face. Then rasps issue from my mouth. The nearby coffin lurches and a form leaps on Brutus. Unarmed, he rips the body's head off, but a second undead throws itself at Brutus' knees while the first, sans head, slams fists into Brutus' face. More coffins empty and Brutus keeps ripping bits off them as I watch. The din is awful, why don't the guards come?

At last the dead have been torn into chunks too small to pose a threat. Brutus, winded, hideously bloodied, with a broken arm and clothes torn and bitten into tatters, gazes up at me with patient, gentle eyes. I stab him through the heart.

I wake on the forest floor. It is finally spring, and my heart leaps. Has the past dark winter melted into dreamland? But my hands are still red with his blood. His face still floats in front of my waking eye. I am still fortunes' fool. I am still a pawn of fate.

A clear trumpet and the straight columns of Pythium's legions are marching along the road I chose to sleep upon. I don't want to run anymore. Unbidden, dead forms spring from hidden graves under ash trees and three skeletons and I rush a full legion. The skeletons die in a hail of javelins, and I alone continue my headless charge-- yelling, pleading, daring the legion the kill me. I do not seek forgiveness from a forsaking God. I do not shout the name of the angel who has abandoned me. A javelin grows large in my vision.

Esclave

"Lord Wic, help me understand."

"There's no need for the 'Lord' nonsense away from the city. Besides, my dear Esclave, you're nearly as skilled with magick as I, and of the two of us, only you have consorted with angels."

"Just the one. And that is what I don't understand."

"Ah, so this is going to be a question about women." Wic smiled and stopped walking. He leant against a tree and stared off into the distance, casting little fire darts which melted holes in the snow. For a moment, I just watched his calm demeanor. We were marching to war - on the road past us trudged a mercenary band of archers - but Wic looked like he was on the way to a Midwinter feast.

"Does she love me?"

Wic pursed his lips. "I think so. She went to bat for you against the inquisition, and that take madness or love. Did you know the Inquisition has never pardoned anyone before?"

"By why did she order me to leave her? Why does she send me out to fight while she stays, studying the Compendium and talking long hours with the smiths?"

"That I cannot say. One must always be careful dealing with supernatural creatures. Their ways are not our ways. Their goals are often inscrutable."

For a moment I debated asking him about the insidious rumor I had hear- that Wic had made some sort of deal with the devils... but that was nonesense, and I didn't want to jeopardize our friendship.

A few days later I watched, a little shocked, as Wic gleefully mashed the black hawk into a bloody mess of feathers and muddy snow with his mace.

"Damn I hate those things." Then he smiled and drew a deep, satisfied breath. "Ah, it is good to be back out on the march. We'll have quite a feast tonight when those guards finish looting the city... Towen I believe they're calling it these days, though it's changed names many times while I've been archbishop of Wic. Maybe we can even liberate a few dancing girls to keep us company tonight."

I vaguely murmured something, averting my eyes from the bloody smear and trying to fight down my nausea and fear. The implacable Pythium legion still loomed in my mind. On and on they came through the arrows and fire. A swarm of black hawks surrounded us, and we flailed them off. When we looked up again, the legion had scattered the line of our infantry and killed the leaders of the mercs. It was only at the last moment, as the longbows were firing nearly point blank, that they broke.

Suddenly I shuddered. I came back from a long way.

"Esclave, are you alright?"

"I saw... a stone angel which turned to coal. It fell over into a pool and caught on fire. A dead man sat by it and roasted a lizard on an ashen stick."

Wic waited a moment, then clapped me heartily on the shoulder. "Esclave, my boy, I do believe you've just had a vision. Let's go plunder some ale and you can tell me all about it."

In the next weeks I searched for answers, as the peace of Carrofactum prevented the army from marching on. A guild of sages dwelt in Towen, and I sought them for advice on my visions and dreams. They advised me to seek the cave of passing time- I might find some answers there.

Wic took some time off profiting from the fall of Town to search with me. Night was falling on a chill spring day when suddenly the sky went black and a score of hawks descended directly on us. I tried to strike back, but they clawed at my eyes and I couldn't remember a good spell to cast. Above the thunder of wings I heard Wic's calm voice in-canting, and steel being drawn. I turned and ran into the nearby wood, hands over my head. Suddenly I was alone in utter darkness. I could see stars ahead. I cried out.

"Is there anyone there?"

I am.

"Who are you?"

You already know me.

I was pretty sure I did not, but was in no position to argue. "Are you the cave of lost time?"

No answer.

"Why am I seeing these signs?"

The oracle in Pythium is powerful. This close to its dominions, all those attuned to the stars see signs.

"What do they mean?"

What you make of them.

"That's no answer!"

It is.

As long as I had the ear of a cryptic advice-giver: "Why does Aftial do what she does? Does she love me? When will I see our son?"

When snow falls in the morning it is beautiful and clean. But it falls on dirt, and human feet mix them together. Finally, it only appears clean at night. But a new day may dawn and the snow will melt. And when it does, it will carry the dirt away too.

"Esclave!"

Wic was shaking me awake.

"Ah, good. You took quite a fall when those blighted birds attacked. You've been out for almost an hour. Here, I cooked you some black hawk. Have a thigh, it'll get you right again."

Muszinger
It will take me three months to reach the battle front. During that time, I will have to make crucial decisions for the kingdom without any one to advise me. Writing down the reports and orders may help.

2 months before Carrofactum:
First strike. Our lizard allies are wavering in their commitment. There are too many legionnaires in the towers on their borders. Our declaration of war should help draw those legions north so they'll be caught flat-footed when the lizards also strike. Sir Gawain and some mercs will head south from Camelot, while Raymond leads more knights onto the Plains of Eternal Peril. Wic and Polgrave will each lead an army due south for the main strikes.

1 month before Carrofactum:
Birds everywhere. Some foul enchantment to summon the things. Welsh, Ucrema and Tapanete have all been hit hard, but the province defenses held everywhere except the last. The prophet of Pythium has been killed by a servant under Aftial's direct control. His army, stranded, was driven out of Towen by Wic. Gawain and Polgrave have both advanced against strong province defense and many birds, but they have taken the plains with minimal losses. Vanheim has cast their lot in with us.

Carrofactum:
Peace for a month, though our faithless allies and enemies do not recognize this most holy time: Man has joined the fray with an animal attack on the eastern edge of Pythium. Closer to home, a Pythium force of nearly one hundred with powerful mage support is in Great Woods. I will summon all the men who can get there to the province of Towen. To reach there myself I must abandon my slow bodyguard, but the LORD will protect me. Aftial will join us there, and I will finally take command of the army and put a swift end to this false oracle and this war.

Sedna

September 5th, 2005, 04:53 PM

See the wiki for pictures

<h3> Marignon proclaims a new saint, St. Onbec the Angry </h3>

Onbec began life as a simple spy in the service of Marignon. As the war with Pythium began, he provided crucial information to military leaders on the location of heathen forces, but upon entering the Forest of Saran, Onbec passed into legend. This little grove, on the very doorstep of the capitol city of Pythium, was a particular insult to God. A temple to the false prophet of Pythium was used to train foul druidic mages, and a graveyard there was regularly ransacked for the foul potency which can be extracted from the dead. When Onbec saw this, the righteous anger of the LORD came over him. He called on Aftial, goddess of courage, took up his broad sword and attacked the four guards at the temple.

As he approached, Onbec was hit by a rock, flung from a cowardly slinger. Despite this wound, which will leave him permanently weakened, Onbec was able to rout the entire force, killing two of the unbelievers, sending another fleeing, and capturing the leader. This craven centurion proved to be commander of all Pythium forces in the forest, and he quickly surrendered the entire province into the hands of Onbec. Not content to rest there, Onbec single-handedly tore down the false temple, digging up the very foundations and uttering removing this abomination.

When word of this miraculous victory reached Marignon, the Three of Three immediately decided to take the unusual step of canonizing Onbec while he yet lives, naming him St. Onbec the Angry, and making him patron saint of all spies and scouts. His sign shall be the simple board sword, and those who need strength may pray to God in his name. The Church attempted to recall him from the front lines, but St. Onbec has disappeared again into the wild, there to report on the motions of the heretics, and carry the anger of the LORD against His enemies.

quantum_mechani

September 9th, 2005, 12:54 AM

Ah, poor overseer, now I shall never get my pearls!

Sedna

September 9th, 2005, 11:15 AM

'tis always the good die young.

puffyn

September 10th, 2005, 11:46 AM

Overseer News Network Suffers Near Death Scare

Overseer (ONN) - Cut out of the loop on the largest news stories in Inland in years, disgruntled staffers at the ONN staged a brief rebellion earlier this month that threatened the very survival of their tiny, omniscient land.

The revolt, which caught most nations by surprise, was motivated by outrage at the growing habit of nations to bypass official news sources entirely, issuing their own propagandist, heavily censored reports about the War Against Pythite Passive-Agression. Rumor has it the reporting team for the First Ulm-Ermor Conflict also turned out to decry the dearth of news from that sector, though their protest was itself rather muted.

The rebellion was quickly put down when the Overseer himself stepped in, and yelled "cut", in response to the cries of outrage from the community of nations. Said Cibragol, greedy leader of the beleaguered, but deadly, Pythium empire, "Now I shall never get my pearls!"

The momentary re-writing of history caused some confusion worldwide. C'tis is reported to have learned that they were always at war with Eastasia, assassins everywhere tried to claim double kills, and in the kingdom of T'ien Ch'i, nothing happened.

djo

September 12th, 2005, 08:58 PM

Vanheim turn 27

In which we learn what Belletennares saw while strolling, and what Pherios did about it.

Belletennares

"Well," said Vethru. "You've thrown them out of Vanheim. Congratulations."

I nodded. That the plan would work, I had been confident; that it would continue to work, I was uncertain. Our forces, though highly mobile, were spread thin. The enemy could very easily, once again, infiltrate its forces into our territory at almost any point. That we could expel them as easily was little comfort. The disruption, we could not afford.

Vethru continued. "When will you throw them out of Fom and Great Woods?"

"Soon," I said.

"And Iron Range? I need to get into that tower!"

"Reinforcements have arrived; I will storm the castle soon."

"Excellent."

"And what then?" I asked. "What is our next target?"

"Whatever you want. Just keep what we have."

"And the war? When does it end?"

He smiled. "Will it ever? Your nephew doesn't think so. He's starting to sound as apocalyptic as the Marignonians," he said. "No matter. Use your judgment, unless I tell you otherwise."

As I saw him to the dock, I wondered: when does the risk become too great? We have no hope of massive conquest against our more powerful neighbors, yet we cannot be left out of the spoils. Vethru's wink, as he was rowed away, told me that he knew exactly the dilemma he had left me with.

Later, I walked the night alone. My small dose of Alteion's gift is peripatetic; as I wander, my mind drifts, and my feet bring me to visit places where the future impinges on the present. This night was portentous. I walked deeper in dream than is usual, visiting many locations, each more ominous than the last. I cannot say which of them truly existed and which were only landscapes contained in my own imagination. Of this, though, I am sure: I was drawn by destiny, towed by a thin hawser through the heaving swells of possibility.

I paced along the campfires circling the walls we besieged. As I walked on the beach, I startled a nest of seagulls. I inspected the dying embers of a pyre, of what, I do not know. I visited a graveyard, dark and still.

Through the night, I felt the presence of my nephew Pherios beside me, as if I were guiding him, or acting as his proxy on roads he could not tread himself. Perhaps my small gift had become an agent of his, or perhaps it truly was the gift of Alteion's house, and we but shared it in common.

He walked with me, I felt, when I encountered the dark rider. I came upon it as it rode down a fleeing victim on a straight, dark road overhung by trees. I watched its terrible blade rise and fall.

"Who are you?" I called.

"The enemy of your enemies," it replied, in a chill whisper. It coughed, and it sounded to me like the bark of the hounds of Hel.

"Will you come home?" I asked, or perhaps Pherios asked, through me. At the time, the question seemed appropriate; in retrospect, puzzling.

It flinched. I heard the rustle of mail under its black cloak.

"I have found no path but sorrow," it said. As it wheeled its horse, I could see the horse's reins were wrapped around the stump of its left hand. It galloped into the night.

I would not have credited the experience with any truth, or even any reality outside my own unquiet mind, but the next morning, my scouts reported finding the body of a Pythium deserter, on a straight, tree-lined road, cut down by a rider, left in festering decay.

I detailed my memories in script and dispatched it immediately to Pherios, with the day's reports.

Pherios

Later that afternoon, I returned to Petema's house, bruised and unsuccessful. Molly was still working in the library. She looked up when I walked in. "Sir..."

"Pherios," I corrected her. It had taken her almost a month to learn to speak to me informally, but every now and then, especially when she was nervous, she returned to her old ways.

"Pherios," she said, with concern. "Are you hurt?"

I thought I had washed away the blood. She must have seen my puzzlement. "I heard it," she explained. "About it, I mean."

No blood, then. It never gets easier, being around a seer. "Tell me."

"Someone was reporting to Vethru. Vethru asked if you were injured. The other man, a messenger, said, 'Not too badly. She had no choice. He wouldn't leave.' Vethru thanked him, and I heard the door close."

After getting my uncle's note, I had thought it was time to press forward. I tried to convince Kestumaia to tell me what happened to Galameteia. She refused, and when I insisted, she and her Valkyrie friends threw me out. Hard.

"And then..." said Molly.

"There's more?"

"I heard another voice. One I didn't know."

"What did it say?"

"First, Vethru asked, 'Where is she?' " Molly said. "Then, the other voice said, 'We're not sure; we lost track after she left Iron Range.' "

I didn't think there was anyone important she hadn't met in the last month. I asked her to describe the voice.

"It was odd, kind of small. I couldn't tell if it was a woman or child, or I guess it could even be a man with a high voice. It was almost musical but also kind of coarse."

Quellian Ji knew something! I couldn't believe I'd overlooked Ji. I hadn't seen him much recently, since he spent most of his time with Vethru. But he knew something about Galameteia.

"Who? Who is it?" she asked anxiously. For her, it was as important to recognize the voices she heard as it was for me to decipher the symbols the birds represented.

"Please?" she said.

I could hear the tension in her voice. It wouldn't leave her until she knew. "It's Quellian Ji. You've seen him. He's Vethru's seagull."

"Is he Vethru's familiar?" I couldn't tell if she was frightened or just confused.

A plan started to form in my mind. "No, just an advisor. You should meet him..."

* * *

Ji flew in the window of the library and landed on the table. "Hi, kid, it's been a long time."

"Molly isn't here yet," I said. "Make yourself at home."

"Thanks. How have you been? Hey, can I have some of these blueberries?"

"Go ahead," I said, and while he was occupied, I closed the only open window in the room. I sat down at the table. "Let's talk about Galameteia."

"C'mon, kid. You know the boss won't let me." Then he noticed how serious I was, and he looked around the room at the closed windows and doors. "Oh, crap. Look, Pherios, I'd like to. But boss says no. I can't talk about what happened...then."

"I want to hear that story eventually, but today, I'd like to know where she is now."

A pause. He wasn't going to give anything away. "You know I can't say anything."

I leaned forward. "Do you think you're leaving before you do?"

He squawked. "Sorry, kid, but you don't scare me as much as him. The worst you can do is torture and kill me, and you're too nice for that."

"I need to know!" I said. I didn't know if he was right. I didn't know if I wanted him to be right or not.

"No, you don't," he said, softly. "You really don't."

"There's a hole in my heart, Ji. It's still bleeding. It won't stop until I see her again."

"Just forget it. Please."

"It's destined," I told him. "I see it constantly. It won't leave me alone. I know, it won't fix anything. But it needs to end. Until I see her, until I know what happened, I can't rest. I know it's a blade waiting to fall, so let's be done with it. I need to move on."

"Jeez, kid!"

"Please! Help me. Have you ever lost someone, and not known what happened?"

He flattered his wings. "Damn. Let me think...look, I don't know. I guess I know somebody. I can ask..."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, kid. I ain't doing you a favor."

"I know," I said. "I've seen it."

"OK. Just promise me this--don't tell him. He finds out, you saw all in a vision, right? Leave me out of it."

"All right," I said, and I got up and opened the window. Ji flew to the sill.

"Good luck, kid. Hey, I will see you again, won't I? You aren't, uh, looking for the easy way out?"

"We'll meet again, friend. There are no easy ways out. Not anymore."

* * *

I found the rendezvous point without much difficulty. It was within Vanheim, near a secluded waterfall in dense forest. The stream was only six or eight feet wide, and the waterfall was not much taller.

Quellian Ji's contact rode up on the opposite side of the stream, silently, in the manner of the Vanir, out of the green. Although she rode, she wore the scale mail of a Valkyrie. She wore a full helm, with its visor down. A white cloak trailed behind her. She did not dismount.

I bowed deeply, and she nodded in return.

"A great wrong has been done to her, and to you" she said. "It will not be undone if you see her." Her voice was hollow in her helm, yet hoarse as well.

"I know, Lady."

"It will not ease your heart, or your mind."

"That I also know."

She fidgeted with the reins. "I want to help you, son of Alteion. But I am not sure you know what is best for yourself. Your choices are born of pain. Do you still see clearly?"

"I wish I didn't. It is fated, Lady. It blocks my path. Until it is over, I cannot be whatever I must be."

"Very well. I will contact you, when it is time." She turned her horse to leave. "Have courage, dear Pherios. Afterward, if you have need of me, tell Ji."

The familiarity I had been feeling in her presence coalesced. It was she that wrote an anonymous note to me half a year ago. "Do I know you, Lady?"

As she disappeared, she called, "I am forgotten and remembered."

I looked up to the sky, and two white birds flew across a streak of blue breaking through the canopy. Peace, at last?

puffyn

September 18th, 2005, 08:58 PM

(Sorry it's a little late... don't get much time for yarning during the week these days.)

--- C'tis, Turn 27

Deep in the rock, there is a crypt. The paths to it are tortured and misleading, and few each generation are inducted in their secrets. It is said that no invader could find them without a traitor's help; but no invader has threatened C'tis in the oldest lizards' dimmest recollections of the stories of their grandsires. It holds the remains of the past, and perhaps the future as well.

Hema wonders if dropping the bones of Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandmother Simith (so the tag reads) is sacrilege. She decides that if the council had wanted the bones retrieved perfectly intact, they might have hid them someplace a little more easy to reach. "Or else assigned some hatchlings to help me carry them," she mutters. But the hatchlings are all training for war, and the other sauromancers are too busy with mysteriously vague tasks to assist Hema with the heavy lifting.

"You are so much more knowledgeable in the ways of the dead than I," one of them had the nerve to tell her, as he begged off. Bodimmud, that was his name, and he was even younger than she was. But Bodimmud was marching off to war in a few days, and there was so much to pack, so many incantations to review... Hema treacherously hoped something heavy fell on him in battle, as karmic recompense.

Finally, she reaches the opening to a large, well-lit cavern. She places the box containing Simith next to Great-to-the-somethingth Grandfather Uvatha, and dozens more, some whose names are still familiar to the city, others who died so long ago they are nearly dust. So long as the skull remains, she recalls from the scroll that lies open on a table, worn from heavy use. Not all of the wise can return as revenants, but so long as the skull remains, their wisdom is not lost.

Larch is putting the finished touches on Kurgarru when Hema walks into the lab. "Guild's been keeping you busy with their backlog, I see," says Hema. But then, it's easier to bring back the newly dead, and the Guild is a good source of bright young minds. Too good, sometimes.

Larch nods, looks up, stares inquiringly. He makes as if to speak, then reaches for a tablet. "DID YU FIND HER??" he scrawls. It is ironic; most revenants can speak, after a fashion, but the former masterful spinner of yarns lost his vocal cords to the illness that also claimed his life. And he never bothered to learn to write; let others take down his masterful words.

Larch is learning now. Mother Lalek even says the hatchlings are over their initial terror of his shriveled, bony form in her classes. Mostly.

"Yeah, right where you said she'd be," says Hema. "But, um, her bones were too cracked... when I found her, I mean..." and dropping them while trying to wedge the box out of its hiding hole hadn't helped matters, but Hema wasn't bringing that up. Simith had been pretty far gone when she found her.

Larch nods again. She can tell he is disappointed; he clearly remembers the wise elder from his youth fondly, and is sad that she will not be joining him as a revenant. But all is not lost. Larch points to Kurgarru, who is starting to twitch randomly; in a few days, perhaps he will be able to lower his arm-stump from where it lies locked above his head, vainly trying to ward off a cavalry captain's looming lance.

Larch points again, nods toward the other room. His meaning is clear. He has found someone for his old mentor to teach. Or her skull, at any rate.

Now that that's been decided, Larch turns to his next task. Leaning heavily on his skull staff, he shuffles over to the workbench containing former Guildmaster Nanugal, who lived, and died, for his experimental strong poisons. There is little that can harm a revenant, but Larch is taking no chances with this one. He reaches for his thickest dragon-hide gloves, the ones Cole will never know exist, if he can help it.

Hema descends back into the crypt for another long journey. C'tis needs its dead now, their knowledge, their secrets. Every bone helps, in the war with Pythium.

puffyn

September 20th, 2005, 09:12 PM

Quantum,

Nice yarns. Is Pythium perchance in need of another 10 astral pearls? Seriously though, they were fun to read. You've had the library in Barra for a long time now, haven't you? It would be a shame if something were to... happen to it.

Tauren,

Turn?

quantum_mechani

September 20th, 2005, 10:16 PM

puffyn said:
Quantum,

Nice yarns. Is Pythium perchance in need of another 10 astral pearls? Seriously though, they were fun to read.

Thanks, those two are definitely favorites of the yarns I've written. In the future I can hopefully mix in more like them with the 'serious' yarns.

The astral certainly will be welcome, I believe I've only received 5 pearls for all of my yarns so far... Anyway, I really got the short end of the stick when we re-ran that turn, so the overseer owes me. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/wink.gif

The Panther

September 20th, 2005, 11:32 PM

Tauren is moving into a rent house with his college buddies and his system is down for a while. It will probably be a few more days for the next turn.

puffyn

September 21st, 2005, 12:06 AM

Panther,

Thanks for letting us know. I'm okay with the pause... if nothing else, Quantum seems to be using his idle time to good effect http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif

djo

September 21st, 2005, 09:34 AM

Yeah, and writing turn 30 is giving me problems. Extra time = OK.

Vanheim wants to know more about Pythium's tax code. Is there a big break for Extra-Territorial Independent Economic Opportunity Zones in Depressed Regions?

[Edit] I ask because I worry about potential impending annexation...

djo

September 22nd, 2005, 07:16 PM

Great googly-moogly! quantum is unstoppable! Six yarns in 3 days! See the wiki if you haven't already!

Let that be a lesson to all of us...it's never too late to get a few (or more than a few!) words in!

(Well, that blew my quota of exclamation points for the month. Now I have to be serious until the new shipment comes in on Oct. 1.)

The Panther

September 23rd, 2005, 12:27 AM

All,

I will pick Tauren up at the airport tomorrow. I will let him use my laptop while he is home from college for the next two weeks. He will thus be able to get this game going again. Look for the next turn to be made tomorrow afternoon, followed by my nearly completed Turn 30 yarn.

However, there is a question we must all answer. When I spoke with him yesterday, he informed me that Ermor has not made a move in quite a while. Tauren has been making partial moves for Ermor for quite a while, just to keep Ulm from having an easy time of invading a staling player.

I think we should ask Tauren to move Ermor to AI. It is not fair for our host to have to do quickie partial turns for an absent player. And it is certainly not fair to allow a player to overun an absent nation.

PashaDawg

September 23rd, 2005, 09:16 AM

Sounds like turning Ermor to AI is a reasonable solution, but I would first send a courtesy email to Zen first.

Pasha

quantum_mechani

September 23rd, 2005, 08:16 PM

djo said:

Vanheim wants to know more about Pythium's tax code. Is there a big break for Extra-Territorial Independent Economic Opportunity Zones in Depressed Regions?

[Edit] I ask because I worry about potential impending annexation...

Contact your local Pythian administration office for further details.

Of course, if you are truly worried about anexation, you should know it is not to late to switch sides...

The Empire has a long history of rewarding kingdoms that support the purple banner.

The Panther

September 23rd, 2005, 11:02 PM

With the roll back going two turns, I suggest we all just re-send our Turn 29 .2h files from our old emails.

Does this sound right to everybody?

Also, Zen does appear to have dropped off the planet. Maybe he lives in New Orleans...

puffyn

September 23rd, 2005, 11:09 PM

I just resent my original Turn 29. So I sure hope Quantum's doing the same thing... http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif

quantum_mechani

September 23rd, 2005, 11:15 PM

The Panther said:
With the roll back going two turns, I suggest we all just re-send our Turn 29 .2h files from our old emails.

Does this sound right to everybody?

Are you sure that will work? With the random element of battles, the current conditions may not match the old ones exactly.

As a side note, the battle of Boggdarn Weald is as strange as ever...

Sedna

September 23rd, 2005, 11:39 PM

Resending our turn 29 .2h files should work-- I know that's what I did last time. Of course the results of those commands will be slightly different due to randomness, and we'll have to actually replay our turn 30s, but nothing can be done about that.

quantum_mechani

September 23rd, 2005, 11:44 PM

Oh, I thought turn 29 was rerun as well. Nevermind then.

Alneyan

September 24th, 2005, 03:41 AM

It is definitively a re-run turn, and not the previous turn 29, so I would strongly against using the previous .2h files: any change *could* create a problem with the game, though it should be able to protect itself from mild changes (if you sent an already dead soldier to fight, or have someone diseased in the fatherland and not in the .trn file, or...).

puffyn

September 24th, 2005, 07:29 AM

I guess my question is this. I launched a sneak attack on Pythium in the old turn 29 with a tiny force, and if he just raised his province defense a few ticks he could have defeated it. Similiarly with those black hawk attacks he's so fond of. So should we be allowed to raise province defense, knowing now where we're much more likely to be attacked? Or should we try to hew as closely to the original turn as possible and not let turn 30 affect our troop movements?

For the record, I didn't notice any difference in my turn; still the same mindless plant creatures as a random event, even...

djo

September 24th, 2005, 07:51 AM

I will replay 29 "identically" from notes. I'm good at double-think.

Re: Ermor: setting to AI is the right thing to do, as disastrous as it will be for me and Panther (and perhaps others). Massive Ermorian hordes are poised to roll south into our territories, and I suspect all our forces are engaged fighting the other purple.

I feel like such a slacker for not finishing yarn 30 yet...this weekend, I hope! Sincere congratulations to quantum for catching up in the stories, and thanks for the helpful cast of characters list.

The Panther

September 24th, 2005, 11:25 AM

Alneyan said:
It is definitively a re-run turn, and not the previous turn 29, so I would strongly against using the previous .2h files: any change *could* create a problem with the game, though it should be able to protect itself from mild changes (if you sent an already dead soldier to fight, or have someone diseased in the fatherland and not in the .trn file, or...).

I just checked. Using the 2h file from Turn 29 works correctly. There will be no errors since the hosting of Turn 29 never happened, plus Turn 30 did not occur either. It IS an exact re-run of the old Turn 29, and there are no changes for the inputs. Of course, the RESULTS from Turn 29 will be different due to the random factors, just like the differing re-run when the overseer died.

I think this is the only way to be fair, since the players now know exactly what there opponents were doing. The only problem we might have is if someone did not save the old email with the Turn 29 file in it. Tauren lost all the old emails (they are on his missing computer which he cannot get for another 2 weeks), so they will all have to be sent to him again.

Thus, as long as everyone still has there old 2h file from Turn 29, then just send it in. If someone involved in the current wars does not have the old 2h file, we may have to completely start over.

Also, I recommend turing Ermor to AI this move, with Zen having totally disappeared.

There is actually one other option. We can pause the game for 2 weeks until Tauren gets his computer back from his school. He will then have the old Turn 29 plus all the 2h files from Turn 30. Unless his school deletes all his files for him, that is, which should not happen.

The Panther

September 24th, 2005, 11:26 AM

By the way, I did finish my Turn 30 yarn. But with the potential big changes in the game, I fear I will have to re-write most of it.

The_Tauren13

September 24th, 2005, 12:12 PM

It is the same turn 29 that I sent out before, so if you did save your 2h file, definitely send that one in.

Alneyan

September 24th, 2005, 01:05 PM

Oh, I see the problem now: I overlooked the first turn 29, so that second turn 29 was definitively different from anything I had played before... since I didn't play it at all.

djo

September 25th, 2005, 01:05 PM

Vanheim turn 30...and lo, a prophesy from turn 0 has now been fulfilled.

In which Pherios finds out.

Pherios

"Be there by nightfall," the note said. A courier's leather message bag was given to me. I rode to Venna, to a place outside the city, on the shore of the gorge. There, just as described, I found the dark tunnel where the city's storm sewers emptied into the water.

I built a small fire while I waited, but it could remove neither the chill in the autumn air nor the chill in my heart. I dreaded this meeting. I knew I would be fundamentally changed by it, and not for the better. I searched the sky for hints, but everything was quiet. Perhaps it held back, knowing it couldn't visit anything on me so terrible as what I sought of my own free will.

I woke suddenly to the sun on my face and a boot in my ribs. "Get up, wretch," a coarse voice said. "Give me the messages."

I stumbled to my feet, dumbstruck. The creature, cloaked and hooded in black, took the bag from me with its one good hand and limped away. Could this be her? This crippled thing, reeking of decay? I wasn't even sure the form before me was female. "Wait! Galameteia? Is it you?"

It turned. "Who calls me that?"

It was her height, but everything else was wrong. Galameteia was graceful. This thing limped and lurched. Did I see a string of matted hair straying out of its hood? I tried not to look away. "Don't you know me?" I asked.

"I'm beyond names." It studied me. "Do I know you, mortal man?"

"Yes! You do! What happened to you? What happened to your hand? Why are you limping?"

"Damn fool, I'm falling apart. I was not created well."

"By who?" Created? Maybe it wasn't her.

"What have you stirred in me?" it said. "I feel my guts twist. Who are you? What's your name?"

"Pherios," I said. "Remember?"

It snorted. "My memory is no more solid than my body," it said, and it erupted in a fit of coughs. It dropped the messages and bent over in spasms. Flecks of wetness spattered the dirt by my feet. When it straightened, its hood fell open.

"Oh, no," I whispered.

It was Galameteia's face, and it was the face of a dead thing. Her hair hung ragged and dirty around her pallid skin. She was burned on the left side, and it hadn't healed. Char flaked from grey, raw flesh. Her left eye was fused shut, and her right was shot with blood. My eyes squeezed shut. I swallowed, fought to keep my gorge from rising.

"You're like all the others," she said. "You're repulsed by me. But this time I feel hurt. Why?"

"We were...friends," I said.

She thought for a moment that felt like an hour. "I don't remember it," she said. "Still...there is something..." Her good hand rose to finger something hanging from a chain around her neck. It flashed blue in the sunlight.

I almost reached for the jewel. I wanted to, but I couldn't step any closer to her. "What is that?"

"A charm," said Galameteia. "I don't know what it does."

Why had I come here, when everyone warned me not to? They were right. Every word was pain. I'd found her body, but her soul was gone.

"It doesn't do anything. It's jewelry," I said. "I gave it to you after the first night we spent together."

She raised it to her good eye, studied it. "Was it spring?" she asked, uncertainly. "Was it?"

It had been very late in winter, almost spring. Was she remembering? Or was she guessing, with nothing of my Galameteia left in her?

"It doesn't matter," I said. "You are not who I was looking for. I'm sorry."

She dropped the gem to her chest. "Then go, you who claimed to be a friend," she said. Or it said, whatever it was that wore Galameteia's skin now. "This is my destiny, pain and sorrow until my ending. You've brought me another share. Go, before your words drag more suffering out of my heart." It coughed again, and I thought I saw something crawl in the sputum in the dirt.

It was too much. I backed away, struggling to control my pounding heart. I'd wanted closure, risking my sanity to see her. Would my happy memories of Galameteia remain unpoisoned by this encounter? I didn't know.

"Nothing is left of me but horror," it said, "And every link is broken, save the one binding me to earth. I wish I could fly again." It trudged into the sewer tunnel. I stared after it. As I lost sight of it, I heard an awful, echoing howl of pain and grief.

Later I could not recall if it was hers or mine.

* * *

A week and a half later, Ji brought me a message. "Sorry, kid," he said, before he flew away.

"Go to Rhetha," the note said. "Bring her back, to the peaks." It was unsigned, but I recognized the hand of the white rider.

So Galameteia was gone, this time, forever. Did I feel sorrow? Relief? Did I fall apart again? No--I felt numb. There was nothing left.

Without telling anyone, I donned my armor and rode for Rhetha. I searched for hours before I found her trail, but when I did, it was unmistakable. The first bolt of fire killed her horse. She'd limped for almost a mile when the second hit her. After the third, she could only crawl. When the seventh and last struck her, she was just in sight of the place where my uncle told us, a year ago, how his undead troops were hit by holy fire.

Then I did collapse, next to her charred bones. She remembered. She had remembered me, and she tried to reach a place we had been together, so I could find her. And that meant she must have known what would happen to her in Rhetha.

Had I woken that in her? When I met her, seeking only closure for myself, did I cause her such sorrow that she would take her own life? Had it been too late to save her? If she had remembered, I should have known. I should have sensed it. I could have done something, eased her pain. But I was blind to everything but my own supposed destiny, and my own selfish desire to bury the painful past. I'd failed her, again.

I pulled her sword from underneath the bones and fused mail. It shimmered in sickly rainbows, as if coated with patches of oil. I felt a chill from it as I brought its tip close to my left hand. My palm numbed. I turned my hand over and let the tip of the blade rest on the back of my hand.

The skin grew an angry pink, and in a moment, I could no longer feel anything in my hand. Blisters formed, then grew and merged. They burst, exposing raw, red meat under flowing pus. I felt nothing, either in my hand or my heart. As the open wound spread, I wondered how far it would go before I felt something. When I saw bone? When I lost my hand, like her?

Then a voice called, "Pherios!" I started, and the blade jerked away from my hand. It started to sting.

I stood up. Approaching me from across the waste was Molly, riding one of Vanheim's mountain-bred ponies. She left her horse near mine, and she walked toward me slowly, edging sideways, as if she were afraid of me. She caught sight of Galameteia's body, or my hand, or both. "Vethru preserve us," she said, and she stumbled and dropped to her knees, vomiting.

I heard a distant bird cry. An egret? I didn't know. I wanted to believe so. It woke me. I dropped the baneful blade and went to Molly. I held back her hair until she finished, then led her away from Galameteia to the horses, where I gave her some water.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"Are you?" she whispered.

"What are you doing here? How did you find me?" There was no way she could track me, a Van.

"I followed the echoes," she said. She was still very pale, and she stared at the seeping wound on my hand.

"Of what?"

"Your footsteps. The sound of your horse's shoes on the rock," Molly said. "I came because...I heard you dying. I thought. But you're OK! You won the fight. With that thing."

And had I been fighting, what could she have done, alone? But I realized it didn't matter, because she had saved me. I looked at my hand. It hurt badly. "Let me," she said. She washed it, and out of her saddlebags she pulled cloth and scissors. Of course. A tailor's daughter. "We need balm for this," she said. "Soon."

"I know. Thank you. I can't tell you what you saved me from," I said, as Molly neatly dressed my hand. "No. That's not right. I can. You're in the midst of this. You deserve to know what it's about. Do you want to know? Can I tell you everything?"

She was scared. Her fingers fumbled as she pinned the bandage in place, and she'd probably been pinning cloth since before she could walk.

"It'll be hard," I told her. "You'll hear terrible things. But this is the world we live in. You can handle it, if you want to."

She nodded, once. Somehow I knew, this was right. I would try not to scare her, but she would be frightened--probably terrified. Before, I had wanted to push her away to spare her this kind of tragedy, but now I knew that none of us would be spared. What I could do is help her understand. I'd make sure of it.

"Her name was Galameteia," I said, "And I loved her. She had a gift, like you, like me..."

* * *

It was late the next evening before we reached the rocky peak of Mount Graizon, on the Vanheim border. Even wearing my cloak, Molly shivered in the cold. "I don't see a tomb," she said.

"You are right, Vans are buried in stone," I said, as I laid Galameteia's body on the rocks. "We place our dead underground, beneath the temples in the cities. But for those called to be Valkyries, it is different." I opened the canvas I'd wrapped her in. There wasn't much left of her. Her armor I'd left in the wastes, for some future traveler to wonder over. The gem I'd given her was in my pocket. I wore her sword. Little remained of cloth or flesh on her bones. What there was smelled of char and decay. It would do.

I stepped back. "We should have a holy man," Molly said, nervously.

"I've studied the rites all my life," I said. "Your people would call me a priest." Then I conducted the funeral ceremony, with no witnesses save Molly and the wind. "Good-bye, my twice-mourned love," I whispered.

I walked back to my horse and mounted. Molly, confused, said, "Wait--where are you going?"

"It's done. It's time to head back."

"You can't leave her here!"

"Mount up," I told her. "We'll find shelter for the night lower on the slope."

"But--"

"Valkyries are creatures of the air; the carrion birds and the elements will take her now. That is the way we do things." She followed me, reluctantly, looking back several times over her shoulder at the body.

It was hard to leave Molly, the next day, when reached the road to Vanheim. I had grown to like her, and now, just as I realized how I could help her, I couldn't stay with her. She cried when we parted, and I promised her I would write whenever I could. I gave her a message for Petema, then I rode away into the forest.

Vethru had used Galameteia in his search for something, and it killed her. I needed to know why. I needed to know what was so important, what was worth the life of my lover.

I had been a student all my life. My father taught me politics, history, theology, and magic. My mother taught me riding and stealth. My uncle taught me the arts of war--weapons, strategy, and tactics. For two years, I had read every report of every scout and commander in Vanheim. I was prepared. It was time to put my education into practice.

Others would worship him; I would question. Others would obey. I would argue. Whatever the cost, I would uncover the truth. I would face god and demand that he justify his actions.

Let my visions react to me. I sighted a falcon flying into the valley. I turned my back on it and rode into the hills.

The Panther

September 26th, 2005, 05:57 PM

Please note that your old Turn 30 2h-file will NOT work on the new Turn 30. Trying to use the old file will cause either a stale or a game error.

Therefore, all players must play Turn 30 from scratch. Feel free to change anything and everything, since the old Turn 30 orders were never executed anyway.

The Panther

September 28th, 2005, 10:44 AM

Note to all players: I have asked the Overseer to delay hosting since there are delicate negotiations betrween several nations going on right now. These should be resolved in the next day or two and the game can then be hosted afterwards.

archaeolept

September 28th, 2005, 01:32 PM

I'd be happy to sub for the perpetually staling zen, if that is possible. At least ermor will have some troops http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif

djo

September 28th, 2005, 02:27 PM

archaeolept said:
I'd be happy to sub for the perpetually staling zen, if that is possible. At least ermor will have some troops http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif

Are you interested in doing a bit of writing, too? It's not hard to put together 300 words journal-style each 3 turns.

I suppose I'd prefer a non-writing human to an AI.

The_Tauren13

September 28th, 2005, 02:30 PM

Ermor is already AI, sorry. But thanks all the same...

Alneyan

September 28th, 2005, 04:13 PM

Well, he can always have my own nation, if he wants: it's not one of the top dogs, though, but it's pretty much involved (I made a post a month ago or so about my status in this game).

quantum_mechani

October 2nd, 2005, 04:48 PM

A shame we delayed the game so long for negotiations, just when they were about resolved I was staled, I guess I am AI now.

puffyn

October 2nd, 2005, 07:17 PM

Wait, how did you stale? I myself definitely experience some commanded moves from your troops, and so have other people I've talked to. Was a wrong version of your turn 30 used, perhaps?

quantum_mechani

October 2nd, 2005, 07:55 PM

puffyn said:
Wait, how did you stale? I myself definitely experience some commanded moves from your troops, and so have other people I've talked to. Was a wrong version of your turn 30 used, perhaps?

That could be, I don't think I sent a new turn.

PashaDawg

October 2nd, 2005, 08:17 PM

Hi:

http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/fear.gif Something is wrong with my turn. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/fear.gif

I suddenly have a River Demon that can act as a commander (which is highly unusual without gift of reason). Also, I have a shade or something (one of those death-spies), and I am pretty sure I did not recruit one. Finally, the game says I cheated, and I don't think that is possible because I wouldn't know how (technology-wise).

As a possible remedy, I deleted the files in the game folder and re-saved the latest turn file from Tauren's email to me. No dice. Same problem.

Pasha

puffyn

October 2nd, 2005, 09:20 PM

Hmm, something sounds very weird. Perhaps Quantum's old turn was used, and that's what's causing the wierdness?

PashaDawg, I discovered that I have a new commander called Kaspar the City Guard. Also a gift of reason offense, except I don't have anywhere near the ability to GoR anyone. Perhaps I'll notice more badness if I look harder. On a scale of weirdness, the you-cheating message (which I've seen more than once for innocent parties) barely registers.

I think we should rerun. Quantum should submit a new turn 30 and try his darndest to not react to his knowledge of what happened in turn 31. Much as I like Kaspar the friendly and preternaturally reasonable city guard... he kind of gives me the creeps.

djo

October 2nd, 2005, 09:30 PM

I feel left out. I didn't get anything but a visit from Pythium.

The_Tauren13

October 2nd, 2005, 10:36 PM

Hmm... I didnt realize that was an old turn 30 file I had. I gave you all weekend to play your turn, so I thought anyone who hadnt already done so would have by then. This turn was actually supposed to be due last wednesday, for gods sake. I will rerun it later tonight... whether or not I recieve an updated turn from quantum.

PashaDawg

October 2nd, 2005, 10:49 PM

Thanks, Tauren.

I actually like the Water Demon commander, but I will give him up.

Pasha

Alneyan

October 3rd, 2005, 04:31 AM

The_Tauren13 said:
Hmm... I didnt realize that was an old turn 30 file I had.

It's not your fault really: the game ticks any turn file for the proper turn and nation (it may check for map or some such, but that's all). So, Pythium probably appeared fine from your end, and you would have only noticed something was awry by opening their nation (you would have seen no orders and no "Turn already done" message).

The_Tauren13

October 3rd, 2005, 11:53 AM

Ugh, I lost my usb stick with my portable thunderbird on it, and I cant get my email working otherwise at my moms house. Sorry for the delay. I dont know when Ill be able to host the turn.

djo

October 3rd, 2005, 08:10 PM

Thanks, Tauren, for persisting. My turn 31 looks A-OK.

quantum_mechani

October 5th, 2005, 11:10 PM

Ok, looks like I'm bowing out this turn. I would like to offer some justification for this though, for the players that were not involved in the recent negotiations. For those that were involved, I hope you don't see this as some kind of parting stab, it is just something I feel I have to get off of my chest, and something I feel it is only fair to let the other players know about.

Anyway, my involvement in the issue started some turns ago when several nations decided to attack attack me. This far from surprised me, from the graphs I looked the clear leader, and ganging was probably inevitable at some point. So, nations kept on declaring war until it was 4vs.1. By this time I was well aware of the fact that beset from four sides I really didn't have any hope of beating them all back, and any nations that could aid me were not enough and/or unresponsive. I still had not given up at this point though since I figured with some diplomacy I could maybe get some of the attackers to back off or even switch sides to give me a fighting chance.

Through all this my life had been fairly busy and I did not have time/energy to write yarns. Then I finally got a good opportunity to work on them and catch up, which happily coincided with a pause in the game. On catching up, I received an E-mail from the players that had been attacking me. It turned out that they had been in a special alliance of people that kept up on yarning, with the intent of keeping them yarning by threat of expulsion, and punishing the players that had given up on yarns. In particular, the agreement called for all players to assist in alliances wars, always come to mutual defense, not fight serious wars with one another, and participate in join victory. Now that I had caught up, their rules forced them to offer me membership.

But the problem was, that of course no one wanted to give up the war gains they had made. Naturally, I was not happy entering an agreement that effectively signed away those lands either. Aside from that, I did not see a lot of fun in joining since everything from that point on for the alliance would be mop up. In any case, negotiations went on and on, with me holding off submitting until I final staled, the final straw on my waining interest in the game.

So I guess my personal gripe is putting a lot of effort into both the game and the yarns and finding my self in an unavoidable pitfall. I could not have written yarns any sooner, even if had known that failing to do so would bring most of my neighbors down on me. In theory I could have expanded less, researched less, and not drawn attention. But really, has _anyone_ ever in a dominions game purposely not taken an independent province when you could have easily done so, not site site searched, or not researched with mages for the sole reason of not looking more powerful? It is effectively purposely playing the game badly, and personally I cannot stomach doing that.

Now, if the yarnspinners alliance had not been in place I may well have faced a similar ganging problem, but with some important differences:

*The attacks would likely have waited longer and/or been more timid as they could never be sure of other nations support

*They would not by any means be bound together rock solidly, using diplomacy to split them apart would have been possible, particularly after I appeared a little less powerful.

*By fighting to the death well I could offer other nations a better chance of winning. With the power of the four nations solidly together for a joint victory, this was not a realistic idea.

But I think the real issue with the alliance was it's secrecy. I'm not sure if the alliance was conceived before the start of the game, but if so, it gave those nations who were thus aware of it a very large advantage. Secondly, if four players are planning to win the game jointly, they should declare so when the decision is reached, because otherwise it is like playing graphs off for some nations and graphs on for others. I have no problem with the yarn encouraging aspect, but this could have been handled just as well or better without the secrecy, or better yet by giving the overseer greater power of rewards or punishments. It certainly does contain a trace of irony that alliance is actually the cause for me to stop yarning.

Anyway, I hope no one was offended by my whiny rant, I hold no hard feelings toward any of the players involved. Hopefully in addition to making me feel better it can help prevent similar situations occurring to other players.

Sedna

October 6th, 2005, 12:26 AM

You are in an unenviable position, and I think you have every right to drop out now if you wish, though we will miss hearing your yarns. I should mention that the yarnspinners alliance was formed only once the game was well underway... as I recall during the negotiations about attacking you/Pythium actually. It is also not quite the binding death-pact you make it out to be, since anyone is free to withdraw at any time. Speaking purely hypothetically, and in no way impugning the motives of the good Father, I do not believe it will survive your defeat or departure from the game. There are too many opportunities to have a war with interesting stories on both sides.

I'm pretty sure Panther got the idea for COW from all the wangling involved in this alliance, which (and again, I'm speaking off the record and not as a representative of the Church of Marignon) some members only viewed cynically as a vehicle to eliminate the leader and thus advance their own agenda.

It's probably sour grapes at this point, but I, for one, was impressed by how long you lasted against the combined assault...

puffyn

October 6th, 2005, 12:38 AM

Hey Quantum,

Well, gosh, I'm sorry to see you go, and not just because of the unpleasant AI-land-grab free-for-all that will result. Are you going AI this turn? Will you at least write a farewell yarn?

As for our little alliance, the original intent was to knock you down from the top of the charts, of course. But it wasn't necessarily to annihilate Pythium. Personally, I was hoping for some more double-crossing, perhaps some members of the alliance making a secret deal with you, that sort of thing. After Yarnspinners Classic, with only one other yarner active for most of the game, it's been great fun negotiating with multiple parties, just wondering how they'll spin it in their next turn. I'm sorry you're leaving just when you've finally caught up...

It certainly is your right, though. Good luck with your future diplomacy-heavy games; I'll be watching Council of Wyrms to see how that turns out.

-puffyn

quantum_mechani

October 6th, 2005, 01:00 AM

Sedna said:
You are in an unenviable position, and I think you have every right to drop out now if you wish, though we will miss hearing your yarns. I should mention that the yarnspinners alliance was formed only once the game was well underway... as I recall during the negotiations about attacking you/Pythium actually. It is also not quite the binding death-pact you make it out to be, since anyone is free to withdraw at any time. Speaking purely hypothetically, and in no way impugning the motives of the good Father, I do not believe it will survive your defeat or departure from the game. There are too many opportunities to have a war with interesting stories on both sides.

I'm pretty sure Panther got the idea for COW from all the wangling involved in this alliance, which (and again, I'm speaking off the record and not as a representative of the Church of Marignon) some members only viewed cynically as a vehicle to eliminate the leader and thus advance their own agenda.

It's probably sour grapes at this point, but I, for one, was impressed by how long you lasted against the combined assault...

I think I could have put off total defeat almost indefinitely, particularly with ether warriors coming on the scene, but there was just not much point in doing so. As I have said other times I like a good fight to the death, but in this case it would not serve any purpose, the alliance has the game firmly under control.

I don't see that the alliance leaves much room for double crossing, it would be foolish for any other members to join my side as it stands.

Spending all the effort to catch up and then quiting is certainly annoying, but I just can't justify putting more effort in when it won't actually change anything.

The Panther

October 6th, 2005, 02:11 AM

Actually, I did get the idea of COW from this game. The bickering back and forth and all the wheeling and dealing has been such fun. The deals never seem to go off as one would think, especially with 4 players involved. And it has been even better to be forced to stay in role while doing this, which we all have done (including QM).

While it is true that we had an alliance of Yarnspinners, we all knew that it could not last indefinitely and we were positioning ourselves for the long-term future of the game. Trying to get the first to commit to actually attacking the game leader was quite interesting to witness. Staking out claims on territory, the inevitable inadvertent mutliple attacks, all of this was very enjoyable.

I suppose I was most disappointed in the fact that most people in the game quit writing the yarns much too early on. Other than the spinners, it has been just another MP game for the most part.

The COW game was my idea to force people to keep active plus stay in role throughout the entire game without the chore of having to write a yarn every week. I hope it works out that way.

quantum_mechani

October 6th, 2005, 02:32 AM

The Panther said:
Actually, I did get the idea of COW from this game. The bickering back and forth and all the wheeling and dealing has been such fun. The deals never seem to go off as one would think, especially with 4 players involved. And it has been even better to be forced to stay in role while doing this, which we all have done (including QM).

While it is true that we had an alliance of Yarnspinners, we all knew that it could not last indefinitely and we were positioning ourselves for the long-term future of the game. Trying to get the first to commit to actually attacking the game leader was quite interesting to witness. Staking out claims on territory, the inevitable inadvertent mutliple attacks, all of this was very enjoyable.

I suppose I was most disappointed in the fact that most people in the game quit writing the yarns much too early on. Other than the spinners, it has been just another MP game for the most part.

The COW game was my idea to force people to keep active plus stay in role throughout the entire game without the chore of having to write a yarn every week. I hope it works out that way.

The terms clearly stated that the goal was joint victory...

djo

October 6th, 2005, 08:29 AM

Like the others, I'm sorry to see you go. From my perspective as the small guy (in armies if no longer in provinces), Pythium is still much in the game.

I was uneasy about the "alliance of writers" from the start, and in retrospect, it did turn out awkward (an understatement) when out-of-game circumstances forced themselves into the game.

I think the alliance has zero chance of lasting much longer. My view is that the game will come down to Marignon + ??? vs death-using nations, probably after Ermor goes down. That would've been a good wedge to use against the alliance, assuming Pythium wasn't using death.

But anyway...I too was hoping more diplomacy would've ended the war earlier, but I admit I don't know exactly what combination of threat, bribe, and concession would've worked. I know you could've bought Vanheim off cheaply; from the yarns, Vethru obviously has no trouble with lying to friend and enemies; he'd cook up a plan to trade a province back and forth to look like we're fighting.

And, if you change your mind, I made no belligerent moves on turn 31. Still time to turn it around...declare immediate war on Ermor and unilateral cease-fire with others, see what happens!

quantum_mechani

October 6th, 2005, 12:18 PM

djo said:
Like the others, I'm sorry to see you go. From my perspective as the small guy (in armies if no longer in provinces), Pythium is still much in the game.

I was uneasy about the "alliance of writers" from the start, and in retrospect, it did turn out awkward (an understatement) when out-of-game circumstances forced themselves into the game.

I think the alliance has zero chance of lasting much longer. My view is that the game will come down to Marignon + ??? vs death-using nations, probably after Ermor goes down. That would've been a good wedge to use against the alliance, assuming Pythium wasn't using death.

But anyway...I too was hoping more diplomacy would've ended the war earlier, but I admit I don't know exactly what combination of threat, bribe, and concession would've worked. I know you could've bought Vanheim off cheaply; from the yarns, Vethru obviously has no trouble with lying to friend and enemies; he'd cook up a plan to trade a province back and forth to look like we're fighting.

And, if you change your mind, I made no belligerent moves on turn 31. Still time to turn it around...declare immediate war on Ermor and unilateral cease-fire with others, see what happens!

Well, as I said the staling was the final straw. I really, really hate it when that happens. If we were to quickly rerun the turn yet again I suppose I might continue my fight to the death, to prevent the AI landgrab.

I really don't see how diplomacy could have happened to better my situation, the rules of the alliance are pretty clear:

The Yarn Spinners Pact

Let it be recorded that those nations in the Land of Inland which publish
full diaries in the chronicles of ONN will join together into an Alliance of
Yarn Enumerators (AYE). This alliance will be governed by the following
rules:

(1) Only those nations which religiously publish diaries will be allowed
into AYE. Currently, these include (in alphabetical order) the nations of
C'tis, Man, Marignon, and Vanheim.

(2) Any member of AYE which falls behind by more than 2 published diaries
will be dropped from the pact.

(3) Any other nations which manage to fully catch up with the publications
of diaries will be invited into AYE.

(4) All active members of AYE will form a solid alliance from this point
forward.

(5) An attack upon any member of AYE will be considered an attack on all.

(6) We will trade gems and artifacts and gold between AYE members as needed.

(7) We will coordinate any attacks upon rogue nations.

(8) We will pledge to eliminate all other nations before the end of the
world and crown ourselves as joint rulers of Inland if this can be achieved
in time.

(9) No one should share this secret pact with non-believers and we should
strive to keep it hidden from all others.

Amendments:

(M1) Marignon and Ermor will be free to fight on their own, and the Yarn
Spinners Pact shall not be invoked by this struggle.

(M2) Marignon reserves the right to freeze relations (as per Marignon's
first proclamation) with members of the alliance if they receive
incontrovertible proof that a member is using death magic. Such a charge
will be published to all the members of the pact, and the offender may
submit to the Trials of Marignon in order to prove their innocence.

Points of Understanding:

(U1) If two members of the pact both wish to fight a mini-war, either to
defeat suspicion that our alliance might exist, or to placate internal
troublemakers, or even simply to provide an interesting tale told by both
sides of the struggle, then such a skirmish may take place.

According to these rules, it would be quite foolish for any nation to break with the group and help (or even stop attacking) me. Whatever bribes I could offer would be far outweighed by being the next target of the alliance, and not getting easy spoils from the fact my legions could not be on every border at once.

I would like to see someone address the 'overexpanding' issue, it was thrown around a lot during negotiations, but when it comes right down to it how many of you have purposely played the game badly for this reason?

djo

October 6th, 2005, 02:20 PM

To use terms from RPG "theory", this discussion sounds like differences between "gamist" and "narrativist" viewpoints.

(Google for the terms, you'll find more than you *ever* wanted to know.)

quantum_mechani

October 6th, 2005, 02:40 PM

djo said:
To use terms from RPG "theory", this discussion sounds like differences between "gamist" and "narrativist" viewpoints.

(Google for the terms, you'll find more than you *ever* wanted to know.)

I suppose in a way yes, but as as far as I can see no one with the possible exception of you is playing from a real 'narrativist' viewpoint.

The_Tauren13

October 6th, 2005, 02:41 PM

Well, I guess I will rerun the turn again, as it sounds like everyone will be happier if quantum doesnt drop out... what do you say?

puffyn

October 6th, 2005, 07:00 PM

Fine by me, Tauren.

PashaDawg

October 6th, 2005, 11:19 PM

Fine by me, too.

quantum_mechani

October 7th, 2005, 05:32 PM

Ok, since it looks like we are rerunning, sent the turn. I did not look at turn 31 so I don't think anyone needs to redo orders.

Speaking of orders, it seems Ulm took advantage of the last re-run to out bid me on mercs. Too bad, they would have been extremely useful, and now I have to spend my gold inefficiently. And of course highly thematic, Empire in trouble, time to hire barbarian mercenaries. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/wink.gif

djo

October 7th, 2005, 05:52 PM

Turn 31 never hosted, right? I never saw a turn 32 in my email.

I'm fine with rerunning whichever turns are necessary, just a little confused as to which turn we're on.

Sedna

October 9th, 2005, 01:44 AM

Oh God, grant now this prayer for your most faithful servant. Let the heavens open and a divine wrath fall down upon the heretic. Smite the unbeliever, destroy the heathen, and purge death from this world. Send me the fire of your righteousness, and I will send it against your enemies.

Gawain

The morning Fires From Afar cast an odd light over the valley, warming Sir Gawain's heart. Soon, very soon. He wandered along the rise, trying to see you the fires had struck. Down in the valley there was smoke and fire.

"Hector!" He bellowed.

"I'm right here Sir."

"So you are. Charge five of the knights along that ridge. Make sure you ride noisily: raise banners, sound trumpets, that sort of thing."

"Yes sir."

Gawain sank back into deep thought. Should he wear his best golden armor today, or the backup? One the one hand, it promised to be a bloody battle. With Father Muszinger guarding all the roads out of the forests and the bulk of the army coming in behind Gawain, the Pythium legion was finally trapped, and would fight desperately to the last man. That sort of hopeless heroics could really spoil a good coat of finish on a man's armor. On the other hand, Gawain liked to look his best especially when he was performing impossibly heroic feats in front of young maidens. And the forest of the Archbishop of Wic had some of the most beautiful virgins in all the kingdom, at least if half of Wic's campfire stories where true. In the end, the ever-so-slightly more shiny armor won out, and Gawain wrestled it on with the help of Sir Boris.

The rest of the company likewise donned armor. There seemed to be fewer than usual. Probably Hector had taken too many knights with him.

"Sir Gawain, Sir Gawain."

It was that pesky knight with a complicated name.

"Yes, good sir... knight."

"Look what rises in yonder vale."

"Uh..."

"The valley, Sir." put in Boris.

Gawain looked. Smoke still rose into the air above the trees.

"I don't see anything."

"Look, right there. 'Tis the holy grail, formed out of smoke. It is a sign from the Almighty."

"Ah... possibly."

"It is."

"Well, let's be honest, I don't really see it."

"It is there, just above the tree with the broad leaves."

"What, the tree with the serrated leaves or the sort of tabular extensions coming off the new shoots?"

"The serrated one."

The other knights clinked in their armor and Gawain suddenly had an inkling for a spot of fighting.

"Yes! Of course I see it now. 'Tis a fine sign of God's favor. Knights, we ride now to glory!"

"Sir?"

Boris again.

"Yes?"

"What about the plan to have Hector's force scare the legion into running into the trap?"

"Oh, drat it all, I'd forgotten. But look, it was the sign of the Holy Grail."

"Was it?"

"It was."

"But it was just a temporary superposition of two smoke plumes..."

"Never mind that, my lad! It is time for action!"

Muszinger

In the east, Muszinger waited patiently, watching the Fires From Afar streak from the north and vanish into the forest. Screams echoed from within. Men were dying, roasted alive, but they were heretics. There were only two roads out of the forest onto the Plains of Eternal Peril, and the fishermen (odd heathens, but quite useful) watched the other one.

Father Muszinger stood alone on the dusty road. A vulture flew overhead, casting a shadow across the bright sky. The inquisitor's eyes scanned the forest for motion, but saw only the twisted, gnarled forms. For not the first time, he wondered if it wasn't about time for the inquisition to pay a call on Wic - not all the rumors about his Magus Temple in there could be true, but if even a few of them were...

A squad burst from the darkness at double speed march. In the moment while their eyes adjusted to the morning sun, Muszinger raised a single gloved hand and the soldiers of Pythium were transformed into pincushions. One managed to catch most of the crossbow bolts on a shield, and he stumbled on to where Muszinger stood - a small word to Aftial and the soldier melted into the ground as a bright bolts left after-images on Muszinger's retinas.

Peace returned to the road. A discreet cough let Muszinger now that the well-hidden squadron of crossbows had reloaded. Salad-related thoughts flaoted through the Father's mind.

The next force was smelled before they came into sight - an acrid stench of smoke and blood. They were barely in formation, but there were a lot more of them. Bolts flew again, but the centurion survived.

"Close shields! About face! Javelins ready, javelins fire!"

Cries from the trees and bushes along the road as javelins pierced bodies - the legionnaires had reformed with inhuman decision and caught many archers still out of cover.

Muszinger called on Aftial to smite the centurion.

Nothing happened.

He tried again, a bit desperate now, as the swordsmen of Marignon engaged the legionnaires. A javelin twanged into the ground at Muszinger's feet, and a man rushed him with just a shield. Muszinger spun to avoid the charge and drew his dagger - but the man kept running until that dagger softly buried itself in his back. In the chaos of the main battle, the crossbows ran or used their bows as clubs against scattered legionnaires - while their protecting swords men were tied up by the main group.

One last call to Aftial went unheeded, and Muszinger switched to fire magic, sending several fire darts into the fray. They did little damage, but the men, who had lived in fear of the fires from the sky for the past many months, lost their courage and broke.

While the swordsmen sent all the heathens to their final judgment, Muszinger lent hard against a tree and tried to calm his beating heart. Why had the angel abandoned him?

Ghost

Aftial, I have called you here to save you.

It was the Arch-Theurgs who ambushed me and sent me hence.

No sparrow falls without me, and none can thwart my purpose. But you, you have tried. Aftial, I bring you here to ask for and receive the forgiveness of this woman, Ghost, who you swore to protect and failed.

What? This is the crime for which I am called back? You have grown blind and old my lord, if you think I need to atone for this! I have brought war to Inland - allied your precious church with death-magic users - a hundred other things. Next to that, what is my promise to a little girl?

It is enough. Answer carefully now, my trusted servant, for you fate hangs in the balance. Ghost stands before you, will you seek forgiveness?

Why is she here? She reeks of death! Your own rules forbid her enter here.

I am the rules, not they me, and I am merciful. Ask!

No. I will not bow immortal knee to this gutter-wench. And I warn you, a host of angels stand at my back. Step down now, or we take by force this heaven, which is rightfully ours, not the playground for men.

Aftial, I have called you by name from the first morning. But you cannot contend against me. You seek power and ruin, and would return to earth to seek them there, and I will not stop you. You are, as always, free. Free to go.

Did you not hear! I challenge you for control of heaven! War never ceasing...

Where did she go?

She is lost, and returned to Marignon.

Are you crying? But surely... the priests used to say you saw all things past and future. You must have known this would happen, right? This is all part of your plan? How can you cry?

How can I not? Come now Ghost, your part in this tale is over.

Sedna

October 16th, 2005, 07:00 PM

What's our status? I'm not suggesting that we host if someone who is staling will complain and force yet another rerun, but upon whom do we wait?

djo

October 16th, 2005, 07:14 PM

It's halftime (30 turns done of 60). What, haven't you been enjoying the marching band?

The_Tauren13

October 16th, 2005, 07:26 PM

We were waiting on the host, as usual. Im terribly, terribly sorry. I completely forgot about this game...

The Panther

October 17th, 2005, 01:50 AM

I guess I am cheating now, according to the message screen. Some very odd things are going on, which probably explains the cheating message. I had a black knight become a commander the previous turn and he has quite nice magic skills. Just this past turn, a ghoul commander (with a bunch of nice artifacs!!!) appeared out of nowhere.

I think the game got a bit messed up with the replaying of all the turns over the past few weeks and we are headed for a Nagot error.

PashaDawg

October 17th, 2005, 08:53 AM

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CHEATER!!!

http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/rant.gif http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/rant.gif http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/rant.gif http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/rant.gif http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/rant.gif http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/rant.gif http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/rant.gif http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/rant.gif http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/rant.gif

quantum_mechani

October 17th, 2005, 03:19 PM

I must admit I'm not really adverse to some strange happenings, should spice up the yarns... now if only I had something interesting happen... http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/wink.gif

djo

October 17th, 2005, 07:48 PM

Thanks to many hiccups, we are still in the vicinity of turn 30, or halfway through. It is of course wonderful to have 5 of 9 folks keeping up to date. YS1 was down to 2 by what, turn 15 or so?

I note that through intention or coincidence, a most of us had at least somewhat momentous happenings in turn 30: Ashembe's death, what looks like Aftial's rebellion and Ghost's finale, the opening of the Ether Gate, and poor Galameteia's final appearance.

To close out this ramble, I'll just say that I counted words, and collectively we've put out about 75,000 words of fiction so far. If we add even another 50,000 in the next 30 turns, that'll make an average-sized novel.

So here's to another 30 turns, and may each yarn come to the close it deserves.

Sedna

October 18th, 2005, 12:23 AM

I second djo's comments, this game has been very successful for producing stories.

I am concerned about the problems with this latest turn though. Will these errors sprial out of control and produce an unplayable game in just a few turns? Is the problem as simple as hosting the turn with some one person's incorrect turn (i.e. a turn 30 based on an old version of turn 29)?

I have not had experience with games going out of sync before, but I imagine it is bad or the death of the game.

puffyn

October 18th, 2005, 09:21 PM

I would also like to add that, as much as it has been a pain sometimes to have to replay turns, I would far rather the game not run into fatal errors and die horribly. I don't mind if the oddness doesn't spiral out of control -- I was all set to incorporate Kaspar the preternaturally-smart city guard into my yarns a few revisions back -- unless it means the end of the game.

So... how are we going to resolve this current problem?

The_Tauren13

October 19th, 2005, 01:13 PM

Well, its your call. I can rollback the turn yet another time if thats what you guys want.

The Panther

October 20th, 2005, 11:37 AM

If we roll back, I think we will have to go all the way back to Turn 29 once again to avoid the odd things going on. And even then, I am not sure that will fix it permanently.

I say we plow on. If the game spirals out of control so bad that it crashes in the near future, we can always go back to Turn 29 yet again.

Of course, I am having game errors never before seen by this cat, so it is hard to say exactly what will happen to this game.

djo

October 20th, 2005, 01:39 PM

The thing about roll-backs is, if we can't identify for certain the original corrupting "event", we don't know if the added trouble of a replay is worth it (given the risk that the confusion of a replay could add more corruption).

So I'm cautiously in favor of pushing forward, but I encourage everyone to report any signs of bad behavior in the game. That way we can monitor whether things are stable or growing worse

puffyn

October 20th, 2005, 04:33 PM

I agree with Djo.

If we can try not to have any more rollbacks / confusion over correct turn files, maybe the game won't get fatally corrupted. So far it seems the weirdest things we've seen are unexpected commanders popping up, am I right? And since Panther says his knight commanders showed up *last* turn, that would mean we'd have to go back and do, what, a fourth turn 31? I'd almost Nagot Gick Fel then do that turn again...

So anyhow: speak up if weird things happen, and hopefully the world will wait until it's supposed to end, at turn 60.

The_Tauren13

October 28th, 2005, 01:03 PM

QM has yet to send his turn 32, or even respond to any of my subsequent emails. Should I turn him AI and keep the game moving?

quantum_mechani

October 28th, 2005, 01:10 PM

oops... sorry guys, I totally forgot about this game. I will get in my turn as soon as I can this evening.

The_Tauren13

October 28th, 2005, 02:17 PM

Ah, so youre still with us. Ill wait for you to get your turn in then. But because I dont have internet at home, I dont know when Ill be able to host it. At the very latest, next monday morning, but hopefully before then.

quantum_mechani

October 31st, 2005, 05:20 AM

hmm, turns out I was wrong about no strange happenings in my empire, a commander carrying over 30 gems worth of items disappeared without a trace...

djo

November 2nd, 2005, 10:37 PM

With the game moving again, now is the time for all to go and read the various turn 30 yarns again, with their momentous and terrible happenings.

Thus you will be prepared for...

Vanheim turn 33

In which we are once more concerned with the mail.

* * *

To Belletennares of Alteion, General of the Armies of Vanheim, Prophet of Vethru

Cousin,

I have just received a disturbing message from Pherios. I've enclosed a copy with this letter. Wait until you are alone before you read it--it will disturb you, and its contents should be kept secret. I have not yet shown it to Anteirios and Mistepeillia, nor to anyone in House Lunetellerion. I hope you agree with me; I thought it best to wait until you and I have investigated further.

If what he says is true, we have a big problem. I hope you can look into this as soon as possible. I will be asking questions of my own.

Love,

Petema

* * *

Dear Molly,

I hope you are doing well, and that my leaving hasn't caused any problems for you. If Vethru is bothering you, please talk to my aunt. She has a lot of influence, and she will protect you, even from him.

I am writing because I need a favor. You know what I'm trying to investigate. It would be helpful for me to know where Vethru is, and where he is planning to be. If you know anything about his schedule, official or unofficial, could you please tell me?

To reply to this message, address a letter to "Kineros" and bring it to the tavern on Green Dolphin Street. It will find me.

I hope this will all be over soon, so our lives can get back to normal. If you have any news of my family, I would like to hear it. I can't bring myself to write to them. What could I tell them?

Take care,

Pherios

* * *

Vethru

You'd think that a god wouldn't have to do paperwork, but it turns out the more you rule, the more bureaucracy there is. It doesn't matter if your underlings are humans, elves, dwarves, hobbits, orcs, goblins, ogres, dragons, unicorns, Martians, Orion slave girls, clones, androids, or hyper-intelligent shades of the color blue. And it gets even worse when your minions are mindless. They need a lot of looking after. You end up with a Byzantine hierarchy of middle managers: the zombies report to a zombie team leader, who reports to a zombie shift supervisor, who reports to a zombie department head, and then you have the manager and regional manager of zombies, and if you've got a big enough empire, you've got six more levels above that. By this time, human resources, excuse me, zombie resources is eating one-third of your budget.

Killing your minions when they screw up just makes your training costs go through the roof.

And don't get me started when they unionize...

I'd finally gotten through all the routine correspondence, and it was time to think strategically. "Ji! Do you know anyone discreet over on Triastellus?"

"Yeah, I know some people. What do you want? Someone good with languages, or history? Or a priest?"

"The last two," I say. "I want to know more about Alteion. What he did, what kind of skills and talents he had."

"Jeez, boss, half the people on your staff are related to him. Ask them. No need to send me up the hill."

"I want the truth, not his family's impression thereof. And some things, you don't ask the family."

I can see Ji's little bird brain churning as he decides whether or not he wants to know what I mean by that. As usual, curiosity wins. "Like what?"

"Is his body actually buried in his tomb on Triastellus?"

He squawks. "Boss, I know where you're going with this, and it's a big mistake. They'd hate us forever!"

"We may not have a choice. Vanheim is still weak, and I don't want to be at the mercy of every nation that threatens us."

"But the Pythium mess has been taken care of," says Ji. "Ermor is falling apart. What are you worried about?"

"Think. They've already just about declared war."

"Oh, right. They are kind of fanatical," says Ji. "Still, there's got to be another way. If you do what I think you're thinking, I don't think the lady will stand for it. She's still mad about Galameteia. If you piss her off any more, she'll probably take all her dwarves and disappear into the hills. Like you-know-who did."

"They are my dwarves, not hers," I tell him, but it's beside the point. I might be able to do without the lady, but losing Pherios hurt. Molly probably sees as much, but she just doesn't have the experience to interpret it correctly. And I couldn't afford to alienate Belletennares, either. Damn House Alteion. Maybe it'd be best to let the old man rest.

"Anyway, I have another letter for her. Would you take it over this afternoon? I need an update on the research progress. Be as nice as you can. Sweet talk her."

He says, "I'll do my best. But you know how women are..."

I did. You can't not-live with them, you can't not-live without them.

* * *

To Lord Vethru, God of Vanheim,

Sire,

I am writing to report a disruption in Birman Highs. Last night, Lord Pherios of Alteion sneaked into our compound and entered the mines. He visited the gem extracting operation but did not interfere with it. He did not harm the guards or cause any damage, and the operation continues on schedule.

He did, however, break into the lower areas that you sealed off. It is reported that he spent nearly an hour there. As per your standing orders, we did not attempt to restrain him. He did not reply when we hailed him, and we quickly lost him once he rode into the forest.

Your servant,

Utreius of Vanheim

* * *

Anteirios

The message arrived with all the others. It appeared to be the plainest of them, lacking any elaborate official seals, and written on plain, inexpensive paper. Yet it was the most extraordinary of the lot.

It was unsigned, and it was printed in a simple script that effectively disguised the author's hand. I deduced it was probably dictated in any case.

The contents had been masterfully crafted. Each time I read it, I found another subtle implication or nuance of expression that further piqued my curiosity. Each sentence, apparently innocent, joined with its brethren to culminate in an invitation for me to consider the wisdom and motivation of certain actions and decisions of Vethru.

And yet, they didn't--they wouldn't, to another man. This was clear, after the fifth and sixth readings. The events were discussed obliquely, tangentially, never directly. The conclusions would only be drawn by someone with a certain turn of mind. I knew the writer, and he, she, or they knew me, well enough to juxtapose the precise combination of observations that would compel me to investigate the issues raised.

I assembled a list of persons who were both that familiar with me and who also had access to the information in the letter. After rejecting all of them, I consider combinations of two, then three, then more of them. None of them explained the letter to my satisfaction. This was puzzling. The familiarity was so strong that I could not have overlooked any potential authors.

I called for more wood for the stove and more hot tea. I began reading the letter a seventh time. The clues were before me. I would find them and deduce the answers to the two mysteries: what was Vethru up to, and who wanted me to know about it?

* * *

Dear Pherios,

It's so strange with you not here. Everyone treats me funny because they think I can see their future. Everyone human, that is. Your people seem to accept it more easily. I guess they're used to the magic and everything. Petema is especially understanding. I think I would go mad if I weren't staying with her now.

Vethru hasn't been bothering me. Actually, he's been very nice. He said that I shouldn't worry about you, because you are very smart and very capable and you knew magic. He also told me it was OK if I kept your secrets from him. He said he trusted me to do the right thing. And he was so understanding that I told him that I'd do my best to keep listening to the future without you. But later I figured that he really did want me to tell him about you, and that's why he was being nice, so now I'm mad at him for that.

And I know he probably wants to know where you are, but I really had to write, so I told Petema, and she said that she could get a letter to that tavern without Vethru knowing.

I'm writing because I heard him catching up with you. It's going to happen soon, and I don't know how it's going to turn out. I hope he doesn't catch you, and I'm scared for you. And not just because of him. I don't know where it is you are when he finds you, but it's dark. There's a lot of confusion. And then it gets really bad.

I don't even want to think about it. You warned me. You told me someday I'd hear awful things. I did. I haven't slept in two days, because when it gets dark, I hear them. They whisper in the dark. If you hear them, Pherios, run away! I don't want to think about what happens after. You've never heard screaming like that. Or maybe you have. But I hope not.

I don't know what else to say. I'm trying to keep working, but it's hard. I hear things, but I don't understand what's going on like you did. If you can write back, please tell me what you've been seeing. I need to know if I'm doing this right. OK?

Please be careful!!!

Your friend,

Molly

Sedna

November 7th, 2005, 01:33 AM

Marignon, Turn 34

Muszinger

How did it come to this?

Father Muszinger gazed over the smoking ruins of the great library at Barra. The words of a hundred generations burned beneath those blackened columns, and the twisted, gruesome corpses of the sages lay all about. One man had died on the steps of the library -- unable to run quickly with his stack of scrolls, a knight's lance had ripped his body asunder, and his blood now stained those scraps of paper he had sought to protect and oozed slowly down the stairs...

---

"The sacrifice of blood is not specifically forbidden, Father -- legend says that during the fall some noble Church fathers advocated an alliance with the infernal devils against the greater peril of death made manifest."

"That is legend, and folly, and heresy, Wic!"

"But Father..."

"Enough, give me peace for a little while. Leave!"

Muszinger sank down in a chair and stared into the depths of the fire. What day was it? Where was he? The Mountains of Madness, yes...

They had marched here in splendor after defeating the Pythium army. Here, where the arch-theurgs of Pythium had murdered Aftial. These mountains were now made sacred by that act, and though all in the Church agreed that death could not hold back the mightiest of the LORD's servants -- not with the end so close -- still some vengeance had to be delivered unto the evil purple empire, and a church would need to be built at the spot where the Goddess of Courage had ascended into heaven.

The first week in the Mountains had been exciting. It had been a long time since the Inquisition's work had been so rewarding. No petty heresies about which side of the bread was the godly one to butter like they had back home -- these people openly worshipped the oracle and openly celebrated the slaughter of God's holy servant. Children played with evil-looking Aftial dolls and gleefully recreated her defeat at the hands of the teleporting band of arch-theurgs (each of whom had a special super-power in the game). Fortunately the toys were all made of wood and served as kindling for their owner's pyres. Yes, the Mountains had been cleansed and made righteous over the wails of the damned and the cries of the heretics. Though hard work, it had been accomplished swiftly. The new church was dedicated, and the land made safe and orderly when the messengers of doom started to arrive.

First came the news that Pythium had qualified for membership in the great alliance. Muszinger had personally bound the fate of Marignon with three other kingdoms in order to defeat the growing southern menace. Now the foolish terms for membership had been met by the one empire the alliance was supposed to last long enough to destroy -- and just as they stood on the edge of destruction!

Next came news that Aftial had returned to Marignon -- welcome news in itself, but she had stayed there with the Three Above and pardoned Pythium for killing her.

And then the crushing blows -- the Archbishop of Marignon published reports that the kingdoms of C'tis and Vanheim were using death magic in their wars against Pythium -- the Archbishop of Elkland had been recommunicated (they had had to invent that word) in exchange for a mighty gift of twenty water gems to the war effort -- the inquisition was to be placed under the personal control of the Archbishop of Avoca -- Muszinger's army was to disband, the monies for their wages being required to pay the army already (already!) fighting the undead in the shadow lands -- Muszinger, Wic and Polgrave were to return to Marignon to face trial for heresy.

Sitting by the fire, Muszinger took up the heresy charge and stared blankly at it. There was a knock, and the Archbishop of Polgrave entered.

"Father..."

"How many of these have I signed in my time?" Muszinger asked, holding up the charge. "Bitter reversal of fortune."

"Father, we must take action."

"Yes. But what? Are you here to offer another deal with the devil like Wic? A chance to sell our souls to the infernal forces to gain strength to conquer our political enemies? No, of course not. Your study is death itself. Surely you are here to argue that we must side with the darkness to counter these charges that our allies are friends of death!" His voice rose a little, on the edge of breaking into hysterical laughter.

"You do me wrong Father, I urge no such thing. The power and danger of death are well known to me, true, but I would never argue that another should take up my burden, be tortured by the same inky blackness which stalks my dreams. No, I am here to discuss practical matters. You must charge Marignon with heresy youself. Have the inquisition -- those who are still loyal to you -- move out in force to quash these vicious rumors. You must take steps to defeat the enemies of our LORD and yourself."

"Must I, Polgrave?"

"Yes. Time is of the essence."

"But... oh God, forgive your humble servant! The rumors must be true. I have spoken myself with spies who saw such a thing. They say the ruler of Vanheim is a foul undead thing, and the dragon Cole? The whole race of C'tis? Who led Ermor into the night, Polgrave? Which treacherous, stinking vermin poisoned the mighty empire, the mighty church, and brought death incarnate into a good and wholesome world? We had thought, I know, deluded ourselves that these animals had put such evil behind them, but a lizard cannot change its scales."

"My dear friend. No-one has been a more zealous defender of the faith than yourself. But even if the charges are true, it is treason for Marignon to usurp control in this fashion, and heresy to not put on formal trial the people who make such claims. But I know why this is so. Their information comes not from our own loyal spies, but from the angel-killing masters of deception in Pythium. Their words are lies because of their source, and Marignon knows this, this is why he hides behind treason. Take the fire of faith and the torch of the inquisition, and shine light into this dark secret, expose its evil roots!"

"I could do as you say, but how can we win? Our army's salary is cut. We must pillage enemy lands or disband our force and be left powerless. With Aftial now preaching forgiveness, how can we lead the troops into battle against Pythium? And yet we cannot stay here."

The door burst open, and for a moment Wic hung there in the shadow, his robes drooping from his outstretched arms like some hideous bat.

"My lords! It is a good day to die!"

"What new devilry is this?"

"None whatsoever." Wic stood aside, and a man moved into the room. A weather-beaten man in dirty brown robes, leaning on his spear and trying to catch his breath. "I present St. Onbec, the angry."

A stunned silence filled the room. Then Polgrave ran over to offer the man a chair.

"Are you for real?"

The man stared in Muszinger's eyes, and his face shone with a holy light. "More real in this world than you, rat."

"Why you!" Muszinger rose to smite the insolent scout, but Wic swiftly interposed himself.

"Hear him out. He brings our salvation."

"What lies!"

"I saw the serpent masters, Pythium, at Boddern Weald, scarce one month ago. Their foul magicks have conjured up some dispossessed spirits to fight against the lizards."

"My God."

"He was not there that day, for the lizards did not hesitate to raise the dead in their own turn."

"And you will swear to this?"

"By my spear and unto the living face of God."

"You see what this means, Father?" said Wic. "For a little while at least we can hold the army together fighting the damned lords of Pythium. Marignon's power cannot reach us while we retain our force, and the men will not complain once they are fighting the shadow of death even here. This is our key to our survival, and the gates of power back home."

Muszinger turned away to look into the fire again. "My friends, all you say is true. But this is not the key to salvation, but the footstep of doom. Vanheim, C'tis, Pythium... these now have all joined the darkness of Ermor. Are we alone to stand against the night? It was always so, but can we survive divided? While Elkland marches on the lizards in the north, and Marignon fights the greater shadow, we fight in vain here in the south against yet another race fallen into necromancy! The end is coming. It is almost upon us, and the LORD's return will not be to a bright clean world, but to a shadowy waste, where foul things hold sway and the living wander like ghosts in the night. We are all doomed."

Wic laughed, "You worry too much, Father. We, loyal servants, will always be protected as long as we do what is right-- and now we know that it is both right and convenient to continue the war against Pythium for as long as we have strength. Perhaps the LORD intends us to die in these Mountains, but I do not think so. I say we march into the heart of Pythium. Strike the library at Barra, and put a stop to the heathen learning that goes on there. Already the knights are agitating to ride there, in the hopes of finding clues about their precious grail. March out. Fight out little part of the greater struggle, and let God determine where we fall."

"Yes," said Muszinger. "Do what you will."

---

And so Muszinger watched the fires erase history. Pythium had used no death magic in the battle, although they had sacrificed many young girls to summon lesser devils from Hell. Onbec (or whoever he really) had disappeared again into the wild, taking Muszinger's sense of direction with him. Why continue this battle? Why fight this fight? For now, he was just reacting. Just trying to hold his army together long enough to see his way back to Marignon, and the Angel, and God.

quantum_mechani

November 7th, 2005, 08:31 PM

I'm really sorry to do this to you guys after you delayed the game and reran the turn for me, but I'm afraid I'm dropping out afterall. Losing all my sages was pretty devastating morale wise, considering I almost set them all to retreat but decided that it was to much effort and nothing was going to get to them that turn (I thought I had a peace treaty with marignon... I made the mistake of assuming that backstory about national factions would not translate to actual 'rogue' armies). Since the last of my interest in the game is now pretty much gone, I really can't justify taking the time for the game anymore.

The problem with these slow moving long term games is it is really slow and painful to just tough it out when you are not enjoying the game anymore.

Alneyan

November 8th, 2005, 10:54 AM

Would it help to take over my Pangaea? I have done very little, but I have a hoard of gems, so you might be able to do something with them.

Sedna

November 8th, 2005, 06:56 PM

I would like to apologize to both Quantum and puffyn though: as a person (and a general dominions players) I'm really not such a bastard. But... roleplaying as the Inquisition I feel I have a bit of a standard to uphold.

puffyn

November 9th, 2005, 10:58 AM

As a counterpoint I would like to offer your nastiness as Cthulu in the original Yarnspinners. Perhaps next game (Yarnspinners 3, anyone?) you should play a fuzzy-kittens-and-flowers kind of race. Someone inoffensive and noble, like Man, or Pangaea, or perhaps T'ien Ch'i.... http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/wink.gif

To quantum: I can understand your desire to leave, but just wanted you to know how greatful I was that you summoned enough interest in the game to march your huge army on my capitol. Thanks, that was very good of you. Are you going to write one last yarn?

quantum_mechani

November 9th, 2005, 01:42 PM

puffyn said:

To quantum: I can understand your desire to leave, but just wanted you to know how greatful I was that you summoned enough interest in the game to march your huge army on my capitol. Thanks, that was very good of you. Are you going to write one last yarn?

Well, I assume it was my now-AI that did that. As for the yarn, possibly at some point.

@Alneyan: No, I have been trying to make clean break from this game for a long time, I'm pretty sure I would regret sticking around.

puffyn

November 9th, 2005, 02:42 PM

True, true, I suspected you wouldn't be silly enough to divide your big army just enough so that it would be unlikely to succeed. Still, you were the one who marched it right next to my capitol last turn. Let's just say we in C'tis are a little relieved, though perhaps offended, that you weren't actually very interested in your large army rampaging through our lands. (Which we would have been crushed anyway sooner or later, oh yes, very soon now...)

Sedna

November 13th, 2005, 09:55 PM

Esclave

I took the wounded east out of the Mountains of Madness. Slow though we were with the weak and the lame, no one molested us. Some peace treaty with Pythium had made Muszinger very unhappy, but I was just glad to be away from the front. I never want to to see anything like the conversion of the Mountains of Madness again. Once out onto the plains, we turned west again, heading for Towen. We had recently received word that Aftial had returned from the grave -- and the rumors said she was subtly changed.

Now, as I sit with the sages of Towen and read through their tomes, I search for clues about what happened to that gentle creature which whom I passed my mornings in the House of Just Fires all those years ago; that gentle creature who is the mother of my unseen child. Surely this is not the same Aftial, returned now from heaven with a flaming sword and new-found wars to fight against out friends the lizards and the shadow itself?

But if I am honest, I never knew her. Our encounters were brief, and what do I know of women, angelic or mortal? What do I know of angels at all? Scripture and tradition name nearly a hundred such beings, servants of the Most High, and describe their character in detail. But there is no Aftial.

The sages do have one book, a collection of druidic poetry which managed to elude the inquisition. One stanza speaks of an Aftiel:

But thee Aftiel, patron of the evensky
draw your veils o'er us now.
Cloak our misdeeds in darkness
and set us free.

If this is Aftial, then I fear for Marignon. What is an angel who comes to us with false titles -- promising a new morning of greatness for the church, when in truth she is the night-bringer and ender of things? What misdeeds does she cloak? What veils draws she over the eyes of men?

The sages suggest that I search for answers in Great Woods. They say that a mighty warrior who was close to Aftial fell into darkness there. I do not know what I seek, but will find this ghost warrior's grave and tale, to see how Aftial protected those she swore to defend.

Muszinger

A week before the beginning of Carrofactum, Muszinger called Wic and Polgrave into one of the Barra library rooms which had escaped destruction and which they were using as a command post. The topic was the future of the Southern Army.

"We stand thus gentlemen. The gold Gawain and his knights liberated (with regrettable loss of life) pillaging this province will cover our expenses for some time, but we cannot go home yet. Though many inquisitors remain loyal to me, they are mostly pressed hard in the struggle against Ermor. I suspect now that this may have been Marignon's plan all along."

"And what of that fat fool himself?"

"Msgr. Buternot reports he is besieged within the Shadow Watch by a large army of the undead."

"He had better not leave his body parts lying around." muttered Polgrave.

"Any chance our problem will be... ah... taken care of by the undead?" asked Wic.

"Marignon is a servant of the Church, vouched for by Aftial, God's precious messenger who..."

"None of which really undermines the fact that he's actively trying to kill us, does it? Face it, Father, Marignon has schemed against all three of us since he came to power."

"But I will not march openly against him, nor undermine him in the battle for the shadowlands."

"What, then?"

"The Three Above are all busy. Avoca has his hands full trying to bring the Inquisition to heel, while Spire is trapped with Marignon. No-one is coming to enforce our arrest warrants here in the south."

"How very pragmatic of you Father," said Wic. "So we stay here, forge a little power base for ourselves, and prepare to retake power if things go poorly on the Western Front?"

"We must still pray that direct conflict can be avoided. Aftial alone is good and can bring Marignon back to the light. We must regain our strength and unity and convert all the heathens of the world before the LORD comes again."

"That's a lot for one winged beauty to do in just under a year," said Wic.

"What? Do you not believe? Have I not told you? There is no taint within her -- she is pure as snow."

"Even as you say."

"Very well then. I shall return to the Mountains alone. You two convince that bone-head Gawain to ride East."

"It shall be done."

Muszinger swept out of the room, and Wic's deferential look hardened into a thin smile.

"Poor fool. He believes so strongly and so deep. Reminds me of that boy, Esclave. He cannot, nay will not, see that Aftial plays him as a pawn."

"We should bring him to see this," said Polgrave.

"Perhaps. But for now, it is best that he walk alone. We can hardly have such a self-righteous man around while we do what needs be done."

"I know. I have all the ingredients for the Rite of Shantanok assembled."

"Then, are you ready to begin?" asked Wic, with just a little bit of awe in his voice.

"No, we must wait for the first night of Carrofactum, and we will need to stand on the broken tower in the Forest of Saran, where a saint's blood was shed."

"That's twisted."

"It is death magic, Wic, not fluffy bunnies. You're not backing out now, are you?"

"Of course not, Polly. You know my soul is already spoken for. What do I have to fear?"

"You sound smug for one condemned to eternal torture in hell."

"At least I'll be warm."

The two men stared at each other for a long moment, then turned and marched out into the twilight.

Gawain

Sir Gawain stared, entranced, at the dancing patterns on the shield.

"I want that one. And that flaming blue sword."

"Uh, sir, I'm not sure that shield is altogether good. It might be accursed."

"What makes you say that?"

"The little plaque underneath which reads: Shield of the Accursed."

"Ah, so those little squiggly symbols have meaning."

"Indeed, sir."

"Well, since we have to march out tonight to go fight the... what was it again?"

"The mutant space goat of Saran."

"Yes, the goat thingy that's got Wic all nervous. Anyhow, after we've killed that we'll come back here to Barra and I'll pick up my new sword and shield. That should give you plenty of time to find out if picking up this shield will turn me into a newt."

The Panther

November 17th, 2005, 04:09 PM

With all the stops and starts for this game, I got a bit behind on my yarns. Here is the belated Turn 33 yarn, with the Turn 36 yarn to come sometime soon. At least the battle against Pythium is prioviding me with lots of material for my yarns.

Turn 33

Pythium strikes back!

The evil nation of Pythium has bounced back from near elimination. These past few months, the Pretender Cibragol summoned some odd ether warriors who were surprisingly difficult for my hawks and wolves to strike. Those strange fellows mowed down my summoned nature army like they never even existed.

I therefore ordered a retreat from my frontier provinces of Endron and Voccan. Both those provinces are right next to the capitol of Pythium anyway, and that simple fact makes it quite difficult for my army to defend them. But, to placate my darn Uncle, I did approve a full mobilization of my vast army to the front lines. Certainly that show of force will put the fear of Selena into my enemies! All we can do now is to wait and see how it all turns out.

One thing I can now report on is the complete success of another of the splendid ideas from Veronicas, my fine friend and Minister of Research. She had reported to me that the quiet little library we discovered years ago in Gryphon Spires could potentially make a fine boost to our research. So, acting solely on her advice, I had long ago ordered the construction of a laboratory and began offering gold to lure members of an obscure brand of wizards who call themselves sages.

And the results are VERY apparent. My nation has done unbelievably well in research ever since then. Despite the Lands of Man being totally devoid of magic enhancing scales, my little nation is THIRD of all the nations for magical research (per the unbiased ONN reports). Also, the two purple nations ahead of my magic-poor nation both have maximum +3 (meaning expensive) magical-boosting scales! The fact that we are now so close to the purple nations in research amazes me even more than anything else Veronicas has done for my nation. That girl is so bright indeed.

There was another odd thing that happened in the last few months. First, Cleges, my Minister of War, performed a surprising field promotion of one of his knights after a vicious battle against Pythium. So, the result was that Godgifu is now a full-fledged commander leading armies into battle. And, to top it off, the Avalon Crone Darielle even taught Godgifu some magical skills! I have already read that particular report several times, for I was glad to see some benefits come from a war.

The second thing that happened was far more troublesome. After the losing fight against the ether warriors of Pythium, a lone dispossessed spirit named Nar decided to leave the service of his evil Pythium masters and join forces with righteous Man! Plus, during some fierce battle somewhere, Nar even found several nice artifacts, including a Black Steel Full Plate, a Barkskin Amulet, and a Boots of Giant Strength. Nar then reported to my laboratory in Cuna Eral to present those fine specimens as a gift for his acceptance into my just and rightful nation.

Unfortunately though, in a routine audit, the mundane bean counters of the ONN discovered the addition of these new artifacts to my treasury without my mages having constructing them. ONN then announced the supposed fact to all nations in the Land of Inland that the Nation of Man is cheating. Cheating!!! Me? I don�t even know how to cheat! I don�t know why those ONN bean counters tried to blame me for the fact that a lone spirit decided to quit the Pythium Empire and join Man! It ain�t my fault�

Of course, the presence of this dispossessed spirit does lead me to worry about my Inquisition allies. They have already issued far too many proclamations about their abhorrence of the use of death magic. While I have never practiced the dark arts myself, Nar, this new scout of Man, is surely a creature of death magic. No other explanation can be made for his presence. While I believe that it was the evil masters of Pythium who summoned the spirit in the first place, the Inquisition typically jumps first and asks questions later. And Marignon now shares a huge border with me after we squeezed Pythium from between us. So I worry. And I continue to plan for the total elimination of the Pythium Empire.

Pythium now; put off the Marignon issue until later. It is the only way I can rule effectively. For it is, as always, one thing at a time.

djo

November 18th, 2005, 11:45 AM

Our kind host mentioned there might be some hosting schedule irregularities over the upcoming Thanksgiving holidays (in the US). I just want to go on record as saying I wouldn't mind a slower pace for that time period. I could keep up with the game (probably), but the writing, not so much (and I'm already a bit behind).

puffyn

November 20th, 2005, 11:43 AM

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

November 21st, 2005, 08:48 PM

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

November 26th, 2005, 04:29 PM

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

November 29th, 2005, 10:59 AM

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

November 30th, 2005, 10:33 PM

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

The Panther

November 30th, 2005, 10:51 PM

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

December 12th, 2005, 12:43 AM

"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.

djo

December 15th, 2005, 09:41 AM

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.

djo

December 23rd, 2005, 09:56 AM

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.

puffyn

December 23rd, 2005, 07:14 PM

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

djo

December 23rd, 2005, 08:05 PM

OK by me.

The_Tauren13

December 23rd, 2005, 08:52 PM

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.

The Panther

December 23rd, 2005, 11:11 PM

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.

Alneyan

December 24th, 2005, 04:56 AM

The_Tauren13 said:
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.

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.

The Panther

December 24th, 2005, 12:34 PM

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...

Alneyan

December 27th, 2005, 12:43 PM

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.

puffyn

December 27th, 2005, 07:27 PM

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.

Sedna

December 27th, 2005, 11:43 PM

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.

The Panther

December 30th, 2005, 06:12 PM

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.

djo

January 4th, 2006, 09:17 PM

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

The_Tauren13

January 5th, 2006, 02:58 AM

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

djo

January 16th, 2006, 08:42 PM

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.

Sedna

January 18th, 2006, 12:03 AM

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.

puffyn

January 19th, 2006, 02:08 AM

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.

The Panther

January 21st, 2006, 11:01 PM

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.

djo

January 22nd, 2006, 09:36 PM

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.

PashaDawg

January 23rd, 2006, 10:49 PM

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

Pasha Tzu

Sedna

January 23rd, 2006, 11:39 PM

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.

PashaDawg

January 24th, 2006, 10:12 AM

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

Sedna

January 31st, 2006, 01:17 AM

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.

djo

February 11th, 2006, 02:56 PM

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 clich�d, 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.

The Panther

February 12th, 2006, 10:25 PM

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

The Panther

February 12th, 2006, 10:55 PM

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

Sedna

February 20th, 2006, 09:48 PM

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

puffyn

February 25th, 2006, 05:28 PM

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.

puffyn

March 4th, 2006, 02:39 PM

---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.

Sedna

March 19th, 2006, 05:10 PM

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 (http://yarnspinners.improbable.org/index.php?title=Turn42)

Sedna

djo

April 5th, 2006, 07:52 PM

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

We're close, so close now...

Sedna

April 8th, 2006, 10:51 PM

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.

djo

April 23rd, 2006, 02:21 PM

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.

djo

May 7th, 2006, 12:14 PM

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.

puffyn

May 10th, 2006, 11:42 PM

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.

Sedna

May 11th, 2006, 10:09 PM

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.

puffyn

May 21st, 2006, 10:39 PM

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...

djo

May 22nd, 2006, 10:10 AM

edit: all removed; stupidity on my part regarding timing

puffyn

May 29th, 2006, 11:17 AM

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

The_Tauren13

May 29th, 2006, 08:59 PM

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

May 29th, 2006, 09:07 PM

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

The_Tauren13

May 30th, 2006, 11:17 AM

puffyn said:
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

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

May 30th, 2006, 11:19 PM

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

The_Tauren13

May 30th, 2006, 11:51 PM

thats the plan

Sedna

June 17th, 2006, 08:02 PM

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.