[Sedna]

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.