PBEM Game: Yarnspinners 2 (Running)

[Sedna]

I hate it when characters don't die when they're supposed to. As far as I saw though, Pherios and Vethru died in that battle with Ulm. It was bloody.

Thanks everyone for killing me. I hope it didn't detract from stories you wanted to tell -- it was really helpful for mine after it became clear to me that Aftial had to die.

I'll have a little coda up shortly, and then... eventually... Y3? Could be fun to do it in a more literal fashion, since we'll probably be learning a lot as we play.

[The Panther]

Sorry for the delay on Turn 60. I have been so busy since my move to DC that I have not been paying much attention to Dominions. I am also sorry for not posting any story since Turn 51. I pretty much had a continuing story in mind, but I never did get around to actually writing it.

On thing I was kind of disapointed in was that I did not quite kill Pangaea. The game ended one month short, for I did not have enough troops on Turn 60 to break the walls down. But the walls broke on Turn 61 and Pangaea would have been fully eliminated next turn, thus uniting all Green Banners under Selena's rule.

Also, I did manage to get the dead Nephele back on Turn 60 and once again had all three Air Queens. That too is a good story line since Selena did not much care for the idea of have other 'queens' hanging around her lands.

As for the Pangaea pretender, I seem to recall that it was a Golden Naga, but I am not totally sure on this. earlier this week, I was thinking about this game and realized that I killed four pretenders: Pythium, Pangaea, Marignon, and Ulm. That also would be a nice story line, so I really ought to find time and write the final few chapters.

Perhaps I may bring my laptop along on the camping trip to Maryland this weekend and write while lazing around the campfire...

[djo]

Sedna said:
As far as I saw though, Pherios and Vethru died in that battle with Ulm.

No, they survived, the wretches. I will kill them properly in the story.

And it will be Vanheim, not Ulm, that storms the castle at Ermor. I will take a small liberty in describing what they found there that I think you will not object to.

Oh, and one last observation: I sent poor insane Illioserios deep behind enemy lines with a troop of Vans. I intended for them to hit a Marignon target deep in the interior, but of course, all the other nations got there first! So they made a suicide run on Ulm instead. Let me tell you, 125 crossbowmen can kill 8 Vans and a Vanjarl in no time, air blessing and glamour notwithstanding!

[puffyn]

Thanks, everyone, it's been fun... I'm glad my storyline didn't depend on my characters behaving the way they ought too, since they can be so finicky that way.

(Sorry for the formatting errors... tags should be correct now)


Turn 60

Let me tell you a story about Aetonyx, the trickster. He was old before any of you were hatched, but once when he was young he decided to walk around the world. He first traveled north, and came across a high desert plain, where the sun beat down every day and scorched the earth dry. Under such pleasant conditions, he smiled and snapped his tail to the passing melodies of the wind, and so engrossed in his journey was he that he almost tread upon a giant snake asleep in the sand.

Now there are only two types of snake in this part of the world, the harmless rock snake and the deadly stone viper, whose venom could kill even a lizard, who have some natural immunity to poisons, within seconds. Unfortunately, both snakes appear vary similar, and the only way to tell the difference between the two is to flip the snake over on its belly and count whether the faint star-shaped patterns have 5 points or 7. The rock snake will glare indignantly at such maltreatment, but the stone viper will strike before it is possible to finish counting the points on the stars, and thus as a practical course of action there is no way to distinguish between the two.

So being a wise lizard, Aetonyx was about to scurry away from the sleeping snake, when he noticed that the back half of the snake was curiously flatter than the front half. On closer inspection, he noted also the talon marks of a bird of prey, or perhaps several, and the claw marks of small animals, and even the abrasion of the winds, and he thought perhaps the snake was not sleeping, but dead. So he crawled a little closer, out of curiosity; and after he had satisfied himself on the matter he turned away.

There was a feeble hissing sound, and he whipped around to see the head of the snake raised now, eyes staring intently at him. "Come to finisssssssh me off, treacheroussss legged one?" hissed the snake. "Like all the other legged ones, murdererssss all, and I just a harmless rock snake asleep in the sun when they attacked." The snake coughed a little. It didn't appear to have much life left in it, and Aetonyx felt pity for it.�

"No, my friend, I am just passing by on my way around the world," he said. "I will leave you to sleep in peace." And the snake stared at him for a moment, then lowered its head, and closed its eyes, trying to soak in a few more healing rays of light, though really dusk was not far off. Aetonyx picked up a giant rock with one leg, and with a swift movement crushed the snake's head in. Then, out of curiosity, he rolled the dead snake over on its belly, and counted the number of points on the stars.

"As I expected," he murmured, and walked on.

***

Laph could tell he was there by the way Fela, in the front row, suddenly looked amused, but tried hard to hide it. A couple of other lizards in the audience were also trying hard to stifle laughter. She couldn't help but be a little impressed. Usually she heard a little crackling sound, or smelt something like burnt leaves.

"You're getting better at apparating," she said conversationally, turning to face her errant ethereal egg-brother, who was, at the moment, doing a very credible impression of a duck.

Ruli looked transparently chagrined. "How'd you know I was there?" he said. "You weren't even supposed to know I was in the same city."�

"Ruli, I'm the yarnspinner," she said. "It's my business to know." She feigned turning back around, then quickly whipped her head around just as Ruli was trying to roar like a mute lion, and solemnly shook her head at him. He sighed defeat, and there were titters from the crowd. "Now if you'll excuse me, I was about to tell them about the Conversation with a Gull."

***

When Aetonyx was walking around the world, he stopped beside a vast inland sea. In those days, the sea was much bigger than nowadays, and the warmlings who lived nearby often plied its waters in their long wooden boats. Aetonyx hoped to catch a ride to the opposite shore, so he settled on a warm, dry rock near the docks, and waited.

By and by, a giant white gull landed on a post next to him. He stared out at the sea, with a fixed concentration so unlike any scale-leaver Aetonyx had ever seen before, that after a while he began trying to catch its attention. He contorted his tail into amusing animal shapes. He juggled a few clam shells stranded by the low tide. Eventually, he got bored, and just started throwing small rocks at the gull's legs, not trying to hurt him, only to stir him up a little, for it was closing in on evening time and no boats had been seen at port all day. But the gull merely stepped nimbly over each incoming rock, absentmindedly, as if he scarcely noticed they were there.

Finally, Aetonyx gave in, and spoke. "What are you watching for, gull?"�

The bird was silent for a long while, so long that the lizard began to wonder if it had heard him. Then it turned and stared straight into Aetonyx's eyes, and intoned solemnly, "'All I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying.' But the tide is going out, and will never return." It turned back to watching the sea.

"Silly gull," said Aetonyx. "The tide always comes back."

But after three days, the shoreline was farther away than ever from the rock Aetonyx where was sitting, and he decided to get as far as he could from the land that even the sea had forsaken.

***

Cole may not have participated in the storming of Marignon, but there was no force in the universe capable of stopping him from swooping majestically into the conquered enemy capitol a few days after it fell. There were standards to maintain, and a dragon couldn't very well let other people sack a major city for him.

Well, not sack, as such; more civilized heads (alas) had prevailed, and contrary to how things were done in Cole's youth, the city of his conquered foes was not burnt into charred rubble, nor were the tastiest members of the families of the vanquished opposition led to the dragon's tent at dinner time. Truth be told, the city was in sorry enough state that it looked as if a conclave of dragons had descended upon it long ago, and there was very little worth looting.

The dragon had just finished inspected the incredibly pitiful royal coffers -- "Barely enough for a sponge bath, let alone a proper swim," -- when he noticed an arch angel striding purposefully toward him. In the final days of the Marignonese war, many angels had appeared in the lizard camps, which was a little perplexing, because winged creatures do not feature highly in lizard mythology.�

The leading theory, from a young spinner of tall tales who would go very far in the burgeoning field of completely making things up, was that they had become so disillusioned with their own narrative framework that they had sought another, more rational one to work within while they battled to restore eschatological structure to their own. Cole hadn't been listening too closely, since he had noticed the sudden glint of sunlight off the roof of a nearby church, which had turned out, on closer inspection, to be a very low-grade tin.

"Greetings, oh exalted Cole, leader of the flaming sword of justice, tool of the Almighty for purging the heretics..." the arch angel began. He was worse than a mob of flagellants, because it was a lot harder to just eat an arch angel when he got annoyingly florid. Plus all those feathers give terrible indigestion. But Kiksanu quickly got to the point.�

"I humbly request your permission to banish this minion of evil into the darkness from whence he came," said the angel primly.�

Cole gazed down at a small, shrunken dark figure. If you didn't look closely, you might assume it was just another of the many anonymous undead wandering the streets of Marignon these days. But there was just the smallest hint of fire in his dull eyes, now bereft of reason...

"I'm afraid that would be a grave mistake," said Cole.�

"But... but... he is unmitigated evil," sputtered the arch angel. And then Cole understood. Somewhere, long ago, a deal had been struck for what must have seemed like an impossibly distant eventuality. Not even arch angels are incorruptible.

"I don't believe we should let our friend off so easily after all the trouble he has caused," said the dragon. "That wouldn't be the wight thing to do, now would it, Polgrave?"

This might be fun. It had been a long time since Cole had succeeded in capturing a small person; they just died too easily. There were so many useful things he could get it to do....

"How are you with roses?"

***

In the course of his walkabout Aetonyx came to a heavily forested land. The trees were tall and old, and the sky was buried in green, yet sunlight danced through the tree canopy so that underneath it was airy and light. When Aetonyx first entered the woods, he marveled at the the variety of living creatures: squirrels and rabbits and foxes and deer, here and there a bear or a wolf, and always in the trees came the song of a thousand different birds. At that distance, he mused, scale-leavers weren't so unpleasant.�

At length he came upon a village of men. It had been several weeks since Aetonyx had passed through a settled area, and he was looking forward to spending a night with other people, even if they were only warmlings. But when he reached the town in the late afternoon, it was deserted, though all the houses were neatly kept and the gardens well tended. All he saw while walking through town were a few hawks and a solitary badger, glaring at him from a rather tidy front porch.�

Aetonyx quickly moved on.

But the next village he came to, some two days later, was just the same, only this time there was a family of rabbits and a flock of crows, and the village after that contained only wildcats, sound asleep in the midday sun.

By the seventh village, Aetonyx was becoming a little concerned. There was a full moon in the sky, and the woods had taken on a menacing feel, and he wondered what sorts of strange and unnatural animals would be in this abandoned village.

But when he got to the edge of town, he was surprised to see dozens of men and women, dancing merrily around a campfire, for it was a fine summer evening. The women smiled when the saw him, and their laughter was like the wind in the trees above. The men greeted him noisily, like a pack of dogs on the arrival of a long-lost member, and he was handed food and drink until he could take no more.

The next morning, Aetonyx awoke with a bit of a headache in a deserted clearing on the edge of town. Except for the embers smoldering on the fire pit, he was hard pressed to find any sign that he had not imagined the evening before. Here and there a stray dog slept in the cool morning breeze, though he had not noticed any animals the night before...

It was then that Aetonyx determined to have as little as possible to do with the lands of man.

***

"Aha!" said Lugal.

Hema winced. The first time he had said "Aha!" the hut had burst into flames not five minutes later. The second time had resulted in a nasty plague of frogs, who had promptly scattered into every corner of the city and kept everyone awake with their incessant croaking. The third time... she was still picking bits of bloody rabbit fur out of her scales.

Lugal looked expectant. "Aha!" he said again, doggedly. Hema sighed, and hoped that this time it wouldn't be rabbits again.

"What have you found, Great-Grandfather?"�

"Only the solution to all our problems, ahem," said Lugal. He looked pleased with himself, even more so than usual.

Hema looked at the old book he was holding. She knew he couldn't read it, but this book had pictures, and on the opened page there was a drawing of a tree so tall it looked like it could shade the whole world from harm. "But Lugal," she said, reading the text. "This is far too complicated for either you or I to try."

He waved her off. "I'll have my snake look into it." He was inordinately proud of that snake, but Hema had to concede that the seige of Marignon had gone well, and ol' Feathers had done his bit. Perhaps he can get attacked by killer rabbits, she thought, with a bit of unwarranted meanness. The last few months had been terrible and long, made doubly so by the heavy burden of corrupted time.

"I don't know if even the big snake is up to this one," she said carefully. "Now, if you'll just listen to this spell I've found, I think there's a way the snake can help, using the strands of arcane power themselves to negate the..."

"Fine, fine, I'll have the snake try your thing," said Lugal. The young person had the disconcerting habit of often being right about these sorts of things. He looked glum for a moment, then brightened. "Aha!"

"What now?" sighed Hema.

"I'll have the tree-king do it. Takes one to know one, eh?" He started cackling, which turned into a coughing fit. Then his eyes lit up on the hutch of quivering mammals in the back yard.

"Who's up for lunch?"

***

At last, Aetonyx had only the southern plains to cross before he was home. But this was the most difficult step of the journey. A race of fanatical humans had recently taken up residence here, and word was strangers were burnt at the stake faster than they could say their names. The lucky ones, that is.

But Aetonyx could only forage for so long on the barren plains, so one day he was forced to enter a small fortified towns to resupply. He wore a heavy cloak, like one of their wandering monks, so that hopefully he could pass undetected, since all he really wanted was some food and water and perhaps a warm bed for the night. It was the beginning of what looked to be a bitter cold winter.

But he could not find anywhere to stay. Though nobody saw through his flimsy disguise, neither were they inclined to risk the wrath of the Inquisition for the sake of a wanderer, who would probably just freeze to death on the open plains after he left, if he knew what was best for him. Door after door shut, or refused to open, and townspeople glared menacingly at his attempts to settle into their gardens or stables, so although Aetonyx was able to slyly swipe some foodstuffs from the street merchants distractedly closing for the night, he was thwarted in his attempt to find somewhere to stay.

He found himself on the edge of town at dusk, with the temperature plummeting, and only one building left to try. He must have been a little cold-shocked already, or else he would never have entered the building, but as it is he failed to spot the shabby tin steeple and stained glass windows, noting only the partially open door, and the fire within. He slipped inside.

In the cold, it took a while for him to notice the small drab man talking at the front of the room. Aetonyx settled as close to the fire as he could to warm himself, without being drawn into the light of the room and risk discovery. The words washed over him distantly, like waves breaking on the dying sea shore, or the wind high in the tree canopy. "... deathless roar of the pounding surf... still, small voice in the wilderness... as each man dies, so death waits within... like a refiner's fire... providence in the fall of a sparrow... even death is a seed."

The old man sat down, and the people began joyously ringing bells and singing some cheery tune about smiting the unbelievers with the sword of divine love. It was clearly a high holiday, and the room was crowded, which meant no one noticed the small shivering lizard in the corner.

But Aetonyx (perhaps alone in the room) was thinking about the the words of the local yarnspinner. He had the story all wrong, of course, that much was clear; and these people had clearly gone quite crazy with their notions of what it really meant. But he could tell a story. And one day, perhaps, he thought with a smile, after they had been confined with their madness long enough, perhaps some of their hatchlings, or their hatchlings' hatchlings, would realize that they could spin the yarn quite another way, and be happy, and live.

The thought cheered him as he drifted off into sleep.

[djo]

Very nice endings, to both Sedna and puffyn. puffyn's fable especially is a wonderful wrap-up.

We will have to see how prophetic Aetonyx's last thoughts are!

[djo]

I finished writing my last turns, and I will post them very soon, after a proofreading.

Instead of finishing up packing, I also went back and did some more word counting (as I did halfway through).

Collectively, we've written a novel! About 135000 words have been posted, which is about a 330 page novel. Not too shabby.

The word counts of the big four:

c'tis 31531
man 19899
marignon 28135
vanheim 43894

And of these four, no one really slowed down (except Panther's last few turns)...the word counts are very close from first half to second half (even Panther's, actually).

And I will hand out one more award for most consistently amusing character to puffyn for Lugal. He cracks me up.

[djo]

Vanheim turn 60...



In which we conclude.


Vethru


We're finally there. Our scouts say Ulm tore itself apart trying to storm the citadel last month. Even better, before they were defeated, they took down about 90% of the defenders, too. I love it when two enemies beat each other up.

Now we're on the field, and Belletennares is leading an army of dead toward the Ulmites. They're a rag-tag bunch, some infantry, some religious fanatics, a couple templars, a priest. That's it.

You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em. Ulm waited too long. So did Marignon. I never make that mistake. I always get out right when I have what I want. Around here, that could be just a few more days. Then I'll go *poof*, and probably that'll make them worship me even more. Distant gods are the best gods, in a practical sense.

"Hey, boss," says Quellian Ji. "Is that who I think it is?"

And great googly-moogly, it is. Pherios is over on the far side of the battlefield. There's a dead thing acting as his bodyguard. And he's fighting Ulm.

"What in Hel could he be up to?" I wonder. I don't think he's here to help me, but I doubt he'd try to tip the battle the other way, not with his uncle here, and an undefended path to Vanheim behind us.

It doesn't matter. I can feel the power of this place. We're almost there.

I lose sight of Pherios in the battle. All I can see are great blasts of dark energy coming from his position. So I send great blasts of fire into Ulm's ranks, because I don't want to be a copycat, and when Pherios calls up the wailing winds, the armored Ulmite fools run in terror. Vanheim wouldn't have. We're comfortable with the dead.

Crap. Have to watch that. I'm starting to identify with them. That's bad policy.

So we're advancing down the center, chasing down the stragglers, and suddenly Ji says, "Look out!"

I'm almost blindsided by a horrific angelic being with a big-*** sword. She tried to poke me with it and almost succeeds. The sword wants to eat my soul. Big surprise for it, nothing there to eat.

But the damned thing is sharp nonetheless. I jump back a pace and Kestumaia interposes herself, stabbing at the lammashta. Lorakeia is already dead behind her. Hood's breath, what's going on? Where's my security detail?

They're gone. Belletennares is gone. And I know where the demon ladies came from. Pherios, the second most powerful necromancer on the battlefield. House Alteion's betrayed me. Titania's tits, what did I do to deserve this?

What did I ever do to them? I made one of them my prophet, and I put most of the family in positions of power. Sure, Galameteia got killed, but that wasn't my fault. And I tried to bring her back, I really did. It's a tricky thing. I've taught courses, written textbooks on the matter. I did my best. But Pherios wouldn't let her go. So instead of killing him, I almost-kill him--a great gift, right? No, he doesn't like that either. Frelling ungrateful worshippers.

And then he goes and takes it personally. Doesn't he see what I can do for his nation? What does he think would happen without me? Dinner parties with the two red dragons? Tea with the mad angel of Marignon? No, they'd get steamrolled by that psycho enchantress ***** Selena. See if they think that would be any better than me. I think not.

Cripes, my old man's mind is wandering, and then Kestumaia screams and dies, and the she-devil slashes her sword through my neck. I guess I deserve that for not paying attention.

She gets Ji, too.


Pherios

I stay near the edge of the battle. I've got one wight guarding me. It claims it's an ancestor of mine, and it fends off the Ulmish infantry so I can work.

We're winning, but I need to make sure we'll win by a lot, because the balance is going to change dramatically in a few minutes. I throw some shadow blasts into the enemy, and they dissolve under the dark energy. I see the fear in their eyes, and I decide to take advantage of it. I call the voices of our forebears to cry through the curtain of night and wail in the minds of the Ulmites.

They can't take much of this, I know. Their lines start to break. I look over to my uncle and meet his eyes. He nods. I nod back. It's done. He and his forces quietly start their retreat behind Vethru. They will escape and leave us behind.

My uncle Belletennares is a wise man, and a kind one. When I told him my plan, he did not try to talk me out of it. He treated me as an equal, and he accepted that I knew what must be done. He trusted my judgement and accepted the sacrifice I was planning to make.

There are a few more gems in my pouch, enough for the last spell. My hand shakes. After all this, after all that I've seen and been through, my fears still grip me. And my regrets. There are mortal beings on the field of battle, and they too will pay my price. Sgt. Rock, our faithful cave drake, and Vethru's Valkyries, Kestumaia and Lorakeia. I fear they will not survive.

I have been halfway down that path myself. I prepare myself to go all the way. I crush the gems and call forth the lammashtas.

There is a dark rip in the air, and they step out. The first cuts down my wight and turns its empty eyes to me. The other flies across the field in an instant and silently impales Lorakeia. She is drawn to Vethru's power, just as her sister is drawn to mine.

In that instant of distraction, when I look to see Vethru's fate, I am slain.

I awaken some moments later, I don't know how many, in a dense grey mist. There are myriad bright sparks swirling through it. One of them whispers to me.

Vethru is there. He looks pretty much the same. He sees me and laughs. "Interesting tactic. But you've got to know I can find my way back from here in no time. It's the first trick I learned when I died."

He's happy. I don't understand why. He answers my unasked question. "Ermor has fallen. I'll have my prize. You helped, too. There's no reason for us to be fighting. I'll have what I want, and I'll leave Vanheim. I'll even help you get back to your home and family. How about it?"

He hasn't figured it out. I don't intend to go back. I'm not going to let this monster back into my world, or let him have any power that may be hidden there. I'm going to stop him.

I reach out to them. The sparks swirling in the mist around us. Vethru hasn't noticed, or maybe he doesn't care, but there are more and more of them building up. They are collecting around us in a bright cyclone. I know them, and they know me. They know me like they know my Aunt Tilneia. They are the souls of the dead of Vanheim, from all of our history. And they are on my side.

Vethru is a powerful necromancer, and powerful in many other ways of sorcery and wizardry. But he has only been in Vanheim for five years. We were born here. We are part of this world, and we know it far better than he does. What's more, our world likes us. It does not like him.

We push at him, and turn him around, and he pushes back. There are more of us. We nudge him from a million directions out, out, out of our world. He tries to strike, but we swirl away.

He slips toward the living world again, and I feel my Aunt Tilneia holding fast from the other side.

Vethru is angry now. We don't give him any time to react. Another wave of spirits joins us, and another, and another. We weave ourselves into the fabric of our world, our afterlife, and we eject Vethru from it.

Although we watch for hours, a day, he doesn't try to come back. He knows the limits of his power, and ours. We have the advantage here. It's over. He's gone.

After it's been quiet for some time, the sparks begin to swirl around me again. They are agitated. They are worried. They are afraid that I will go back to the land of the living and leave them alone again.

I reassure them. I am not a lich, nor a vampire, nor do I desire to be any other dead thing that walks among the living, even if I knew how. I tell them I will stay with them.

They scatter to the wind, and I believe the mist brightens. It is a new day in a new place. I wonder what I will find here.

I turn toward an interesting gray shape on the horizon and begin to walk, wondering, hoping that I may possibly, just possibly, come across the spirit of the lost Valkyrie that I love.


Belletennares

Some would say my power has left me, with the death of god, and it is true: I am his vessel no longer. But within me still lies the experiences of my 846 years. I am still a Vanjarl. I am still of house Alteion. My magic is with me again. I do not want for power. I still lead Vanheim's armies, now scattered and tattered across our northern frontiers. It is still my responsibility to defend my nation in this new world.

There was no trace of their bodies in Ermor. I do not retreat from battle easily; not once in all the years of this war did I turn from my enemies. At the behest of my nephew Pherios, who suffered greatly on his own path through the time of ascension, though, I did, and gladly, to exile the pretender Vethru from this world. For my small part of Alteion's gift of prophesy never showed me a path until I walked it. I gladly followed Pherios, and Galameteia, and Molly, all of whom saw our future paths more clearly than I.

There were no bodies in Ermor, not my nephew's, not Vethru's, nor any of the dead we brought to the fray. Their bodies had dissolved. It was as if nature had reclaimed its land, and curious, I traced the hints of green grass in the dead soil through the shattered weapons and empty armor, until I entered the citadel.

In its terrible yard I found fresh ruins, and a gate limned with skulls lay crumbled on the ground. Underneath I found the skeletons of two humans. One's armbones still bore the chains whose ends, it seems, were once anchored in the maw of the gate.

The smaller skeleton was surrounded by green. The grass was lush around the bones, and it spread, reaching out to swallow the death that permeates the earth here, to smother it with life. I wondered if this were a miracle, and if so, by whose hand. But it is not my place to speak of it. My days of miracles are over. The dead lands were blooming again, and if that miracle could be accomplished by men, not gods, I would be glad, for I saw that the intervention of the gods rarely benefitted us to the degree our prayers entreat. So let it bloom, and hope that Vans, men, and lizards can heal this world.

I turned and left Ermor, taking our forces with me. The lands, whether green or gray, we did not need. I turned homeward, to my wife, my brother, my newly-returned sister. I rode for the hills and shores of Vanheim, to await the next stirring of the universe, and to hope that my life was long, long, long, but no so long to see it.

[djo]

...and turn 61, the epilog:


In which Vethru hits the road, and Molly finds something.


Vethru

Well, things could have gone better.

But they could've gone a lot worse, too. I've spent a dozen years in some worlds and walked away with nothing. This time? Not so bad. I got a distorted version of a nice section of source code. Better than nothing. With a few decades of study, comparing it to the parts I already understand, I'll probably be able to fix some of it. It might add up to as much as a tenth of a percent of the whole. Not bad at all, for five years' work.

And the rest of it's still there, in Inland. Still accessible, somewhere. I make a mental note to come back in a few hundred years. No, make that a few thousand. Those damned Vans live forever. I'd rather not run into anyone who remembers me. That'd be awkward. It's either the whole "God has returned! Rejoice!" thing, which is OK but gets to be a hassle, or else you find you're now the uber-evil in a whole new mythology. Better make it ten thousand years. Maybe Pherios will have wandered off by then, too.

"So where to now, boss?" asks Quellian Ji.

"Someplace comfortable," I say. "There's got to be a dimension near here with silk pillows and five-star restaurants."

"How about a luxury cruise?" he asks.

"How about someplace where I can get a nice seagull-burger?"

"No such place, boss," Ji snickers. "Everybody knows seagulls are good luck."

"It's albatrosses you can't kill. Seagulls, who would notice? There's so damned many of them."

"Boss, as long as it has feathers and flies over the ocean, it's good luck."

"Well, I've had seagull," I tell him. "And albatross, too. The former was not a gourmet experience. You know why the albatross crossed the road?"

"Why?" he asks.

"It was glued to the chicken," I say.

He squawks and giggles and just about falls off my shoulder. For some reason, chicken jokes crack him up. Simple things for simple minds. But there's a reason I keep him around, because then he recites, " 'I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide/Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied.' "

"Shut up, bird," I say, and he just laughs as he bobs along on his perch.

Damn it, but he's right. I turn north-by-kata-by-northwest in the six-dimensional manifold we're walking through, and I start looking for a place, any place, where the salt air stings, the tall ships roll on the waves, the wind sings with the creak of the mast and flap of the sails, and new possibilities lie behind every turning of the tide...


Molly

"Look after my family." That was the last thing Pherios said to me, before he left. Because he knew, no, *we* knew, he wouldn't be around to do it himself.

He never came back from Ermor. Neither did Vethru. The world's all different now. None of the pretenders ascended. We're in a kind of peace now.

So what was I doing down here in the tunnels under Triastellus?

It was his darn birds. I started to hear them, after he died. They twittered and tweeted and clucked in my skull, and they wouldn't leave me alone. Pherios probably did it on purpose, giving me a piece of his gift. Birds! What did I know about birds? Hearing voices is bad enough, but I can understand voices, mostly. At least Pherios could see his birds. I just heard them.

I finally gave in yesterday. I started following them. Uncle Belletennares said that works for him, wandering around. So I did, I started walking toward where they seemed to be.

They took me over to Triastellus, way up toward the top. We stopped near Alteion's tomb. I listened to the ducks and gulls in the fountain, and the sounds I heard in my head were suddenly *right in front of me*. Like what was in my head was just an echo of what I was really hearing and seeing, except I was hearing the echo at the same time, instead of a second later. It was really weird.

I sat listening to them for over an hour. Half of the fountain had been drained. I asked why, and they told me they were putting in a new statue. Of Pherios. I couldn't take it. I broke down crying and ran away.

But the next day, I came back. I guess it was OK with the birds, because they were still there. They led me inside.

They bring me way deep under the earth. For a while I can't stop sneezing, but after a while, a long while, I stop. It's like we're so far underground that the dust can't find us.

Then the birdsong starts to thin out. It's like each bird can only come with me part of the way into the tunnels. There are only a handful left when I reach this one section. It's filled with books and scrolls. Some of the titles I can read, but most of them don't even look like our writing. They must be really old.

Each of the arches that connect the rooms in this area has a bird carved in stone above it. Now that I can only hear a few birds left, I can tell that each one stops singing as I pass through its arch. Like they're leading me on a particular path. I pass through the petrel arch, and I stop hearing the petrel. Then I stop hearing that little bird that runs along the shore when I pass its arch, then the plover stops, and then the funny black and white bird you sometimes see way off in the gorge in winter. The puffyn, that's it.

That leaves just one. It's a squawk I know well. It *hurts*, because I know it's him. It's a blue heron. That's what Pherios was, in his visions, just like his dad. I slowly walk through the heron arch, my heart aching because I miss him so much. And I'm so relieved, because the heron doesn't stop speaking after I pass under the arch. Because that would be like him leaving me again. But I'm still sniffling, and I can barely see through my tears as my hands reach for a small wooden chest. It sounds like a fledgling is pecking at it from the inside. It opens easily.

I unroll the scroll on a table, and *wow*.

It's a glowy runic thing, and it radiates power. It's what Pherios wanted me to find. I can feel it. He's watching, and he's happy. I've done what he wanted me to do. I found it. And the heron's voice fades, and it's quiet and peaceful in the chamber. And I feel peaceful, too. I can let him go now.

And then I wonder what to do. This thing I've found, it's so old, and it's powerful, and I'm just a young girl. It doesn't belong in my world. It's like the opposite of what I am, at least what I was before all this war started. It belongs to the world of svartalfs or Vanjarls or whatever. But I guess it doesn't matter. That's life here. Young, old? Past, future? Humans and Vans...war, and now peace? Me sewing dresses, and me hearing the future? It's all here. Two sides to everything. That's how we do things here. That's the way it is. This is my life. This is where I live. This is my home. This is Vanheim.

[Sedna]

Thou didst create the night, but I made the lamp.

Thou didst create the clay, but I made the cup.

Thou didst create the deserts, mountains and forests,

I produced the orchards, gardens and groves.

It is I who made glass out of stone,

And it is I who turn poison into antidote.


- Saint Iqbal Muhammad

Esclave

There is nothing like the sun at sea, soaking into the rough wooden boards. I trail my fingers in the bright blue water and dream:

Wic is having dinner with the corruptor, lord of hell. They have a lengthy contract between them, and in between bites of kitten, they point with bloody fingers at various subsections and sub-subsections. Wic's thrust is that his death in battle represents a failure of his life-long protection, rendering the contract void, while the devil argues that the contract only guarantees life-long protection, and so Wic's death was automatically coincident with with fulfillment of said contract. The two seem to be enjoying themselves.

Such strange dreams come less frequently now, as those horrors drift away. Life of the sea agrees with me. I have much time to think and to write down the events of the past five years. We'll bring this story along with the rest of the scripture to the new lands across the sea, along with various relics from Marignon. But the most important thing in this boat is what is not here: a single member of the inquisition. What would have been the point escaping from that land of madness and thence across the ocean if we were just going to spread the old fears and hatreds? Besides, not one inquisitor survived the final desperate months of fighting. We go to the new world, not as conquerors of the sea, but as humble pilgrims. We have much to learn, and much to share with those who will listen. I'm sure everything will work out this time.

We last saw the sun set on Inland months ago. Our navigator points to the high-flying gulls and tells us once again that new lands are just a few more days off. I am patient and calm. I can wait a little longer to see the sun rise over new horizons and to see the moon reflected in unknown coves.

[Sedna]

I was debating whether to post an epilogue, but when I saw that space had been created for it on the wiki I had no choice.

Well, Esclave needed an ending.

Great finish djo. For internal cross-consistancy, I should not that Foen is actually a woman, though I probably only mention that explicitly once or twice. I appreciate you giving her and Marignon and final send off.