PBEM Game: Yarnspinners 2 (Running)

[Sedna]

"Who goes there?"

"Ah, relax Fred, it's me."

"Sorry, this blasted fog makes me nervous. Can't see a thing."

"I know, I'll be damn glad when the morning watch comes on."

"I'll be doubly glad. This is my last night on freeze-your-nose-off duty. Wait, what was that?"

"What?"

"Ah, nothing. I just thought I saw a shadow move."

"Heh. Good old Fred, getting jumpy from watching shadows. Hey, that's funny, 'watching shadows', cause we're at the Shadow Watch and we're the night watch, and night is like shadow. Funny, eh? Fred? Where did you go? Fred! Quit fooling around you idiot, it's..."

Glitch

Foen

The undead are worst during the day. During the night they are shadows, nightmares, things that go bump; during the day they are all too real -- translucent abominations flickering under the sun and blighting green grass with their otherworldly tread.

And so we snuck through the Bright Woods in the Shadow Watch at night. Brother Guide protested a little, but he's been relying on our protection for this past year as we preached and fought in the empty shadow lands, and he's learned to respect the opinions of druids (reformed branch, of course-- Brother Guide is a loyal member of the Church). We helped him past the tangle of thorns and thickets that makes this wood an impenetrable barrier to living foes, and he handily dispatched the few sentry shades and spirits we came across.

We came to the edge of the woods across from the southern bridge into the Shadow Watch. All seemed quiet, but we were not deceived. The bridge was held inside by the Archbishop of Marignon himself, but not even he could safely overcome the hordes of undead that lurked on this side of the bridge. Every building in the druid encampment where I had spent years training waited to boil over with foul spawn at the first sight of a living being. But not even undead eyes can see a druidic woodsman under the trees.

I took up my bow to give the signal, and paused. A shuffling creature had emerged from one of the houses and in the moonlight I saw the ruined half-face of Ashaltar, the druid priest who had been instructing me in the priesthood long ago, before death had crept into the woods, before we had allied with the inquisition as the only force strong enough to save our woods from blight, before the inquisition had barred women druids from the priesthood. This was Ashaltar, dear friend, now an abomination, spreading disease with each step. My bow twanged as I sent an arrow speeding to send his soul to rest. I cannot miss, but the creature is no longer troubled by a piece of wood through its heart.

The buildings boil over with stark black and ghostly white shapes, and the silence is broken:

"Legionnaires, on the left!"

"Get back into the woods, stay our of the reach of the zombies!"

"Oh LORD, in the name of St. Lynad we beseech your aid in the hour of our death!"

Arrows fly around me, but pass uselessly through the dead things which are closing fast. If Marignon doesn't see the trouble we're in... but he does. With a loud clap the arrow in my bow glows with a holy fire and now as the shafts take flight and strike into the mass of spirits, the foulness melts and disappears.

It is not enough. We can't fire fast enough to catch all of them and they swarm, relentlessly from every side. A soulless reach me, and my bow drops as I grab my dagger, slicing its putrid wrist, then its elbow, then shoulder. Bizarrely I think of butchering a fresh deer under dappled leaf-light in the summer...

The blast wave knocks me down before I see or hear it. Then my hair is on fire and my cloak. A figure, Marignon, stands on the bridge, wreathed in flame. Another flare lights the night, and this one thuds into a nearby building, which erupts like a hornet's nest as ghosts and shades boil out and melt back into hell.

"Foen!"

Relieved that my hearing still works, I turn to see where Guide points. It is Ash... no, the abomination, almost upon me. My bow lies on the ground, and I manage to get a flaming arrow into the thing's eye socket before it can touch me with its deadly diseased finger.

"Sleep, friend," I whisper, as my dead mentor burns to death standing upright.

The battle for the Shadow Watch has just begun.

Marignon moves and speaks quickly for so fast a man, "Father Muzel and Spire hold the northern bridge, but cannot get out. Meanwhile, Shenlar, captain of the Tower Guard, holds out against all odds among he buildings near where the waters of the River Hvarl flow under the Shrine of St. Torgin and, sanctified, forms the moat of the Shadow Watch. We must relieve him. Guide, you have the lance?"

"Yes my lord," and that bastard pulls out a herald lance from somewhere in his dark cloak. That might have come in handy any number of times during our long months in the Shadow Lands.

"Let's move then," says Marignon.

We set out, leaving the wounded to guard the southern bridge, and march north over fallow fields with no sight of life. To the west, the sky lights up with fire, and shouts ring out. The undead must be attacking the north gate. We double our pace.

There is no cover, but the undead are too intent on their task (building a bridge over the sacred creek out of dead townsfolk) to notice us. The Archbishop mutters and our arrows flame again. The dead can't help but notice this. Even an indirect hit on one of the corporeal buggers knocks it into the sacred water where it dissolves like a bad dream. But most of them aren't corporeal, and our quivers are nearly empty before the last spectral legionnaire fades in holy fire, his horrible grin fading, as his ghostly limbs suddenly find themselves unable to support his nothing-shield of fear, or wield his invisible sword of hate.

Guide walks unconcerned into the water I had just seen melt bone. Holding aloft the herald lance, he runs into the burnt-out ruins on the other side. We watch for a moment, then hear mighty cries. Over and over the night opens up and sunlight pours down, setting fires among the undead on the other side.

But Marignon's face shows no joy, only deep weariness. "Hopevoid is over there," he says. "I can hear his death cackle."

"Who is that?" I ask.

"One of the most powerful of the old Spectators of Ermor, brought back to serve death. He's cunning. Perhaps Spire and the guard can drive him back, but he'll have a plan. Is there any other way across the river?"

"There's a place where it's possible to ford the Hvarl just by that bend to the east," I say. "But, from the north? Don't we hold Wacce?"

"Not anymore. A large undead force has been ravaging T'ien Ch'i's south-lands and took Wacce last month. That's where Hopevoid's reserves will be."

We ran east until we found the ford. Peering out over the swiftly moving water, my eyes were just able to discern movement on the other bank.

"There, my lord."

"Well spotted, Foen," said the archbishop. "When this is over, I'll appoint you as chief priestess over the druids here are the Watch -- scriptures against women priests be damned. I'm afraid the former chief priest, Ash-something, didn't survive the first days of the siege."

I don't know what to say, so I pull an arrow from my quiver. "More fire?"

"Alas, I am too tired for that spell again. Let's sneak across and engage them on the far side."

I would protest, but he's the head of the Church. And his plan would have been a good one if he hadn't slipped off the narrow shallow path and made a huge splash. Skeletons jumped into the water from the far bank, and the rest of the night is some nightmare combination of mud wrestling with walking bones and exchanging arrows with the treacherous crossbow on the far side who must have made some sort of pact with the undead for their service. Have they never heard of the Fall of Ermor? Surely, not even St. Reggie, who watches over mercenaries, will be able to save their mortal souls.

At last, bloodied, out of arrows, and with many of our companions floating dead in the river, we gain the far bank. The human leader of the crossbows, Qos Qon, still barely lives, an arrow through each shoulder pinning him to a tree. Marignon quickly says the man's last rite and then sets the tree on fire, burning away the man's sin.

Dawn is breaking now, and with my eagle eyes I can see the dark shape that is Hopevoid in the midst of a throng of undead marching hard for the main bridge across the Hvarl. But clear trumpets ring out, and the Tower Guard is marching forth to meet them in perfect step. A herald lance, no two, are held aloft, and the head strides an unarmed, barefoot man in the black robes a a high inquisitor. The undead will be crushed between our two forces. Marignon lets fly with a fireball, and I think, as the sun rises behind us, I can see a glimmer of hope in the spectator's hollow eyes -- he is about to be freed from long, silent slavery.

Esclave

I placed the purple crystal in the kindling and turned to the stack of parchment one last time. St. Wordscigam's Compendium is a useful reference for creating magick items, but its instructions for the most powerful ones are often frustratingly obtuse. It had taken me the better part of three months and several re-buildings of the lab to decipher the ingredients and procedure for the communion matrix. I had remembered to expose this batch of crushed feldspar to moonlight, right? Ah well. I pulled out my huge pitted lead shield and crouched behind it. Then, with a flick of my wrist, set the kindling ablaze.

I winced, but no explosion shattered the early morning quiet... yet anyway, the fire was supposed to burn until the crystal changed color, and I planned to stay here behind my shield for the whole time. I heard the door creak open.

"Escalve, are you there?" said Wic.

"Wic, get out, quickly -- the fire!" I shouted.

"Oh yes?" Wic sounded mildly interested. He crossed over to the flame and peered down at the crystal. "Is this a slave matrix?"

"No, it's a crystal matrix. You know, for the leader of the communion," I said, still from my safe hiding place.

"Hmmm... aren't those the ones with a propensity to shatter during production?"

"Yes. Yes they are!" I sighed. One day, Wic's blatant disregard for his own safety would get a good number of people killed.

"Well, looks like it worked this time, it's changed color -- though how you expected to see that from all the way over there I'm sure I don't know. C'mon, put your things away and come with me. Ratty wants to have a meeting."

We walked through the chill spring air around the wall of Fort Doom to the central keep. Stormclouds hung off the Mountains of Madness and wreathed Aftial's shrine in an eerie light. When we reached Muszinger's office we saw that Polgrave was already there. He looked extremely ill. Always pale, his skin was now translucent, and he had lost much of his hair.

"Brothers, be seated," and we took our place at the table. Spread out upon it was a large version of the map I had just completed, showing the extent of the kingdom and the threats we faced on all sides.

"My... research assistants at the... Shadow Watch... report that Marignon... crushed the undead army... and marches on... Ermor now," said Polgrave, pausing for a breath after every few words.

"They ignored the truce of Carrofactum all along the western front. The Archbishop of Marignon lacks all respect for tradition," said Muszinger. "But I am most concerned about what happens if Ermor falls. There is a vast store of evil and evil things there. Our erstwhile brothers could easily be corrupted."

"Might Aftial be corrupted?" asked Wic, innocently.

"No," said Muszinger, "but she is delayed in the east on important other affairs anyway."

I laughed, and every eye turned to me. "Aftial remains far from the fight because the evil of the Shadow Lands make her weak. Once the force of death is reduced she'll be there to take possession of the soulgate in person."

"How do you know this, Esclave?" said Muszinger.

"I read. I pay attention. Since her return, Aftial has focused on Ermor with a single-minded zeal. She wants control of Ermor, it's the only thing of value in the Shadow Lands, everything else is waste. Besides, it's prophesied."

"Really? I thought there were no prophecies concerning her," said Wic.

"None about Aftial, but Aftiel..."

"We've heard this heresy before, Esclave," said Muszinger.

"But you do not listen! You're a fool, Father," I said, angry now. "Aftial is the doom of Marignon, and she has abandoned you in favor of more malleable fools."

"I could have your head, you little..."

"Do you know what I found in my travels? The grave of a woman named Ghost, she whom Aftial had sworn to protect. Her body was desecrated by foul death magicks and her soul surely rots in hell." It had felt good to get that out, but Muszinger would surely kill me now.

Muszinger rose, but Wic did too, and reached out a hand, palm up. "Friends, friends," he said, "we must stick together of we'll all be destroyed."

"Wic... is right," managed Polgrave.

I drew an uneasy breath as the fire in Muszinger's eyes faded. Wic turned over his out-stretched finger, tracing a near little circle around the north end of the Black Gorge.

"I've heard bad things about this place, Imictan. Massive armies of undead under Vanheim's control, and Vethru himself, who I now believe to be undead also. We should attack this place and cleanse it."

"But we are beset on all sides by foes," said Muszinger. "If I had three armies I'd send one against those egg-sucking snakes, and another against Man. St. Onbec reports from the fall of Pythium that Man used a swarm of undead to murder the angel Martu, whom God had sent to protect the secrets contained therein. Yes, I'd send my third army against those tricky Vans, but surely they pose the least threat?"

"Yes... which is why... it makes sense," said Polgrave.

"A famous T'ien Ch'i philosopher once said, 'Pit your strength against your enemy's weakness,'" I said.

"We are hardly prepared to fight Man or C'tis just yet," said Wic, "and we must keep Sir Gawain and his knights busy or they'll start pillaging again."

"Very well, since you are all in agreement... I must stay here to preach and pray. Wic, you're in charge of the attack, and take Esclave out of my sight with you."



But I am not going to fight the Vans. Last night I had a dream. I saw my love, Aftial, as she had appeared to me in the library: soft, and surrounded by light. My breath caught as I gazed into her eyes, and I heard her voice in my head.

"Esclave, why do you say such awful things about me?"

"Because they are true," I replied.

"My love, I have only your best interests at heart."

"I cannot believe that. You crave only power. Now begone from my dreams, you are not welcome here."

"Very well," she replied and her visage changed from young woman to otherworldly thing with two great wings and a bright flaming sword. "If you will no love me, you will fear me; you will still be my slave!"

From behind her robes, she brought forth a young boy, and held him by his had, as he gazed blissfully up at her.

"My son!" I cried.

"Yes. Flesh of your flesh," and so saying she grabbed his hand and pulled forth his little finger. The boy cried as the rough treatment, and his eyes went wide with fear, but no sound escaped his lips. "I hold you life in my hands," she said, "and you will learn the price of disobedience." She swung her sword across her body, and, laughing, sliced off the boy's finger.

I awoke in the darkness, clutching my bloody, mangled hand, with that horrible angelic laughter still ringing in my ears. And so I go north, alone. I cannot risk further harm to the child, I must save him. But I cannot fight angels... not yet.

[djo]

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]

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]

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]

OK by me.

[The_Tauren13]

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]

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]

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]

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]

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.