Flight From Ironheart IC

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Everything seemed to be going Sohssal's way. He had the Valkyrie, he pinned the Herald to the deck with acceptable collateral damage, and even the Baron was distracted by his assault. The blasted mirror wasn't even a problem, since Sohssal had the foresight to bring an ally along.

Then the Baron's anti-magic bomb disrupted a second round of icicles he was going to throw, and sent his two companions plummeting. Miriam being rescued by some strange angel was...annoying, and the Baron continuing his attack was even more so.

But the release of the plague easily outdid those. If he had a face, it would be twisted in horror at that moment. There was no way he could let the plague overrun the world! And after all he did, letting go of the Baron would also be unacceptable. As for Shanks...he didn't actually find the idea of letting him fall into Hell to be any more palatable. He had lost his other two companions (his friends?), and he didn't enjoy it either time, to say the least. He knew what he had to do.

Sohssal unleashed a great windstorm, catching the plague and sending it spiraling down into the pit. Then he reached up with the storm and grabbed onto the Baron, and pulled him close. But now he saw only one way to save Shanks. Focusing his energy, he shot straight down towards the abyss to catch up with him, not caring (for the moment) that he wouldn't be able to stop himself before he reached Hell. The instant he caught up, he lashed out with one last wind spell, pushing Shanks up and out towards the solid ground at the edge of the abyss. ”Roll with the impact! I'll be back later!” he shouted above the winds.

With that done, he focused on the Baron again. Nothing he could do to try to escape Sohssal's grasp would be worse than the Hell that rapidly approached – they were both damned! Absorbing this fact, he let out laughter both bitter and triumphant. Even if he couldn't find a way out of Hell, he could take comfort that the Baron would also suffer.

(Sohssal's Ending Theme?)

[OverWilliam]

Spoiler

Show

“Oh **** oh****oh****! Tare, RUN!!!”

Melcara screams, shoving you back behind her as her twin leaps up into the air and swoops towards you. Melcara’s twin slams into your friend, and quickly proves to be far stronger as she effortlessly lifts Melcara up with one hand and throws her back into a wall, partially smashing her through it.

“Hello, sister! Are you ready to die again!?”

Melcara’s twin crows as she twirls her spear and advances, her focus entirely on Melcara. That’s not the end of your troubles, however, as Limier suddenly cries out in pain. Turning, you find that she has an arrow in each hand, but a third one is embedded in her side. From a nearby dark alley another trio of arrows comes flying out, and despite her best efforts to throw herself to one side another two arrows find Limier, striking her in the shoulder and left leg. Limier collapses, struggling to get back up to her feet before another three arrows come flying out of the alley, one going through her right hand and pinning it to the cobblestones, another pinning her cloak, and the third tauntingly scratching her left cheek before nearly taking her ear off.

Only then does her assailant reveal himself, Teareal clad in ornate leather armor as he strides out of the alleyway, his eyes narrowed in single-minded fury much like Melcara’s evil (good?) twin as he advances and pulls back the string on his bow another time, the arrow notched there starting to waver, sometimes appearing as a single arrow, sometimes as three.

~Tare

Who the hells is Ander? Tare didn't have time to voice the thought before things once more took turns for the worse. Scrambling for cover, Tare had only just begun processing what was happening to Melcara and what to do next before Limier fell under attack and suddenly he was forced to leave Melcara, at least temporarily, to fend for herself against her bizarre twin.

Before he could blink, Limier was nailed down tighter than a coffin lid.

"Teareal??" The shock of seeing the once-bedraggled and fatigued elf, much less seeing him in the regal state that he now assumed, was enough to force a shock-reset of Tare's mental process. He's come back for her. This is revenge. He's going to kill her while she looks him in the eyes for what she did to Adame'.

"Teareal, no! You have to stop!"

It was not a simple task to redirect the elf's attention from his sworn target, but Tare just barely managed. Teareal's expression very briefly flickered from surprise to confusion, but then went back to anger. He screamed something at Tare that seemed like a question, but with a sickening realization, Tare remembered that he wouldn't be able to reason with the elf prince if neither of them could understand the other.

Desperately, Tare closed his eyes, seeking wildly for the answer. Whatever spirit of inspiration had been helping him earlier with his spontaneous use of Earth magic must still have had a few kisses left in store, because when Tare's eyes flew back open he somehow knew exactly what he had to do.

He didn't understand where his Soulsearch ability had come from, but by now he was getting quite good at turning it on and off when he needed to. The idea that had just come to him was simple, almost, except in execution; what would happen if he were to turn it on only half way?

Always before he'd used the Sight to look deep into someone's past. Right now, he only wanted the last 15 seconds of Teareal's.

~~~

Tare saw again the elf's precision strikes, gleaned from the elf's own comprehension the enchantment that had been put on his arrows, felt vicariously the satisfaction in successfully ambushing the "invincible assassin," and shivvered at the intensity of intent that hummed through Teareal's every fiber when he stepped out of the shadows to finish the job, slowly. Tare watched as his own body appeared out of nowhere. When "he" spoke, the words sounded garbled and unintelligible, but the question that came from Teareal's own lips made perfect sense.

~~~

"<T'are-- What think you?? To protect this snake are you? Explain!!>" Tare didn't need the Soulsearch to sense the rage boiling over in Teareal's chest. But he still didn't have a way to reply. Frantically, Tare dove back into the elf's past, looking for the words to speak with...

~~~

There wasn't time to fully immerse his understanding in the memory-- Tare could only just barely afford to scan at top speed through the elf's life, although he did realize with some shock that the life in question was much longer than Tare would have expected.

With intent as his only guide, Tare latched onto one memory. Teareal stood, knife unsheathed, ready to exact revenge. They had cheated, their victory had been snatched unjustly right from within his own Hawk's talons, and now their birds would pay the price.

"Prince Teareal, STOP!"

~~~

"<Cease this madness! You cannot by death put right what has been wronged of you!>"

Tare couldn't understand the words as they came from his own lips, but he could tell with some surprise that when the words themselves came out of Teareal's past, they came along with the exact inflection, tone, and accent of their original speaker. Even though Tare couldn't understand the words without the benefit of the Soulsearch, Teareal obviously could. Apparently the memory Tare had picked was a powerful one in the elf's past, because Teareal obviously remembered the scene almost as precisely as Tare had recalled, and the words sent him into a momentary flashback. When he spoke again, his voice was overcome with shock. Once more, Tare could not understand the words without Soulsearching them back after Teareal was finished speaking them.

"<Wh-- T'are?? What devilry is this? What right have you for these words unto their use? How possibly could you know what said Ualair that night to me so long ago??>"

~~~

Teareal was being tutored in battle strategy and the craft of making war. The desk in front of him was strewn with maps and figurines. His tutor and perhaps closest friend was explaining:

“...And so the General , though brilliant, was also a fool, because though he was to find great success in pursuing his personal vendetta, it cost him nearly the empire.”

~~~

“<...A righteous leader, to be truly great, must the good for all his people see and follow, and not merely lead for himself.>”

Teareal's astonishment had not faded, but his anger was rising. “<T'are, I know not how you do this, but it is of no matter to me! I will not be stopped from ending this evil from the world! How can you defend him after what he did unto us?? Unto you!!>”

~~~

Teareal was out on a patrol with one of the trusted captains of his Father's court. They had been out afield three days, and were discussing military exploits when the friend of Teareal's father offered a strange word of council:

“At times, one must strike without remorse; if then it is the only way to destroy one's foe. But...”

~~~

“<At times, mercy is the blade that deepest cuts, and one that instead of wounding can even steal the ally of one's greater enemy.>”

Teareal was momentarily confused. Though the impact of hearing the words returning from his past had not grown old, he was beginning to understand that Tare was trying to communicate something through the use of them. “<Greater Enemy? What are you talking about, T'are?>” But it didn't take him long to catch on. “<...There is one higher than this monster that you would contend with, even if to do so you befriend this murderer?>” The elf seemed divided for only a few seconds before his pain reminded him why he had come.

“<...NO!! I would DIE before I let that assassin live, far less to hold blades together with him!!>”

~~~

The Sight was faded, now. Perhaps Tare was simply running out of energy to sustain it. Perhaps this memory was just guarded more securely than others. For whatever reason, he did not actually see the scene that this memory was attached to. But it was obviously hugely important in Teareal's past.

"Sometimes, my son, and often, it is not enough to die for a thing. Sometimes it must be that you Live for it."

~~~

"<Take care what you live for, my son.>"

But now, it would seem, Tare had gone too far.

"<NO!!! NOT MY FATHER! T'are, not even the debt owe I to you can give the right to steal this way my Father's words! Cease your sorcery and let the tongues of the dead lie!>"

With a flick, a slender elven blade was now in Teareal's hand.

"<Now stand aside! I will avenge this would-be murderer of his sins!>"

~~~

They sat in a shack somewhere. It didn't matter where at the moment. The smell of the stew was the greatest thing to assault his senses since the first time he and Adame' had made love. And there she was now.

Alive.

Teareal didn't know where they were or how they would get home, but these were trifling concerns. They had food. They were able to rest for a few meager hours. And Adame' was alive.

"He thanks you for finding of the food and shelter. He says we are owing both to you a debt."

Teareal's shock was almost audible. "Me? No, Love-dearest-to-me. What I have done is nothing. It was he who saved me-- both of us. It was he that returned my betrothed back from the land-of-the-dead. It is a debt that I cannot possibly repay within this lifetime!"

~~~

"<...I want you to tell him that I pledge my Life as repayment. In service. It is the only thing I can offer that could come close to what he has given me with no cause and no reward-- he has returned to me not just my own life, but even more valuable... yours.">

Reminded of his own words, and those eerily delivered in his very own accent and tone but with a different voice, Teareal was visibly given pause.

"<What want you of me, T'are?>" His anger was still far from gone, but remembering what Tare had done to deserve his trust left him no choice but to pause.

This time, there was no appropriate memory with which to make reply, so Tare switched to a different language he did not know, but could borrow from the elf's past; a language spoken with hands.

Tare folded his hands precisely into the Elven handsign. "<Let>"

Then a pause as he searched through Teareal's memory for the next word. "<Her>"

The language was as foreign to his fingers as Elven was to his tongue: "<Sins>"

And yet, through the Soulsearch, his articulation was perfect: "<Fall>"

"<Upon>"

"<Her>"

"<Head>"

"<Alone.>"

Finally, exhausted from the overuse of his gift, Tare could maintain the half-Sight no longer.

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Sohssal

Everything seemed to be going Sohssal's way. He had the Valkyrie, he pinned the Herald to the deck with acceptable collateral damage, and even the Baron was distracted by his assault. The blasted mirror wasn't even a problem, since Sohssal had the foresight to bring an ally along.

Then the Baron's anti-magic bomb disrupted a second round of icicles he was going to throw, and sent his two companions plummeting. Miriam being rescued by some strange angel was...annoying, and the Baron continuing his attack was even more so.

But the release of the plague easily outdid those. If he had a face, it would be twisted in horror at that moment. There was no way he could let the plague overrun the world! And after all he did, letting go of the Baron would also be unacceptable. As for Shanks...he didn't actually find the idea of letting him fall into Hell to be any more palatable. He had lost his other two companions (his friends?), and he didn't enjoy it either time, to say the least. He knew what he had to do.

Sohssal unleashed a great windstorm, catching the plague and sending it spiraling down into the pit. Then he reached up with the storm and grabbed onto the Baron, and pulled him close. But now he saw only one way to save Shanks. Focusing his energy, he shot straight down towards the abyss to catch up with him, not caring (for the moment) that he wouldn't be able to stop himself before he reached Hell. The instant he caught up, he lashed out with one last wind spell, pushing Shanks up and out towards the solid ground at the edge of the abyss. ”Roll with the impact! I'll be back later!” he shouted above the winds.

With that done, he focused on the Baron again. Nothing he could do to try to escape Sohssal's grasp would be worse than the Hell that rapidly approached – they were both damned! Absorbing this fact, he let out laughter both bitter and triumphant. Even if he couldn't find a way out of Hell, he could take comfort that the Baron would also suffer.

(Sohssal's Ending Theme?)

Hondshioh (Update)

Noticing this turn of events, the Baron's pursuit of the Valkyrie ending abruptly, Hondshioh continues his flight after her, determined to catch and protect her, at least getting her out of the range of the rapidly collapsing gate.

[The_Snark]

Mar

For once there was no choice of evils, no duties and fears pulling her in opposing directions. Her path was simple and clear. Mar wheeled around and leapt from the cliff, spreading her wings and letting the wind bear her aloft for a moment. Then she folded her wings and dived.

Her feet hurt less now that they were free from the snow's bite.

When her conscious mind caught up with her body she wobbled, nearly tumbling out of the sky. Flying, it turned out, was one of those things that worked best when you didn't think about it. Mar knew how to fly, she remembered soaring through the air as Marisiel for days on end, but if she paid too much attention to her wings and the complex flow of air around them she was liable to lose her balance. She shut out those thoughts, letting instinct take over.

She could see Julian ahead of her, falling in a gentle arc—deceptively gentle. The wind rushing past her, and the speed with which the spear-like pines surged up to greet them, gave the lie to the impression of a lazy descent. It was going to be awfully close. She couldn't help thinking of what had happened the last time she'd tried this, the memory of pain sending a shudder down her spine. She was a lot better at this now, of course, but still—

There! She grabbed Julian's body, wrapping her arms around his torso. The hilt of the knife brushed against her hand and she winced, thinking of what that might have done to the wound. Not good. But she didn't have time to worry about that right now, because his weight was pulling her down and if she didn't a solid hold he'd tear them both out of the sky. She tightened her grip and flapped her wings, once, twice, three times, beating at the air and feeling the strain on her too-human body. Then they were in the trees.

A blizzard of snow-laden branches lashed them. Mar reflexively folded her wings and curled around Julian's form, hoping the impact hadn't driven the knife even deeper, and then they fell out of the tree and onto the ground with a bone-jarring thump that knocked the wind out of her and drove all thoughts of Julian—and everything else—out of her mind. It hurt. For several seconds she lay there with a knot of pain in her chest, unable to draw breath.

But she hadn't blacked out.

And she wasn't dead.

All in all, it could be worse.

Mar took a ragged breath and drew herself more or less upright, looking around and then down at Julian. Even at the end, she'd kept ahold of him. Unfortunately, he was heavier than she was, so that meant he'd landed beneath her. She leaned over to check his breathing, praying that the fall hadn't snapped his neck or driven the heart-cutting knife deep enough to kill him.

[Inspectre]

Theme Song

Deep within the Gastly Truth, the three women known as Fury together recited a mantra of destruction.

“Lower Forward Cargo Bay charges already detonated. Locating other available charges. Upper Forward Cargo Bay charges available for detonation. Activating. Locating other available charges. Engine Room charges available for detonation. Activating. Locating other available charges.”

Fury had already expended the explosives furthest from the paladins now scrambling to escape the crashing airship. Very soon now the only thing left would be the charges directly beneath their feet, assuming the battered airship didn’t fall apart before then. There was nothing that could be done to prevent this – the Baron’s orders were to destroy the airship, and that meant activating all of the self-destruct charges. Activating them in sequence was a way to buy a small amount of time, but in the end that was all – a delaying tactic. If she were allowed to do so, Fury would likely have physically cried out in frustration.

As one, the three members of Fury came up with a last desperate way to prevent the last of the charges from being activated. It would require a minor sacrifice, but then it would only be slightly altering the timing of the event in question. And without the command to detonate, the remaining charges would be rendered inert.

“Fury Chamber charges available for detonation. Acti – hold.”

A new idea had just occurred to the three minds of Fury. It would be better that the techniques used in the construction of this flying monstrosity were forgotten. The only way to ensure that was with the complete destruction of the Gastly Truth. Fortunately, Fury was already in the process of doing just that – and there was a way to both ensure that it happened and give the paladins a few more precious minutes to escape.

“Establish connection to remaining demolition charges. Deploy failsafe measure in the event the charges do not receive a detonation command. Activate timed detonation, five minute delay.”

The Baron had ordered Fury to destroy the Gastly Truth immediately, but that did not mean that it wasn’t prudent to deploy a backup plan. In the unfortunate event that something were to happen to Fury before the remaining charges could be detonated. With the speed of thought, it was done in a moment. Which only left one last thing to do.

“Activating Fury Chamber charges. Good-bye.”

Another thought later, and an explosion ripped through the chamber, blissfully severing the connection between the three before vaporizing their mortal forms. As per Fury’s final instructions, the remaining charges aboard the disintegrating airship began a countdown to detonation, in the absence of further orders.

5:00 . . . 4:59 . . . 4:58 . . .

********

Theme Song

At the giant paladin’s command, Seraph nodded and stepped back.

“As you wish. Your goddess will live for as long as I draw breath. If I can find your . . . friend, I will deliver your message.”

The Baron’s son promised his father’s enemy, and then he turned away and leapt back into the sky. Above him, he could see his father closing in on the Valkyrie and what appeared to be Sohssal. There was a brief but furious exchange of magic, and then the Valkyrie and another man were falling. Although it was regrettable that yet another person would be damned, better him than Seraph breaking his vow only a few moments after giving it. With a snap of his wings, Seraph angled his trajectory to intercept the Valkyrie’s fall, moments before she would fall into the hellish rift.

Something suddenly slammed into him from behind, throwing him wildly off-course and sending him crashing through the window of a nearby tower. Tucking his limbs and wings against his body, Seraph hit the floor within the tower hard and rolled, coming back up to his feet as he whirled about to face his attacker. A moment later, and Angelo swept in through the broken window.

“Hello brother. I thought I would stop by and see how you were doing.”

“Angelo.”

Seraph replied, and then he kicked against the floor, sending him rocketing back towards the window where Angelo was waiting. But although he did not possess as much angelic power and thus was weaker and slower, Seraph’s elder brother still was fast enough to unsling the crossbow from his back before Seraph reached him. And so Seraph lunged into the path of a crossbow bolt as Angelo fired it point-blank into his stomach before dancing aside. Seraph crashed into the window frame a moment later, ripping out part of the wall around it and nearly sailing outside before he stopped himself with a beat of his wings. With a pained snarl he broke off the shaft of the bolt sticking out of him and whirled to face his brother again. But something was off . . . he wasn’t feeling nearly as much pain from the wound as he should have, and his reactions were suddenly clumsy. Angelo chuckled at his brother’s dismay as he backed further away and began to reload the crossbow.

“As it turned out, Aedra was a master poisoner. She came up with a nasty little concoction that can paralyze even us in high enough doses. It certainly was a surprise the first time she used it on me! Makes you wonder why she didn’t use any of it when she tried to kill me just now, even when she had a couple vials of the stuff on her! I never will understand that woman, but then I guess I’ll never have to now . . .”

With a roar of fury, Seraph tapped into his inner well of divine energy and opened the flood gates. Eyes glowing with the unleashed power and moving in a blur, Seraph stumbled across the distance separating him from his brother and punched him right in the face. With another awkward sweep of his arm Seraph smashed the crossbow and sent the pieces flying out of Angelo’s hands. But Angelo kept ahold of the crossbow bolt, and as Seraph’s other hand blurred upward for a punch Angelo positioned the bolt into its path. The bolt ripped through Seraph’s hand, the point bursting out through the back of his wrist. Seraph grunted in pain and frustration as his entire arm went numb as the result of more of the toxin being introduced, but he didn’t give up as he brought his other arm around again.

This time, Angelo ducked under the blow and stepped forward, moving behind his brother. As he went, he pulled another poisoned bolt from its quarrel, and rammed it into his brother’s back just above his left kidney. Again Seraph cried out from the momentary burst of pain that immediately faded into a cold emptiness. Twisting around, Seraph swung his remaining good arm around behind him, trying to grab Angelo, but the sudden motion only threw him off-balance. With a swift kick, Angelo shoved Seraph further off-balance, and he awkwardly tumbled to the floor. The golden nimbus faded from Seraph, and he remained still as if unconscious.

But when Angelo moved in for the kill, Seraph sprang back to life, kicking out with his legs and catching Angelo in the right knee. Now it was Angelo’s turn to cry out as he stumbled and fell forward, landing on the floor next to Seraph. Before his brother could recover, Seraph lashed out again, trying to lock his legs around Angelo’s neck in a scissor hold. But rather than try to break Seraph’s desperate grip, he simply held up yet another crossbow bolt so Seraph could see it, and then Angelo plunged it into Seraph’s thigh. A moment later, and his legs were as limp and useless as his hand, and Angelo pushed himself free with a laugh.

“Not bad, brother. It usually only took Aedra two doses to render me helpless. I wonder if this is a result of your better breeding, or just a case of you trying too hard. After all, I wasn’t particularly motivated to fight back when Aedra was using it on me. She had a wonderfully deviant mind. Anyway – I have one bolt left for you. Where do you want it?”

Angelo taunted as he pulled out the last bolt from its quarrel. As he kneeled down over Seraph, Seraph swung up with his remaining good arm, but the blow was weak, the muscles too slowed by the paralysis leeching through the rest of his body. With a laugh, Angelo blocked the blow and shoved Seraph’s arm back, pressing it against the floor and holding it down with one of his knees. With his free hand, Angelo grabbed a handful of Seraph’s hair, holding his head still while pushing the tip of the crossbow bolt against the hollow of his throat.

“Straight through the throat? Hrm, a little too sudden a death for a traitor like you. How about in your eye? That way you could be just like your wife!”

Refusing to cower, Seraph looked directly up into Angelo’s eyes. If he had possessed the fine motor control of his muscles, he probably would have spat in his brother’s face. As it was, it was a difficult challenge just to croak out “Why? S’over!”

Removing the bolt’s tip from his brother’s throat, Angelo looked thoughtful as he bounced the tip against his own nose.

“Hrm. That’s a good question. You’re right, it is over. Father’s dead, along with the rest of our family, virtually all of our allies and servants are all also deceased or soon to be. The Valkyrie has escaped – I’m sure it’ll please you to know that I saw another black-winged angel catch Her just before I threw you through the window. So all of this was for nothing, and there’s no point in fighting anymore, right? Well, here’s my rebuttal – Aedra’s dead too. And if I’m not going to have a happy ending, then neither are you!”

Gripping the final crossbow bolt like a dagger, Angelo raised it up over his head in preparation to bring it down, but then paused at the height of his arc.

“Although, y’know, the ritual to summon the Hells is over. Which means if I kill you now, you’ll probably get some big parade thrown for you in the Heavens, even after all of the horrible things you’ve done. We can’t have that.”

The tower suddenly rumbled and shook violently, the floor beginning to tilt as the structure’s base began to collapse. In response, Angelo grinned and stabbed the last bolt down into Seraph’s right wing, pinning it to the floor.

“Fortunately, I don’t have to worry about that, seeing as this tower is about to collapse into the rift along with the rest of the city. As the saying goes, dear brother – I’ll see you in the Hells!”

And with that, Angelo leapt back up onto his feet, dashed over to the window, and dived through it, escaping out of the tower as the stone walls groaned and began to crack apart. Completely paralyzed by the poison, Seraph could only lie there, twitching uncontrollably, as he watched his own demise and damnation play out. Slowly, he closed his eyes and prayed that Rose would forgive him for breaking his promise to return, and that Hondshioh’s friend would similarly forgive him.

*********

Warily, the two injured combatants circled each other, at least as much as Ander could circle around a massive demon in the cramped city streets. Mammon’s previous jubilance at yet another chance to destroy his nemesis had faded into simmering anger as Ander remained standing. Ander’s own anger at this interruption had faded into a cold fear that this was taking too long, and he would be far too late. It was time to end this.

Rushing forward, Ander feinted a thrust towards Mammon’s midsection, but swung the tip downward at the last second, aiming for his left knee instead. The demon lord roared as the adamantite spear’s heavily enchanted tip tore through his armor, and then his flesh, as if it offered no more resistance than paper. Mammon fell to one knee, cursing as his equally immense blade swung down off-course, cleaving into the side of a building instead of down onto the former lord general.

Not finished, Ander jumped up onto the spear, using it as a platform to launch himself upward towards Mammon’s chest. While he was still in mid-air, the demon lord flailed out with a hand, and was lucky enough to catch Ander in his grip. Immediately Mammon began to squeeze, hoping to crush the life out of his much smaller opponent. As he did so, he couldn’t help but deliver a taunt.

“Pah! Without your goddess, without your holy powers, you are nothing Ander! Understand that as you do the only thing you mortals truly are good at – DIE!!”

Twisting and thrashing in Mammon’s grip, Ander managed to get one of his hands down to his belt. As he dug his hand into one of the pouches there and activated the Shard of Athelion he had stored inside, Ander couldn’t help but “waste” some of his dwindling breath on a retort.

“No. I am a paladin!”

A moment later, and the shard detonated. Even the Hells itself couldn’t stop that much concentrated holy energy, and the resultant explosion ripped Mammon’s hand apart into scattered ash. It also did quite a bit of damage to Ander’s own unprotected chest, but most of the explosion had been holy energy rather than actual force. The wave of holiness also had the side benefit of momentarily pushing the Hells back, leaving a clear area around Ander which lasted just long enough for him to channel divine magic into his injuries as he tumbled back to the ground.

Landing on his feet, Ander altered his path as he lunged for Hephestia’s spear, still embedded in Mammon’s knee. Grabbing the weapon’s shaft, he pulled and twisted with all his might, ripping the weapon back out of Mammon’s knee and nearly severing the leg completely. Then with all his remaining strength, Ander thrust upward, aiming for Mammon’s throat. The blow was just stopped short of the demon lord’s jugular, as he abandoned his grip on his sword in favor of using his remaining hand to catch Hephestia’s spear in mid-thrust between thumb and forefinger. The two of them struggled for a moment, and then momentarily stopped to look upward as they both heard an ear-piercing roar from above.

“YOU HAVE KILLED YOUR LAST INNOCENT!”

Theme Song

Together, the two of them looked up in time to watch as a body tumbled down from the airship to the city below. Surprisingly, the body’s descent was impressively peaceful, and not accompanied by the usual desperate flailing at the air that accompanies a last desperate attempt to spontaneously gain the ability to fly.

“That should have been you.”

Mammon rumbled, a note of amusement in his voice as he resumed their struggle for control of the spear.

“Isn’t that what all of you paladins want? To die in the service of – URK!”

The struggle between the two of them was suddenly decided in Ander’s favor, as the spear received a hard shove upwards, slipping through Mammon’s grip to bury itself in his neck. With an angry, gurgling groan, the demon lord raised his fist menacingly, before collapsing backward and dissolving into a mountain of ash. Looking back over his shoulder, Ander was surprised to see Hephestia standing there, having added her own diminished but still considerable strength to the final thrust.

“You’re welcome.” The archangel grunted with a scowl, and then her knees buckled, pitching her forward. For just a moment Ander was tempted to leave the arrogant, murderous archangel to fall face first into the ground, but her aid should be worth some dignity. So he caught her instead, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her pressed against him until she regained her footing. Once she had, Hephestia attempted to shove him away, but the effort lacked her previously displayed strength.

“Unhand me, mortal.”

That settled it.

“As you wish.”

Ander said, releasing Hephestia and stepping back. The archangel managed a handful of steps before her legs failed her again, causing her to collapse ungracefully to her knees. With a defeated sigh, she limply raised one arm, her own blood continuing to drip from the deadly wound in her palm.

“Give me a hand up? . . . Please.”

“You really should make up your mind.”

Ander grunted, letting her wait a moment before helping her back up and throwing her offered arm around his shoulder, allowing him to take most of her weight. She clung to him weakly, barely lifting her feet as the two of them began to limp off down the street. It was only then that Ander realized how close to death Hephestia had to be, the angel-slaying blade continuing its foul work as the archangel’s blood continued to drain unabated from what should be a relatively minor wound. And if she died while still within the damned city . . .

“Hold on. We’re getting out of here.”

Ander said as he picked up the pace of his own steps. Hephestia’s only answer was a ragged gasp as she struggled to keep up. As they went, Ander couldn’t help but be reminded of another time, another battle with Mammon, and another woman desperately clinging to him while he tried to get her out before her death irrevocably damned her. He hadn’t thought of Dahlia in years, but now his former lieutenant’s voice filled his mind, overlaid with Mammon’s.

That should have been you.

Now Ander was suddenly haunted, the faces of his fallen friends and allies standing before him in his mind’s eye, a macabre parade with Mammon’s final taunt as the voiceover.

His family, butchered by the demons that the Baron of Gast had unleashed, seemingly on a lark.

That should have been you.

All of the paladins who had fallen during his campaign, gladly giving up their lives and their souls for the promise that he would somehow use them to purchase a lasting victory over the Hells.

That should have been you.

Courage the guard, slain by an excessive trap Ander had triggered in a moment of recklessness while attempting to breach the Ironheart treasury and reclaim his gear.

That should have been you.

Incom, slaughtered by the Heirarch while Ander and everyone else watched on helplessly.

That should have been you.

Melcara, her eyes filled with both a mixture of horrified betrayal and understanding resignation as he ran her through with the angel-slaying blade.

That should have been you.

The paladins who had given their lives repelling the first surprise assault by Greyson’s corrupted angels, who had been sent to Dawn’s Hope for the sole purpose of killing him.

That should have been you.

Karth, monster that he was, nonetheless had been at the very beginning just a man trying to fix the corruption of the Church. And then he fell further and further into darkness and madness, until that was all that was left.

That should have been you.

Morganna, the angel who had discretely forged him into the man he was today, and the angel he had been sent back to kill. Rather than fight the man she viewed as her surrogate son, she threw herself onto his blade.

That should have been you.

The man plummeting down from the Baron’s airship, strangely peaceful.

That should have been you.

The resounding boom of an explosion overhead caused Ander to look up, just in time to see the Gastly Truth beginning to tilt sharply towards the ground, more explosions beginning to blossom along its entire length. Men tumbled from its top deck, their descent not nearly as peaceful. Hondshioh was undoubtedly up there.

That should have been you.

The sudden shift in the ground beneath his feet broke Ander’s nightmarish reverie. Looking back, Ander could see that the capital was beginning to collapse in on itself, falling down into a rapidly forming crater – that led down into the Hells itself. And the edge of that hole was rapidly starting to come this way.

“We need to move faster. We need to move a lot faster!”

Ander remarked, forcing himself not to panic as he broke into a run, nearly carrying Hephestia now as she repeatedly stumbled. Behind them, the city continued to collapse, the edge of that destruction steadily creeping closer. A few moments later, Hephestia shoved Ander again, causing him to stumble and allowing her to slip her arm from his shoulder. Hephestia tumbled to the street and simply laid there, struggling to even draw breathe.

“Leave . . . me.”

The archangel rasped.

“Slow . . . you . . .”

Ander’s only response was to grab the archangel again, this time flinging her over his shoulder before resuming his stumbling run.

“Not this time. Not this time, damnit!”

Ander growled, mostly for his own benefit as he pushed his battered body onward. He just had to keep ahead of the collapse, that’s all he had to do, one step at a time. But he couldn’t even manage that, the rate of the collapse expanding faster than any man could run, and certainly one weighed down by a burden. Just as Ander was beginning to think he might be better off stopping and preparing himself for the inevitable fall, and start figuring out how he’d manage to fight his way out of the Hells, hope arrived. On dazzlingly white wings, an angel plummeted from the sky down to directly in front of him. A former prisoner of the Council, her flesh was marred by countless brands, but her face was still recognizable as another of Ander’s failures, although at least thanks to Crane he shared her fate.

“Hello again, Ander.”

Melissan said.

“You look like you require some assistance!”

******

Theme Song

With a pained groan Nephilium landed on the outskirts of the city. He immediately handed his burden off to the cluster of waiting angels, who murmured in concern at the sight of their wounded sister. This one’s injuries were especially serious, as she had retained enough strength to fight against the fiends who had come for her. They had not been amused at getting more than they had bargained for, and had been amused even less when Nephilium had arrived, shouting admonishments at them. But in the end, they were all nothing more than ash, banished back to their home plane, and one more angel had been saved from damnation.

It had cost Nephilium in the bargain, however, and as he turned back towards the city for another trip he stumbled and fell. Busy looking after their sister, none of the angels noticed his fall – except Ysora. With a cry of alarm she stopped channeling healing magic into the angel and rushed over to his side. Already he was trying to stand back up, but Ysora stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. She winced as she noticed the gaping wound that had been carved into his side, just the latest of a series of injuries he would have shrugged off if he could regenerate. But his non-stop forays into the city had continually repressed that, and he had not stopped to rest nor asked for healing.

“Nephilium, stop. You need to rest for a few minutes to allow your wounds to heal.”

“I cannot. They had nearly succeeded in dragging that one down through a rift when I arrived, and she was capable of some resistance. If there are any of your sisters left that can be saved, then I cannot delay or they will be lost.”

“If you do not delay, then you will die. That will help no one.”

That gave Nephilium a moment of pause, enough time for Ysora to lay her hand on the wound in his side. Nephilium hissed as the flesh there began to rapidly knit itself back together.

“At least allow me to heal your most grievous wounds first. Then you can –“

“Look!”

One of the angels suddenly cried out, pointing, and all eyes turned towards the city. Above, the Gastly Truth began to explode and below the city crumbled in on itself. Aware of what such a thing meant both for their sisters and their goddess, the angels began to give out a despairing wail. Ysora interrupted them by pointing towards the city.

“Look!”

Although only a few details could be made out, everyone could make out a dark-winged shape swooping down collapsing city streets, carrying another figure which the angels instinctually knew was Miriam. Also clearly visible was the fact that the two were being pursued by a horde of fiends, screaming in anticipation of the kill of all kills.

“Seraph . . .”

Nephilium grunted, and then he was back up, his injuries momentarily forgotten as he leapt into the sky. Ysora and the other angels were only a second behind him. As the two sides began their final clash, the dark-winged shape – not Seraph after all, but Melcara – raced past the angels without stopping. Distracted by the presence of the fiends and believing Melcara was bizarrely aiding their Lady, the angels allowed her to press onward. Given the fallen angel’s mounting exhaustion, it seemed unlikely that she would be able to carry their Lady much further anyway.

Many of the fiends in pursuit of their prey failed to notice the approaching storm, but a few of the more observant ones were quick to point out at the flock of white wings sweeping forward to meet them.

“Look!”

These few cried, and then there was another loud cry of glee from the fiendish horde. They thought that they were being given the chance to finish this war once and for all, to destroy the hated goddess and all of Her daughters in one fell blow. But here the fiends had finally miscalculated.

The aftermath of the Baron’s ritual was pulling the capital into the Hells, but that did not mean the area was tainted by the presence of the Hells any longer. Miriam’s continued affliction was solely the result of the hidden magics Istomilo had placed in Sara’s body. As such, the ensuing clash would have a far different outcome than the one that the fiends had grown accustomed to this day. A little more than two dozen angels remained, of a host that once numbered in the thousands. The fiends that closed in from all sides outnumbered the angels at least twenty to one – and it was not nearly enough. Ash poured from the sky, and the fiends furthest back screamed in terror as they realized that now they were facing the true might of the Heavens in a fair fight. And the angels were one-and-all in a retributive mood. Inevitably, the fiends were forced to accept the outcome of every direct confrontation with the Heavens that had come before – furious battle, overwhelmingly powerful opposition, defeat, and retreat to the dark pits that had spawned them.

However, despite their decisive victory, the angels did not emerge from the conflict unbloodied. Two among their number were torn from the sky, plummeting down into the Hellish rift consuming the city below, and thus lost forever with the others already fallen. This left the angelic host down to an even two dozen. Nephilium also suffered another grevious injury, slowed by his previous wounds enough that he was unable to dodge the fateful spear thrust as it came from below.

The thrust was delivered by one of the stronger warrior devils, a mid-level lieutenant within the overall hierarchy of the Hells but currently one of the ringleaders of the pursuit. The blow caught Nephilium in the stomach, the tip of the spear passing all the way through him before emerging out of his back and nearly severing one of his wings. With a sneer the lieutenant dragged Nephilium in close to see him face-to-face, only to blink in confusion as he realized that his victim was male and human.

“You’re no angel.”

The devil growled as Nephilium winced, twisting one arm around behind his back.

“No . . . I’m something worse. A man!”

Grabbing hold of the spear tip protruding from his back, Nephilium twisted and pulled, snapping the head off of the weapon. And then brandishing the tip like a dagger, he brought it around and down, directly into the devil’s face. The fiend immediately crumbled into ash, leaving Nephilium to plummet down towards the fiery rift below. Once again, Ysora was the only one to notice.

With a roar she surrounded herself in a nimbus of searing light, vaporizing the fiends around her and then she arrowed straight down. She caught up to Nephilium just before he passed into the rift yawning wide to swallow him. And now their roles were reversed, Ysora carrying a mortally-wounded Nephilium to safety beyond the city limits, and praying that she was not too late.

Arriving back at the spot where she had started to tend to his wounds a minute before, Ysora practically threw Nephilium to the ground in her haste. She looked at the gaping wound in his torso for a moment, and then forced herself to nod.

“Just hang in there, Nephilium. I can heal this. I can heal this.”

Ysora repeated, desperate to convince herself as she reached out towards the wound. Halfway there, however, Nephilium intercepted her hand with his own – his grip was weak, but still firm with intent.

“No.”

He coughed, blood flecking his lips as he continued.

“It is too late. I can feel . . . the heaviness of my soul, dragging me down to join . . . my family.”

“No! Nephilium, you are a hero! You saved me, and you saved dozens of my sisters! You do not belong down in the Hells!”

Here Nephilium smiled, but shook his head.

“It is said . . . angels can see the sins written on a man’s soul. If so . . . what do you see when you look at me? One good deed . . . cannot outweigh a life of apathy to evil. And the apple that doesn’t fall far from the tree rots in its shadow. I deserve to be . . . punished. I fear not my fate. But Miriam . . . is She?”

“She escaped, thanks to you. You saved the angels that saved Her. You did as I asked after all . . . I never should have doubted you.”

“That . . . is good. My father’s plan is totally undone then. I . . . can rest happy then.”

Nephilium slumped with a soft sigh, and Ysora leaned forward, her vision starting to become blurry and unreliable. Had he stopped breathing? Evidentially not, as the Baron’s dying son suddenly stirred, reaching into his jacket with his other hand.

“I almost forgot! My wife . . . yet lives. Body and soul . . . sundered.”

Nephilium pulled his hand out, revealing a crystal held protectively by several fingers. With his remaining strength, he offered the dark treasure up to her.

“This contains her soul. Her body . . . is elsewhere. Would you honor the final request of a dammed soul? Find the body . . . and give her this. Allow my wife to live again . . . free of my shadow.”

This was a soul crystal, the same object used to trap the souls of a countless number of her sisters. The same thing that allowed the Baron to power his blasphemous machines. It was unnatural and abhorrent – and yet Ysora found her fingers closing around it anyway, protectively pulling it into her palm from Nephilium’s loose fingers.

“Yes.”

She managed to choke out, and she could just barely see Nephilium’s lips curl up into a slight smile – not the awkward, almost childish grin he displayed when first meeting her, but likely the best he could do at present.

“Then . . . I can rest happy. Goodbye . . . Ysora the Teacher.”

“Goodbye.”

Ysora repeated dumbly, as Nephilium’s eyes closed for the final time. For a moment, Ysora was simply numb with shock, her mind swirling with confusion over this human. He had been the son of her enemy, of her Lady’s enemy, and yet he had given everything to save them both. Why? How could his sacrifice be rewarded like this? What had prompted him to seek her out as a friend in the first place? How should she see him in return? Did it even matter now that he was dead and damned?

After a few moments of countless questions swirling through her head, Ysora finally abandoned logic for emotion. Throwing herself down beside Nephilium’s body, she buried her face in his chest and sobbed openly, the same way she had cried back aboard the Gastly Truth after the Baron revealed Hephestia’s betrayal. Only this time, there was no one around to comfort her – the battered handful of remaining angels only looking on in shock and disbelief at the sight of an archangel shedding tears for a human.

*******

Theme Song

Through the pain of her injuries and Istomilo’s destructive magic, Miriam was still aware of Her surroundings. More importantly, She was aware of just how powerless She was to do anything about them. Although the presence of the Hells had faded, Istomilo’s magic was incredibly virulent, and it took all of Miriam’s strength to keep her avatar alive. When combined with the other injuries She had sustained, Sara’s death was probably inevitable. But to abandon Sara now would be to condemn her to immediate death, or worse if Sohssal somehow kept her alive. So Miriam continued the delicate act of fending off Istomilo’s magic without pulling in too much power for Sara’s mangled body to handle.

Miriam wondered if that altruism would be a mistake as the Baron reappeared, determined to achieve his victory as he dispelled the magic holding Miriam aloft. Still unable to do anything but maintain Sara’s body, Miriam plummeted down towards the hellish rifts opening up to consume the city. Bracing Herself for the end after all, Miriam closed Her eyes, and immediately opened them again in surprise when Her fall came to an end much sooner than expected. When She saw who had caught Her, however, Her reaction was anything but grateful.

“You! What are you doing here, Whore of Azguloth!? Come to kill me yourself!?”

“Nice to see you too.”

Melcara retorted, wincing as the movement of her jaw pulled at the still-oozing cut on her cheek. She continued to speak as she turned and began to head towards the edge of the city as fast as her wings could carry them both.

“I would love to get caught up on all the past millennia with you just now, but I think we’re going to have to wait on that. We seem to have attracted the attention of every fiend in the city, and while I’m sure they’d be happy to teach you the basics of whoring down in the Hells, I’d prefer us to skip the lesson entirely. Which means I have to focus all of my strength towards getting us out of here instead of arguing with you! And that wouldn’t be so hard if I wasn’t half-dead already – thanks for that. I trust the angel-slaying blade you gave Ander was meant for me!?’

Miriam was silent a moment as Melcara wove between two collapsing buildings, ducking under the crumbling architecture just in time. This forced the fiends chasing them to go up and over the collapse – those stubborn enough to follow underneath were smashed out of the sky by tons of falling masonry. But as they leveled back out and continued onward Miriam could not hold Her ire back.

“Only partially. Morganna was the primary recipient, although I wonder now how wise of a decision it was to trust Ander, given that you are here and he is not. I did give him explicit instructions to kill you.”

“Oh he did, plunged your little gift right through my chest! I’m here now because I clawed my way back! It took someone reminding me why I fight to do it, but I came back! And now thanks to the so-called replacement you made for me, I’m going back down to the Hells again soon enough!”

With a shriek, a demon leapt out of a nearby window at the two as they passed. Melcara disintegrated the creature’s head with a single kick and passed through the cloud of ash it left behind without stopping.

“Hephestia? Yes, I suppose one could call her that. She’s certainly proven to be superior, particularly in loyalty!”

Melcara gave a bitter laugh at that, and probably took an unhealthy amount of glee in crushing that belief with her reply.

“Oh really!? Then why is it that I am here, and Hephestia was gleefully slaughtering your own supporters minutes ago!?”

“You lie! Hephestia would never –“

“Don’t try to tell me what I saw with my own eyes didn’t happen! I watched as she murdered the paladins who came to aid you, along with innocents and children! Your favor towards her may have blinded you to her past transgressions, but there’s no way you can deny it this time! Your attempt to recreate me, only with blind loyalty, resulted in an overzealous monster that mocks your concept of justice!”

“And what was I to do!!?”

Miriam screamed in reply, pausing as a wave of pain both physical and emotional ripped through Her. When it passed, She continued in a softer voice that contained no less vitriol.

“You betrayed me, Melcara. You turned away from me, and the Heavens in favor of my worst enemy! You, my first daughter, my favorite and most special creation. I made you to be the start of a new race, to be an example not only to your sisters that would follow but to mankind itself! I would have given you anything you desired, but you chose to throw it all away! What would happen if all of my other daughters chose to follow you into blasphemy? So yes, I made a new daughter to better exemplify the angelic ideal, rather than allow the memory of me casting you out to fester!”

“You didn’t cast me out, I left! I left because you made it impossible for me to stay. You say you would have given me anything I desired, but I know that’s a lie. Before I left, all I wanted from you was the truth. You refused to allow me to question the beliefs you had instilled in me, to question your judgment, and allow me to find my own answers. So I turned my back of the empty existence you had to offer, and went seeking my own path. For what it’s worth, Azguloth’s answers were just as empty! But in the end, that’s the only two choices there are, right!? Your way or His way, the Heavens or the Hells. You’ve divided the whole world up between the two of you, and I want nothing to do with either of you anymore!”

Now it was Miriam’s turn to laugh bitterly, as they soared over the squat structures of the city outskirts.

“So what then? You would place your faith in the humans instead? In the Baron, and Titania before him!? They too sought a world “free” of the gods. All they found was ruin, chaos, and death! Azguloth could not ask for more perfect servants!”

“No. I do not place my faith in humanity. Instead, I place my faith in what humanity could become. What it could be, if you would stop sitting in aloof judgment of it; stop trying to force it to adhere to your own personal ideal. And stop viewing any step off the path you have laid out for them as a betrayal.”

“It’s . . . not that simple. I may have never explained my reasoning to you, but that does not mean my actions are dictated by a whim. I cannot just change how the world works, even if I would want to. There are things, that once done cannot be undone, not even by a god.”

“Then you have learned nothing from everything that has happened here today. And it was all pointless.”

In silence now, the two flew onward towards their destination. Melcara was weakening, the last of her strength fading and manifesting as a decrease in speed. Encouraged by the sight of their prey faltering, the horde of fiends that had been relentlessly chasing them closed in eagerly. Only the arrival of the last of Miriam’s daughters saved them both. As the angels slammed into the horde’s frontrunners, Melcara continued onward, grateful that she was, for once, not counted amongst Azguloth’s servants.

She touched down in a muddy field littered with charred bodies – the remains of Gazrul’s men after Akor’s first pass. She dumped Miriam onto the ground, more out of exhaustion than contempt, and then collapsed to lie beside her. The fallen angel’s breath was coming in ragged gasps now, but she still managed a whisper.

“Do you know, there were times when I longed to just come back to you. The first was just after I learned of Azguloth’s true nature. His Herald was planning to attack the encampment where Genevieve was giving birth to Elandra and Dacian. He could have used that knowledge a hundred different ways, but instead he let his Herald off his leash with orders to make an example. I feared for Genevieve, so I fled and returned to the Heavens with the intent to warn you. Hephestia met me at the gates, and informed me that you had no interest in anything I had to say. After I was . . . returned to the Hells, Azguloth figured out what I had done. And then I was no longer welcome at His side either. They used me to study the body you had given to all angels for exploitable weaknesses . . . and for far less pleasant things. And through it all, Hephestia’s words rang in my ears, and it was only then that I realized you had turned your back on me just as I had turned away from you. I had never felt more alone than in that moment. Perhaps it was only then that I realized the full consequences of my decision. I would like to say that after Azguloth’s imprisonment, my torment lessened. But the truth is that fiends are sore losers, and they took their frustrations at their defeat out on me. And with Azguloth not there to . . . well, mercy is a foreign word, so let’s say moderate . . . their efforts, there soon wasn’t much left of me. Which leads to the second time I can remember that I longed to return home.”

Melcara’s voice was less than a whisper now, fading in and out as she struggled to breathe. But she continued anyway.

“One day, the demons put me together instead of tearing my apart. I learned that Queen Titania of Phaedra was in need of a protector for her daughter, and either they figured an angel would be the best defense against my former sisters, or Titania simply didn’t trust a fiend to do the job properly. I’m not sure if it was a pure desire to return to your side or simply a way to ensure the pain never started again, but I longed again to return home. On a number of occasions when I stood guard over the young girl while she slept, I had deranged fantasies of cutting off her head and parading it through all of the Heavens before finally coming to stand before your throne. Perhaps with this sign of loyalty, I would be welcomed back. Do you know what stopped me? I saw in that little girl hope for the future, that maybe it was possible to find a different path without completely turning my back on you. I’m sure you are going say that the girl was an abomination and nothing but madness could be learned from her example, but she was made with the intention of strengthening the bonds between humanity and the Heavens. Don’t push humanity away this time as you did after Phaedra. Forgive humanity for what happened here today, and learn to let them choose their own fate instead of condemning them for failing to live up to your vision. And for what it’s worth . . . I’m sorry for hurting you so long ago . . .”

Miriam had been looking away from her wayward daughter, instead concentrating on the collapsing city and the last of Her daughters crushing the fiendish horde. Now She turned back, the words for Her reply catching in Her throat.

“Melcara, I . . . Melcara?”

The fallen angel was lying perfectly still, her back ironically turned towards Miriam.

“Melcara!”

Miriam reached out a hand to Melcara’s shoulder, intending on turning the fallen angel around to face Her. As soon as Miriam’s hand touched the fallen angel’s shoulder, however, it crumbled away into ash, the rest of her body swiftly following, blown through Miriam’s fingers by the uncaring wind. For a moment Miriam simply stared at the spot where Melcara had been. Then She threw back Her head with a wail of anguished frustration and grief. For there are some things, once done cannot be undone, even by the gods.

[Inspectre]

The Heroes Who Would Oppose a King

Archpaladin Zousha

Seraph listens to your commands along with your request stoically. Then he nods.

“As you wish. Your goddess will live for as long as I draw breath. If I can find your . . . friend, I will deliver your message.”

And then he leaps up into the air and flies off, pursuing the Valkyrie and King Gast, who grow more and more distant as the Gastly Truth falls toward the city. Unfortunately, there was nothing more you could do on that front, and it was time to turn to preserving what was left of the paladins. Focusing all of your might into Justice, you stoke the flames running down its length to a bluish-white intensity. And then you hurl the blade at the Herald, hoping to distract the beast from its unstoppable advance towards the dragon. When Justice strikes the abomination’s chest, it explodes, shattering apart in a hail of razor fragments and a burst of blinding white fire. The beast is hurled backward, skidding along the deck until it stops near the edge. For a moment the creature lies still, but then it gets back up, again, like an immortal monster found only in nightmares. His chest is shredded and charred, and part of his face has been blown away, but still he glares at you with one hateful eye.

“IS THAT THE BEST YOU’VE GOT!!?”

He roars before charging towards you, the dragon forgotten in his fury. He smashes through the line of paladins who try to bar his path, and then lunges for you, throwing his staff through the chest of another paladin in passing. As he grabs hold of you, you focus on strengthening your rocky skin, and then deliver a solid punch to the monstrosity’s jaw. Several rows of fangs go flying from the impact as his head snaps back, but like a shark the Herald will likely not miss them.

“Do you know what the definition of a hero is? FOOD!!!!”

The Herald shrieks as he digs his talon-like fingers into your side, and places his other hand over your face. He begins to pull and twist your head, clearly intending on tearing it free of the rest of your body. Even Hephestia’s incredible strength paled in comparison to this monster’s, and you could feel your skin starts to crack apart and bleed, even through the solid rock it had become. The sight of your blood only inspires the Herald to pull harder, and then . . . the damaged GHAST leaps into the fight from above with a roar, brandishing two masterfully crafted swords. The two blades scissor shut around the Herald’s arm that had been holding onto your head, and sever it neatly. The Herald howls in actual pain this time, and then in fury as the GHAST kicks his arm, sending it flying up into the air and down off the side of the airship.

“You didn’t look like you needed a hand!!!”

The GHAST quipped, starting to bring the swords around for another cut. With a roar the Herald releases you with his remaining hand and plunges it instead through the chest of the GHAST. Crystals go flying out the construct’s back from the impact, and it immediately slumps to the deck, lifeless.

“THAT’S ENOUGH OUT OF YOU!”

But here the Herald had made a mistake, for while he was busy executing the GHAST, you had time. Time enough to reach out and catch the two artifact swords as they tumbled out of their wielder’s lifeless grip. At your touch the blades began to glow with an intense light, and you felt two presences tap into your mind – Dacian and Elandra, the two former avatars of Athelion and Miriam. Although drained after being used as part of the Queen’s ritual to summon the Hells, there was still enough left of them to act as advisors, filling your mind with ancient techniques of swordsmanship and divine magic. As the Herald turned back to finish you off, and he saw you wielding the two blades – the Dawnblade and the Duskblade – his remaining eye went wide.

“Oh ****.”

He said simply, and then you hacked him apart in a series of blinding slashes, both blades glowing with an intensity that made them look as if they were made of light instead of metal. Even so, the Herald refused to die, his severed body parts oozing back together even after you have hacked them completely free of his body. Eventually you just hacked off his other arm, kicked it over the side, and then plunged the Duskblade through his stomach and into the giant soul crystal beyond, pinning him down. Without any hands, he was unable to free himself, although that didn’t stop him from ineffectually spitting curses at you. With the Herald down, hopefully for good, you had a moment to look around. What you saw wasn’t good.

The dragon, loaded down with so many paladins that it could barely fly, had already taken off – the GHAST had leapt from its back onto the deck to save you. A handful of paladins remained on board with you, and unfortunately none of them possessed the ability to fly either. Which meant that you were stuck here. At least explosions had mysteriously stopped rocking the airship every few seconds, although that simply meant you would die when the airship crashed instead of exploding in mid-air. From his position nailed to the deck, the Herald laughed.

“How are you enjoying your reward so far, morsels? It’s going to get much, much worse when we get down below. But don’t worry – you’ll come to enjoy it after everything that makes you who you are has been beaten out of you!”

Hondshioh’s Ending Theme

The handful of remaining paladins gather around you, most of them wounded, exhausted, and afraid of what was to come. But then one of the paladins threw her head back and began to sing an old hymnal that you had all been taught during your training. One by one, the other paladins joined in, reciting all of the words that had been etched into your minds over countless hours of worship.

The sun shall shine,
Through darkest cloud,
Following blackest night,
Again and again,
To fill the world with the light.

So don’t frown,
And don’t cry,
The Lightbringer smiles
Upon thee, Fear not,
The Sun shall shine.

“Ugh, I hate that song! Stop it!”

The Herald howled, prompting all of you to only sing louder. A minute later, and the deck of the airship began to tilt downward at an angle where it was impossible to remain standing. Some stumbled and fell, others began to roll and slide down the length of the airship towards the edge. You too lost your footing, but as you began to slide away you drove the Dawnblade down into the crystal, giving you an anchor to cling to. A few moments later, and you went into the rift, a stomach churning experience to be sure. On the other side, hot smoky air greeted your lungs. Far below but growing rapidly closer was the barren wasteland of the Hells.

Seeing the course that you were charted for, the Herald began laughing maniacally. You held on all the way down to the bottom, where the Gastly Truth bored straight down into the ground. There was a hellacious sound like that of a thunderclap, and then you were ripped free and flung into the air. Reflexively, you hardened your skin as much as you were able, and waited for your own sudden stop. You didn’t have to wait long, and the impact was everything you were expecting.

At some point, you came around again. Somehow, you had survived the impact, your rocky skin protecting you. Which is not to say that you survived the impact unscathed, of course – your broken right arm and the sharp pain of breathing caused by several broken ribs is a testament to that. Looking around, you saw that you were on a sandy plain, the ground in all directions covered with broken, rusted weapons and armor. All around were shattered pieces of buildings – the remains of the capital city that like the airship had plummeted into the Hells. A short distance away, jutting up out of the ground like some sort of bizarre monument was the Gastly Truth. And scattered through all that wreckage were bodies, most unrecognizable but more than a few wearing the colors of the Church. Indistinct shapes drifted about over the field, many emerging from the bodies lying about – souls, now damned here forever.

A massive explosion suddenly rips through the ruins, throwing you off your feet again and sending you spinning into a crumbling wall. Another couple bones broken there, but at least you were still alive, unlike the rest of these unfortunate souls. Looking around again, you can see that the wreckage of the Gastly Truth had exploded, the airship’s wreckage now shattered and spread out amongst the rest of the mess. There did not appear to be any other survivors.

From over a nearby dune came the sound of pounding drums and some sort of tonal shrieking. A minute later, and a large detachment of devils came up over the hill, marching in close-knit ranks. They began to split up, evidently to search the ruins. You watch as they approach the indistinct shades, pulling out whips and cracking them at the ephemeral souls, driving them towards cages that other devils were starting to drag up to the top of the hill. And then one of them notices you.

“Mortal, stop! Surrender yourself immediately!”

He calls out, and then more of the devils were running in your direction, wielding a wide array of weapons and more of those whips. Turning to look behind you, you see that another detachment was coming up the hill from the other side of the ruin. Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Of course there was no escape in the Hells! And given the fiends’ predilection for liking living prey, you were likely about to become quite popular with them. It was hard to say whether or not it would have been better if you had died with the rest of your followers, but one thing was for certain – you were able to find out first-hand what the Herald had been taunting you about.

End of Part II (Part One for Hondshioh, but he’ll be counting five lights soon enough, so counting is probably not a strong point for him. )

(Check back in after the next DM – I’m going to post a player survey with important questions for you to answer after the others are all wrapped up!)

Iethloc

Theme Song

Straining yourself to the limit and throwing caution to the wind, you managed to accomplish all three of your desires after all. You sucked the unleashed plague back down into the Hells with a whirlwind, you caught the Baron with it, sending you both plummeting down into the rift, and just before you passed through you bumped Shanks up and out of harm’s way. The pirate rolled with the impact as you directed, and managed a jaunty wave of thanks and a “Kick his ass, cap’n!” before you passed through the rift.

Still swirling down and around, you can make out little of your surroundings beyond the confines of the whirlwind, its sides almost solid green with the compressed gas of the plague. You can feel within your joint soul that you are back “home” within the Hells, but now was not the time for sightseeing. The Baron, or King, or Backstabbing Bastard, whatever you want to call him, was still in the whirlwind with you. The plague contained with you had no effect on you, being already a demon, but you could see the contaminated air eating away at the Baron’s body. That, and you had no qualms with continuing to pummel him with magic as you continued to fall down into the Hells. The Baron had no qualms with trying to return the favor either, although at last he bellowed in anger and agony.

“ENOUGH!”

He detonated another anti-magic bomb, destroying your whirlwind (too late now that you were down in the Hells, and the plague was harmless). This again disrupted the magical protections you had both erected around yourselves, as well as any flight magic either of you had running. In last bit actually hurt the Baron quite a bit more than it helped, as an ephemeral demon mage, you could fly naturally, but in the foul air of the Hells the Baron’s wings were evidently useless. He plummeted down like a stone the remaining distance, cratering into the sandy ground that made up the first layer of the Hells. Even so, he still somehow dragged himself back up to his feet as you descended down after him to finish this.

“So, this is how it ends then! I had hoped that I would at least get the opportunity to grapple for eternity with the Valkyrie, but I suppose you shall have to do, Sohssal you fool! We could have destroyed the Valkyrie, that was our one chance to do so, and you threw it away over a petty grudge! Do you think She will be inclined towards mercy now!? Look around you, because the rest of the world will soon look just like this, for it shall serve as the new outskirts of the Hells!”

Fortunately the Baron was done monologuing at that point, or you would have had to blast him again. As the two of you continued to fight your mages’ duel, parts of the city rained down all around you, immense chunks of buildings falling down through the air to smash into the sandy filth. During a brief lull in your battle, the two of you had the sudden sense to look up, and saw the Gastly Truth descending right for your chosen battlefield!

You had no real desire to see what that much Ironheart metal being dropped on top of your head would do, but did think that was a splendid exclamation point to end your duel with the Baron on. Crushing him with his own airship was so deliciously ironic, you almost felt obligated to do it! So you turned the sandy soil beneath his feet into a quicksand-like mire, tossed out another of your anti-magic bombs designed to go off in a few seconds, waved goodbye, and then teleported to the furthest point away that you could see – about a mile or so. When the bomb detonated, it would turn the quicksand back into semi-solid ground, hopefully trapping the Baron in place . . . and unable to use his magic for hopefully long enough that he couldn’t get away.

Just as you teleported out, you could have sworn you heard the Baron look up at the descending, overshadowing mass of the Gastly Truth and scream in defiance. From the safety of your spot a mile away, you watched as the airship cratered into the ground, staying surprisingly intact as it bored a short distance into the ground before remaining standing, the end thrust up into the air like some perverse monument to the Baron’s folly. And then about a minute later, it exploded, turning what was left of the airship into fist-sized chunks. Yes, that was a most satisfying conclusion. You only wish you could have done it a few more times, until you grew bored of it.

(Personally I think I’d go with this for Sohssal’s Ending Theme - - with a few word changes – but your selection works quite well too! )

Now it was time to go back and sift through the wreckage to make absolutely sure the Baron was dead. Not just trapped beneath his memorial, not wounded, not “mostly dead”, but absolutely and forever unable to experience life again! Unfortunately, there was a complication, as there always seemed to be a complication between you and what you wanted! In this case, a squadron of winged demons that flew up towards you from all directions.

You could just teleport away again, but it seemed likely that you were going to have to establish your authority over these cretins sooner or later. Overhead, the rift was beginning to reseal – you would never get there in time to return to the mortal plane that way. Which meant you were going to have to enlist the help of the natives sooner or later. To your great surprise, however, upon reaching you the demons stopped instead of immediately springing to the attack. Their apparent leader – the largest one, naturally - studies you closely, and then cringes and dips down into an aerial bow.

“L-Lord Nihilus! I did not realize that you were going to be here!”

The demon turns to his underlings.

“Lord Nihilus has returned to us! Show him due homage, you filthy impspawn!!”

All of the demons were now wailing and bowing, each of them seeming in a hurry to outdo their betters in kissing your ass. You weren’t entirely sure who this “Lord Nihilus” was supposed to be, but apparently they had mistaken you for him due to your demonic nature. And certainly, given your current circumstances, being worshipped as demonic nobility would prove to be useful. Yes, this situation would likely prove to have no end of obnoxious complications, but it could be very useful indeed!

End of Part II

(Check back in after the next DM – I’m going to post a player survey with important questions for you to answer after the others are all wrapped up!)

WhiteKnight777

Although your pithy comment was lacking that unidentifiable quality that separated great taunts from merely mediocre ones, it was at least accurate. Kartul did indeed die screaming, in rage and frustration, as you disrupted his spells and hacked his physical remains apart. And then you dissolved them into ash, sealed them in a silver urn, and locked it away in a pocket dimension. You weren’t sure if Kartul would be able to come back with the destruction of his precious Sanguinosphere anyway, but the wrong drop of blood could always fall and it paid not to take chances. Gilgaem had been spread out over the bottom of the damn ocean, and he’d still managed to eventually come back to bite you in the ass. Speaking of which, it was time to go kill the last of your former comrades.

Ross accepts his warhammer back with a grunt and a slight nod. It seemed he was not in the mood for pithy comments either. Pulling him in close so that he would be affected by your flight spell, you step off the balcony of Kartul’s pyramid, which was once again predictably starting to fall apart and explode following his death. Off to your left, the other pyramid was following suit, and below you the undead horde was falling over, the necromancy making those bodies animate no longer functional. It seemed Kartul wanted to ensure his “perfect world” couldn’t go on without him. Well, the loss of all those undead from the fight should make someone down on the ground happy, assuming anyone was left at this point except demons and devils. Demons and devils which seemed oddly content to avoid challenging you – it seemed even they could sense that you were not in the mood for further distractions.

You touch down in the square where Fianna’s signal magic had originated, ready for this to be some sort of trap. There was nothing here, suggesting that for once Gilgaem had chosen continued flight instead of fight. But then the soft sound of a pained, dying gasp caught your ear and you raced toward it. There was a side street leading off from the square, the entrance of which was disturbingly coated with blood. Ready for something unpleasant, you round the corner, Ross one step behind you. You weren’t ready for what you found.

Gilgaem was down, hacked into a dozen different pieces, his blood smeared all over the street. Fianna was likewise down, giving one last soft sigh as her killer ripped a pair of long daggers out of her chest in a shower of gore. Smoothly the cloaked assassin stood up and turned to face you. For a moment, your mind struggled to reconcile the assassin’s face with what occurred here. Ross was similarly shocked, but more vocal about it.

“You have got to be ****ing kidding me!”

Theme Song

He growled. At the words, Mellita smiled confidently.

“Hello to you too Ross. You’re right on time, “Lord” Umber. How nice of you to be so predictable.”

With a deft twirl of her blades, Mellita flicked Fianna’s blood off of them.

“You’ve been such a good pawn. You’ve done fully half of my work for me, taking out Shiakti, Zariel, and Kartul all in one ferocious battle. Now there are only two Lords of Blood left – and soon there will be none! When we met in Ironheart, I introduced myself to you as pathetic little Mellita, Helion’s plaything. Now I think it would be better if you referred to me with the name I originally went by – MARIALTA!!!”

(If this reveal doesn’t render Umber momentarily speechless, nothing on Earth, the Heavens, or the Hells, or anywhere else in existence, ever will. )

The Hero of the Oppressed

OverWilliam

At your gestures, Teareal’s eyes narrow in confusion, and then he looks from you back to Limier. Battered and half-dead, the assassin’s signature scarf and glasses have fallen askew, and Teareal is finally able to get a good look at his target. The elf prince physically recoils, spitting out what could only be curse words in his native tongue. His vision then returns to you, and for a moment he simply starts there, glaring at you and fuming. Then, he tersely nods and sheathes his blade. He turns away, clearly preparing to go. Several steps away from the mouth of the alleyway, he stops.

“T’are.”

He says, and then in a blur whirls around and smoothly nocks a single arrow to his bow. He fires, and the arrow flies straight for you, missing your ear by an inch and thudding harmlessly into the wall behind you. Even without the ability to communicate anymore, the message was clear – the life debt had now been paid, and all bets would be off in the future. In the end, that was probably the best you could have hoped for. In another blink, the elf prince was gone and you were alone with Limier.

No longer scared to move for fear of provoking a fatal reaction from Teareal, Limier uses her free hand to break off the arrow pinning her other hand to the street. She pauses a moment, steeling herself, and then rips her hand up off the arrow’s stump still protruding from the back of her hand. With a pained groan she reaches up to grasp the arrow protruding from her shoulder, but stops and lets her hand fall off of the arrow shaft without breaking it.

(Going to fast forward here, as next DM is the last one. You’re welcome to rewrite as you see fit. )

You had undergone numerous shifts in attitude towards Limier throughout your relationship, from fear to forced teamwork to swearing to kill her and then back to teamwork and essentially becoming her student. Here seeing her with her disguise askew and clearly in great pain you were moved to a new attitude – pity. Plus, you did owe the assassin a debt after her help in freeing Melcara, so once Teareal clearly wasn’t coming back you rushed over to her side. She looks up at you with a groan as she shifts more onto her side, both hands moving to clench the arrow still protruding from her abdomen.

“Ooooh . . . this one hit something vital . . . I can feel it.”

Limier gasped, managing to snap the arrow’s shaft off before slumping back into a mangled heap. She actually gives a bark of a laugh at this point.

“Heh. I used up all my healing potions cutting through those inquisitors too. Even gave one to that lumbering ox you call a friend so he could move faster than a shambling gait. Shows you what altruism gets you in the end.”

From the shadows of a nearby ruined building, Jonas and Hannah step forward. Hannah keeps her distance, nervously looking around and up at the madness that has engulfed the sky along with the rest of the city. Meanwhile, Jonas walks up to join you in standing over Limier.

“This lumbering ox, thanks to having both solid feet under him again, is more than willing to carry you out of here, lass.”

At this, again Limier gives a bark of the laugh although this time she winces at the movement.

“So . . . I’m the one being rescued now? I’ve never been one to rely on the kindness of strangers. Nor is it going to matter in a few more minutes unless we just happen to blunder into a healer. I think I’d rather die as I have lived – a, heh, miserable bitch alone out on the street.”

Limier turns her attention back to you.

“Maybe you’d better run along now, and see to that lost little angel you’ve freed twice now.”

That reminder of Melcara’s own battle caused you to snap your eyes back over to the street where she had been a moment before. You didn’t see her or her evil twin, but at that instant the city . . . changed in front of your eyes, and not for the better. The screams in the distance turned sinister, becoming more joyous shrieks of wild abandon, a reddish haze began to color everything crimson, and blood poured from the skies rather than water. Limier curses vehemently.

“Well . . . looks like we’ve come to the main show then. Don’t know how . . . but the Baron’s summoned the . . . Hells . . . here. Which means we’re all ****ed now. Me, I was expecting to end up here sooner or later. But lumbering Jonas . . . and skittish Hannah over there, they’re coming . . . to stay if they die now. You really ought to run along now.”

Limier shifts her position on the street, pulling herself up into more of a sitting position. She looks at you, and then at Karami’s two foster parents, and inclines her head at them.

“I have one last request, and one last confession to make. And neither of them are for the ears of anyone but Tare.”

Taking the hint, Jonas and Hannah back away and start watching the nearby streets for approaching fiends. Groaning, Limier reaches a hand up from her stomach towards you, pulling you down so that her lips are right against your ear.

“There. Now this isn’t going to be easy for you to hear, but you deserve to know anyway. Poor sweet Ulrich wanted to take this story with him to the grave, but I figured that you deserved to know. I don’t think either of us really has time for every last detail of the whole sordid story, so I’m just going to give you the basics and that’ll just have to be enough.”

Limier takes a gasping breath and then pushes forward with desperate strength, her voice starting to develop a tremor, either from pain or possibly – and now this was weird – emotion.

“When we met in the Hells, it wasn’t the first time we ever met. Or at least, that I met you – I’ve been looking after you from afar since before you were born. Your mother – your actual, real birth mother . . . she was my sister. Her name was Rhea Eveson. The sweetest, kindest woman I have ever met, and I may be a cold bitch but even I loved her dearly. But I made one fatal mistake – I introduced her to your father, Trent Adler. At the time Trent was basically assassin royalty. I wasn’t able to attract his attention – but Rhea was. I think your mother managed to ever so slightly light the void in Trent’s heart, and that kept him around. To this day I have no idea what your mother saw in Trent, but I was ambitious and stupid back then, and the two of them together made me happy – so maybe she was just trying to make me happy.”

Limier pauses a moment, sighing and shaking her head slightly, and then she continues.

“Anyway, the two of them had a child together, and in honor of their unlikely union Rhea picked out a name for the child using their own initials. T. A. R. E. It was such a ridiculous thing to do, but Trent had other things on his mind so he didn’t object. He had been steadily drawing away from Rhea, and your birth only seemed to hasten it. One day he disappeared, presumably off on a job. He went to see an up and coming member of the nobility, a Baron Demetrius Gast.”

Limier paused for a longer moment here, as if gathering strength for the part to come next.

“Trent had always been obsessed with becoming the perfect assassin, that was why he was one of the best. One of his . . . peculiarities was the desire to be perfectly free of emotion and sentimentality – to always be able to strike without a second’s hesitation. The perfect living weapon, nothing more than a tool in another’s hand. The Baron refined that obsession to a narrow point, and he made Trent a deal – if he was willing to prove his utter devotion to this ideal, then the Baron would give him whatever resources he needed to create an entire new brotherhood of assassins – the Baron’s Hands. This test was to eliminate the only possible source of sentiment in his own life – Rhea. The bastard proved his devotion to his ideal – he didn’t hesitate to kill Rhea, and cut out her heart to take with him as proof! And you, barely a month’s old babe, were left bawling in your cradle – evidentially Trent felt nothing for you, or you likewise would have perished. That was how I found the two of you the next day – you weak with hunger and my sister dead! I didn’t know then that it had been Trent who did the deed.”

Limier sighed, her strength seeming to fade now that the question of your parentage had been answered.

“I was ambitious and stupid back then. I had no patience for raising a child, although I knew that was what Rhea would have wanted. I saw you got left at the doorstep of an orphanage, and then I moved on to finding her killer. It took me a long time – Trent disappeared after that, and initially I assumed he had been slain as well. But I found out the truth eventually. I regret to say that I was unable to avenge your mother. And because the Baron wanted an example made, instead of killing me he had Trent cripple my own son.”

Limier turns her eyes skyward, struggling to get the words out now.

“I don’t know if the Baron has overstepped his reach this time or not, but someone has to kill him if he survives this. If you decide that person is going to be you, beware of Trent – I don’t know if he’s aware you are his son or not, but he won’t care, and he won’t hesitate to kill you. Or, worse . . . try to make you into him, so he has an heir.”

Limier sighs and slumps back down onto the street.

“Well . . . that’s it. That’s all I’ve got for you kid. Now I’ve got one last request for you, nephew . . . kill me. I’m dead either way, and I always knew it’d be down here that I’d end up. But if I’m still alive when these fiends find me, it’s not going to be a gentle death. I’m just going to slow you down, and if you want to get everyone out of here in one piece then you’d better move quickly.”

Limier tilts her head back and pulls aside her scarf, still looking at you from the corner of her eye.

“Straight across the throat, fast and hard. Do it. At least this way, I won’t die alone. I’ll die with family.”

(This isn’t intended as some sort of puzzle for Tare to solve, but rather an opportunity for you to say something about his character. Does he believe in mercy killing, or would he rather throw Limier, across his own back if need be, and carry her to keep struggling for life even when it’s futile? You’re welcome to come up with a third solution if you really want, but as I said, it’s not really meant to be a “guess what my intended solution for this problem is” situation. In any event, make sure you mention what Tare does in your next post – we’ll now be fast forwarding to the final sequence for Flight).

Melcara was nowhere in sight, and you couldn’t wait for her with the fiends starting to tear everything apart. So with Jonas and Hannah hustling along beside you, the three of you somehow manage to weave your way through the chaos back to Limier’s safe house. The building is still standing, but you sense that something is very wrong. Cautiously now, and with Jonas and Hannah behind you, you open the door and ascend into Limier’s home. What you find waiting for you there is indeed horrifying.

Brock is dead, lying face down in a pool of his own blood in the entryway. And seated in a chair at the back of the entry room, clearly waiting for you, is Lord Vylethar. Sitting in his lap is Karami, and the Grandmaster of Gross is running one hand through her hair while his other hand rests an uncomfortable distance up her right thigh. Karami for the most part seems more confused than anything with this attention. Upon seeing you, Vlyethar smiles and buries his face in Karami’s hair, smelling it in an exaggerated fashion.

“Ho yes, this one is nearly ripe. The human Gast was quite right when he said I’d find something of value here. But now here comes the man I really wanted to see! You have something I want, human – revenge!”

Lifting his hand up from Karami’s thigh, Vylethar gestures, and suddenly a pair of crossbow bolts sprout from your chest. A moment later, and the two previously invisible devils standing on either side of his chair appear, holding empty crossbows. More fiends fade into sight throughout the room, standing between you and Vylethar. There’s a lot of them. Gravely wounded by the two bolts not sticking out of your chest, you stumble back into the wall, its presence the only thing that keeps you upright. Vylethar’s grin only grows wider.

“Alright lads, go have some fun. But before you kill him, make sure you kill those two old people in front of him.”

This statement seems to break Karami’s trance, and she screams and flails at Vylethar. The Grandmaster simply dumps her off his lap with a snort, and then backhands her across the face. And if you didn’t have enough fuel for your anger yet, that did it. Even through the haze starting to darken the room around you, there was a bright coal of anger burning into being. You were going to die. You were going to the Hells. But before that happened, you were going to send Vylethar and every fiend in here back ahead of you!

(I’m sort of picturing something like this scene occurring now.
This is Tare’s Last Dance. Have fun. You can also say your good-byes in your next post, Melcara included as she arrives at the tail end of the slaughter.)

[Inspectre]

The Last Lost Archangel

The_Snark

(I’ve had this scene in my head since before Escape from Ironheart ended. It may be a little lackluster compared to all of the things I have come up with since then, but this was where the Flight finale all started. )

Pushing yourself up off of Julian, you look down to check his condition. Your relief at seeing that he is still alive fades as you realize it would not be that way for long. Julian’s skin is clammy and pale, and his breath comes in ragged, gurgling gasps. Even so, he manages a weak smile.

“You caught me.”

He wheezes, a note of wonder in his voice.

“I . . . didn’t think . . .”

Julian trails off as he shakes his head and reaches up to place a hand on your shoulder.

“You . . . need to go. He’ll be . . . coming. Don’t . . . worry about . . . me. Go . . . run. And remember Mar . . . Marion . . . Marisiel . . . I will always prot . . .”

But Julian is unable to finish his signature promise, as he chokes and begins to violently cough, bloody foam boiling out of his lips. He gives a last few violent, clumsy movements, and then falls still with a rattling sigh. And then that is all, Julian in death looking similar to all of the others you had seen dead over the course of dozens of lifetimes, both within Ironheart and outside of it. Many of those had been unpleasant or frightening at the time, some had made you a little sad (like Joseph’s) or angry, but most had been largely irrelevant, leaving you feeling nothing.

The realization that Julian was dead was . . . different. He had been your energetic if ineffective protector, the first light that led you step by step out of Brother Corwin’s dark shadow. Now he was gone, and you found it hard to believe even with the evidence directly beneath you.

You are stirred out of your shock by the clambering crash of the two Hell Knights falling down the cliff after you. They both smash into the ground a short distance away, the fall shattering both of their bodies into a pile of jagged scrap metal. Neither one stirs, but a moment later a flaming portal bursts into being and Daddy’s body limps out.

“Damn useless constructs, couldn’t even keep a teenaged boy away from me! I think I like them better as useless . . .”

Istomilo rants, trailing off as he sees you kneeling over Julian’s body. He stands there a moment, clearly thinking, and then addresses you.

“I’ve decided that I’m not going to kill you after all, Marisiel. Reduced to nothing but a soul crystal, you would lack the ability to feel pain or sorrow. And I think my wife would much rather decide the timing of when you again feel Death’s welcoming embrace.”

Istomilo gestures, and the knife still embedded in Julian’s chest begins to move of its own accord, beginning to slice a circular cavity into the flesh.

“When we go to meet her, I think we should both look our best, don’t you? So I thank you for preventing my new body from being splattered all over the countryside!”

Istomilo gestures again with his other hand, erecting a circle of pale fire around the two of you and Julian’s body. The flames are only about waist high and stop when they encounter trees, and don’t seem to even scorch the tree’s bark.

“You are welcome to run through the flames if you wish, Marisiel, but they will merely freeze you, not grant you release from your fate. You will be coming with me to Phaedra, and there is nothing that can stop that! As this young fool learned the hard way.”

(If Mar had any good-byes for Julian, you’re most welcome to include them. I figure this is an opportunity to start defining how Mar feels now, and how she’ll develop through the start of Return. Next DM is the wrap-up, with Istomilo dragging Mar, possibly kicking and screaming, into Phaedra.)

The Seeker of Truth

Kasanip

Silent, you and all other eyes within the room watch as Duncan clears his throat.

“As I said, I have a confession to make. The warlock you are looking for is not Jean Harvent. It’s me.”

At this point, the entire room erupts into chaotic shouting, and it is several minutes before the Adjudicators and Justices are able to regain control. What follows is a full recitation of the story that you had managed to gleam in bits and pieces during the course of your investigation. Duncan spares no detail – except that he had brought Carlain into his confidence. And yet when Duncan at last finishes, Carlain also stands up from the crowd where he had been sitting.

“I have a confession myself! I too embraced the path of the warlock before Isera made me see the error of my ways! I, too, submit myself to the judgment of this council!”

Again there is a brief outroar, but no other members of the Canticles stand up to confess their guilt after the room is once again quiet. There are any other warlocks present, they were not part of Duncan’s circle, and seemed to have no interest in surrendering themselves. But that was alright, because if there was anyone left with evil intent still sitting amongst the crowd, you were confident that you would find them eventually. For now, it was enough to know that disaster had been averted, and the man responsible for all this had been convinced to surrender himself rather than fight to the bitter end.

During the uproar, Jean had gotten out of his seat and walked up to join you. He glances at you, and then locks eyes with Duncan.

“You killed the love of my life.”

Your father says simply, his voice low but lacking in emotion. Duncan takes in a sharp angry hiss of breath, but when he speaks his voice is also level.

“And your actions led to the death of mine.”

Jean stands there silently for a moment, and then glances at you again. Then he sighs and nods.

“Both of these, though still painful, are old wounds. If they are ever to fully heal, however, I suppose we shall have to forgive the one responsible for them. I suspect if they were both here now, then they would be urging us to do just that.”

Silently, Duncan nods. Then he raises one hand up, extending it out as an offering to Jean. Your father stands there in surprise for a moment, and then reaches up and takes Duncan’s hand into his own. Again, there is an uproar from the crowd, but the tone has now been set for the new trial to follow.

Isera’s Ending Themehttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GcP7Mj0SJEw

Several weeks later, you stand in the middle of a graveyard following a light spring rain. As the smell of the damp earth wafts into your nose, you stare down in reflection at the grave marker in front of you. This is not your mother’s grave, however, but rather Ember Montiguard’s, the woman whose death had been responsible for everything that followed.

Duncan’s trial had been swift, but not unfair given that he willingly confessed to everything he had done. In a surprising move, the tribunal had been moved to clemency after testimony from you, your father, and Cerise. Although Duncan would not be allowed to go free for his crimes, neither would he be executed as was customary for warlocks. He would instead be imprisoned and used as an information resource for the Canticles in its future endeavors against the forces of the Hells.

It seemed that the Baron of Gast had been dealt with by others, although at a high cost. The kingdom’s capital had been utterly obliterated in an apocalyptical battle, at the end of which the entire city had been sucked into the Hells. The ground there was still tainted and a number of fiends were still on the loose, but there was some hope of undoing the damage with Duncan’s own knowledge of the involved ritual.

The soft sound of a footstep reached your ears a moment before Carlain arrived at your side, a large bouquet of flowers in his arms and now dressed in the customary earth tones of the Canticle of Autumn. He carefully arranged the flowers in front of the grave marker and then stood back up with a slight smile.

“So boss, what’s on the agenda for today?”

In an even further surprising move, the tribunal had been convinced to offer Carlain further clemency than Duncan for his aid in your investigation. He would be allowed to carry on as a member of the Canticles, but he was on probation until further notice. As part of his rehabilitation, he had been transferred into the Canticles of Autumn, there to learn directly from a member who had like him been nearly outcast – and then gone on to become a hero and head member of her respective Canticle in the wake of her father’s retirement.

“I would hope coming by this evening for dinner is on there somewhere!”

Cerise calls as she walks up to the two of you alongside your father. Cerise’s own parents were still at home, Alfred continuing to care after Selvi while she continued to recover from her near-fatal poisoning. Although her recovery was coming along slowly, the healers were impressed with her progress and were currently predicting that she would make a full recovery. As she comes to a stop in front of you, Cerise playfully dangles the pendant containing the Canticle of Winter’s seal – the pendant Duncan had once wore.

“Even Heads of the Canticles have to eat at some point! And while I might not be able to speak for Isera, I can certainly say that all of this running around and filling out paperwork is enough to make me hungry! To say nothing of being tired – I half expect my hand to seize up into a permanent claw-like shape after all the signatures I have to put on everything!”

“You’ll get used to it. It’s not quite as exciting as running about adventuring, but it does have its moments. And –“

Jean added with a bark of a laugh, “If you grow too bored of the position, you can always resign!”

Jean actually managed a slight smile as he turned to face you.

“Speaking of which, I think tomorrow I’m going to go on a little trip and visit Soneir and his wife to see how the rebuilding of their home is going. You’ve handled your new responsibilities admirably so far, and I don’t think I have much left to teach you. And if you have any questions, I’m sure Cerise or Alfred can answer them.”

At this, Cerise throws up her hands in mock indignation.

“Oh sure, pile more responsibility on me! It’s not enough that I’m running one Canticle now, I have to go bail Isera out too!?”

“At least you don’t have to listen to her lectures.”

Carlain muttered, and then he held up his hands and actually cracked a smile.

“Just a joke! I’m trying to develop a sense of humor here!”

“Still needs a little work, brother.”

Cerise says, reaching over to ruffle Carlain’s hair. When Jean clears his throat, the levity disappears as everyone turns their attention to him.

“When I started the Hellrazers, I thought we were the only ones who knew what had to be done for the good of the Canticles. When the Hellrazers were disbanded, I despaired that the Canticles were doomed. I am glad to see that those thoughts were merely the arrogance of youth. The three of you are the future of the Canticles now, and it gladdens my heart to see just how bright that future will be. You have all made me proud, and I know Alfred and Selvi are proud of you all as well.”

Then Jean opens his arms wide and beckons you all forward, and the four of you embrace in a group hug. Then together, arm-in-arm, the four of you turn away from the graves, from the dark memories of the past, and walk forward into the future. And it is a bright one indeed.

Here ends the story of Isera Harvent. Le Fin.

(Check back in after the next DM – I’m going to post a player survey with important questions for you to answer after the others are all wrapped up!)

The Perpetual Princess (of Peril)

Lonna

As soon as your display was over, your rage began to fade, melting away into a cold emptiness. Volesin had killed your mother, and you had killed his sons, and then him. But even from the grave, Volesin had gotten his revenge. He took away from you your entire world, everything you had ever cherished. No – that was not quite true. You still had Wulfric, and through the tumult of returned emotions that were swirling around inside you, there was one that burned brightest. You hadn’t noticed it before, perhaps buried underneath all the worry for your sister and all the effort of just trying to survive through the next five minutes. Or perhaps you had simply been lying to yourself – you had certainly had enough practice lying to other people. But now there was no way you could deny what you felt for this man who had always thought of you as a person, and not a whore, thief, or pawn.

As you turned to walk away from your sister, you slip your hand into Wulfric’s, and together the two of you walk towards the door hand-in-hand. You are halfway there when your sister clears her throat.

“Jacky?”

Ariella calls, and you reflexively turn back to look at her. Any faint hope for a reunion after all are crushed when she sneers at you.

“It should have been you who died, not Mother!”

And then she spat at you. Wulfric and the butler shared a look, and then Wulfric had his arm around your shoulders instead of in your hand, half-hugging you protectively, half-shoving you out the door. Meanwhile, the butler had grabbed Ariella by the waist and was dragging her away, and seemed half inclined to throw the girl over his knee given his expression.

“What are you doing, you idiot girl! DO! NOT! TAUNT! THE! SORCERESS!!!”

Then you were out the door, and there was nothing more to see. You were done here, and what happened to your ungrateful, mislead sister . . . you didn’t care. It was both depressing, and as if a tremendous weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. You didn’t care anymore! You didn’t have to care what happened to your sister, to spend every waking minute tormented by the thought of her being hurt. You could finally just . . . live. And you certainly intended to do just that, assuming Wulfric could be persuaded to abandon the life of an adventuring mercenary. You weren’t too worried about that, however – you could be quite . . . persuasive when you wanted to be.

Unfortunately, Fate it seemed had different ideas in mind, as upon exiting the manor you saw Alya throwing open the gates. The guards that had been attending to it were nowhere in sight, either killed or intimidated into being elsewhere by the unsettling representative of Queen Titania. Upon seeing you, Alya gave a low bow of respect before continuing to walk up to join you and Wulfric.

“Princess, your mother has sent me to retrieve you. It is past time for you to return to Phaedra and stand by her side.”

“And if she doesn’t want to go with you?”

Wulfric said in his low, “I’m dangerous” tone. You could feel him begin to reach for his sword. Alya looked down at her nails with disinterest, flexing the fingers there as if they were talons.

“Then this may become unpleasant. But there is no time for such games. Humanity’s chosen king, Demetrius Gast, has dispatched one of his premier assassins to ensure that this does not come to pass. As with anything he cannot control, he will seek to destroy it.”

“Another one of his “Hands”, I suppose? I’ve fought a couple of those. I’m pretty sure we’ll be fine, thanks.”

Here Alya looked up, locking eyes with Wulfric.

“Not this one.”

Then she turned her eyes to you.

“I will not return to report failure to Queen Titania. If you do not wish to travel to your mother’s side, then I will remain with you until such time as you change your mind.”

Wulfric turned to face you, forcing a smile on his face although his eyes told a different story.

“Well? I guess I was going to have to meet your parents eventually. Just no awkward dinner conversations, please?”

“Ah yes, one other matter. If you do travel to your mother’s side, it will be with me alone. This is not a command, but a precaution. Your mother’s subjects will certainly respect her daughter, but humans are not welcome in Phaedra. I cannot make any guarantees as to your paramour’s safety if he should accompany us.”

Good grief, was Alya a mind reader!? Was Alya just guessing, or had it been obvious to everyone else except you how you felt about Wulfric!? At least Wulfric’s cheeks were also starting to glow a bit as well.

“I-I think you’ve gotten the wrong idea here, ma’am . . . whoever you are? Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve met you before. Jacqueline, is this another one of your demented secret friends? And for that matter, I don’t recall you ever telling me that you were a princess. Plus, I thought Volesin killed your mother, wasn’t that why you killed him? And yet your mother is actually alive and queen of some . . . some alternate realm!?”

Wulfric sighed in exasperation and rubbed at his temples.

“I’m getting a headache trying to keep all of this straight.”

You were just starting to put together the words to explain everything, at least as well as you did – frankly the thought of having another mother was enough to give you a headache as well. Unfortunately, as you were starting to form the words, a crossbow bolt suddenly sprouted from the middle of your chest. There was a sharp pain at the moment of impact, and then just a spreading numbness and everything started to get very hazy. Dimly, you are aware of yourself falling backward, stopping only by Wulfric catching you.

“Assassin’s here! GET DOWN!”

You faintly hear him yelling, following his own advice as he dives to the ground and dragging you with him. He throws himself protectively over you, but you are still able to see what happens next in the fainting light. Rather than getting down, Alya whirls about with a shriek of outrage, shadows rippling out from the tattoos in her skin as she prepares some sort of magic. Another crossbow bolt flies out of somewhere, far away, and embeds itself in Alya’s neck. The Queen’s representative goes down, choking on her own blood. Even so, she stretches out one hand, the shadows crawling down from her hand and onto the ground. They ooze a short distance away, and then spring up, forming a dark archway through which an equally dark forest of crystalline trees could be seen.

“Go!”

Alya croaked, and Wulfric gave one last look at you, at the portal, and then wrapped his arms around you and pushed himself up onto his feet. He dashed across the distance separating you from the portal over what seemed like an eternity to you, but was probably only a few seconds. He still took two crossbow bolts, one in the shoulder and one in the back, both of them likely meant for you – again, he had shielded you with his body, blocking the assassin’s shots. Stumbling the remaining few feet, Wulfric lunged for the portal, diving through it.

The impact on the other side didn’t do either of you any good, and you both gave a collective grunt as the crossbow bolts were jostled within their wounds. A moment later, and the portal winked out of existence, leaving you alone and trapped within the dark crystal forest. Here and there, you could see large globes of light floating through the forest, some of which seemed to be moving closer, as if aware there was a disturbance. Wulfric rolls off of you onto the ground beside you, trying to reach around to the bolt imbedded in his back but his arm simply flops about, not quite obeying his commands.

“These are poisoned, aren’t they?”

Wulfric asks you, and then chuckles.

“I still have a couple healing potions on me, but without the antidote, we are so ****ed!”

Wulfric brief mirth fades back into seriousness as he flop-waves his hand at the crossbow bolt still sticking out of your chest.

“That thing has to be only an inch away from your heart. I’m not sure it would be a good idea to remove that thing anyway. Healing potion isn’t going to stop you from bleeding to death in a matter of seconds. So, uh . . . this is probably not the best time to talk about this, but well . . . I’m not sure I’m going to get another chance here. So . . . I guess what I’d like to say is . . .”

You see a thought form in Wulfric’s eyes, that same thought you had seen a couple times before now. He starts to form words, they get interrupted by a bloody cough, he starts again . . . and then simply stops and shakes his head.

“Y’know what, how about this instead. I . . . I seem to recall that first night together, you promised me a kiss. I never did get it. Now seems as good a time as any. If you’re up for it?”

(Whatever Pyrene/Jacqueline has to say to Wulfric, or wants to do in her remaining time, now would be the time to say it. Part Two ends next DM!)

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber was silent for a moment. A thousand thousand lifetimes spun out before him, a million moments that died yet unborn. He looked up at Mellita - at Marialta - and he tilted his head, his voice cool, distantly curious, and entirely awful with ponderous and unnamable emotions.

"You just killed the only woman I ever loved. What do I care what you call yourself? A corpse has no need for a name."

He drove forward in a blur of speed, Woe coming up in a perfectly-angled slash that met Marialta's blade in an explosion of purple sparks. The shorter blades shrieked off of his longer one, and he ducked a high kick, reaching up to seize the leg that had delivered it – but he found Marialta’s foot slamming home into his chest, driving him back. Gods, when had she ever been that good, that fast? She had always been a decent swordswoman, but he was Umber, and his weapon and armor were woven with elder sorceries… But she moved like lightning dancing on the waves. No wonder she had butchered both Gilgeam and Fianna.

This was his fault. He had not been here to protect her. He had been too weak to protect her... but even as he formed the thoughts, the cool, indomitable portion of him that had made him a legend in his own time spoke against them - what good did self-recriminations do him now? What had he done other than his best? He had sought for peace and safety for the both of them, using every resource at his command. He had done all that he could. But it had not been enough – and disaster had come from a quarter unlooked for, from foe he had not guessed. And these were the bitterest dregs of all to swallow. For all his planning, all his cunning and all of his experience; for all of the sheer, terrible might he wielded - the world around him still eluded mastery. His strength could not perform the one thing he needed above all overs. Good for so little – besides vengeance

He blocked another blow from Marialta – or he should have. Instead it slipped under his guard, scoring off of his armor and drawing a shallow cut, somehow finding a seam in his armor where she could work the tip of her blade. The pain barely registered with his mind still ablaze. Strength. Ambition. Power. Love. In the end, all had failed him. All had failed them... But no. Marialta could kill his wife. She could even finish carving out his heart. But Umber would not be broken. He could not let them be broken. He gave Marialta a spiteful, snarling smile. "Whatever you do, corpse, remember this - you were always second best. Gilgeam wanted her first. I never wanted you at all. You were the runner-up. You were never loved. You were never worthy. You are nothing - just like Kartul. You are empty and broken, and nothing you ever do will fill that void within you." He paused, and added with brutal certainty. "Not that you’ll have the chance."

Umber's words were blades and he drove them deep, just as he drove forward, catching her swords with his - and ramming his hand up and into her throat, the armored gauntlet closing around her and lifting her from the ground. She just grinned, and spat blood into his face.

And then Umber screamed as Marialta freed one of her blades and, with a vicious grin, drove its point between two armored joints and into his side. He felt it pierce something vital, but he grinned through the pain, clamping down on the scream - and muttering the final words to the spell he had been preparing since he first sighted Marialta.

Umber released Marialta, his open palm glowing crimson with pure, incandescent energy - all his wrath given form. The angry, screaming life-force of thousands upon thousands of dead slaves and soldiers, everything he had shepherded from the beginning of the battle - even those who had by chance or by fortune escaped their near-certain doom had the life-essence ripped from them by the force of Umber's final spell, their forms falling limp to the ground where he lay. Umber screamed again in agony and ecstasy, the power flowing through him greater than any he had ever channeled in his unnatural span upon the world. Power bloomed from his hand, shaped by his will and given form by his hatred, and Marialta was hurled broken from his grip, her body vanishing into a comet of power that screamed up into the roiling, embattled skies - hurtling out through the skin of the world and up into the blackness beyond - where, he thought, she could spend eternity drifting in the seas of night, awake and frozen and screaming. But rather than screams, he fancied he heard... laughter? And in the last moments as she vanished, he saw no surprise in her face. Just… satisfaction.

Umber held his hand to his bleeding side. He grunted in pain - but he had no more power left to heal it. Even as relatively simple a thing as closing a wound was beyond his exhausted power - but the old enchantments in the armor would keep him alive long enough for him to recover enough for that. Probably.

Slowly, his eyes downcast, he limped towards Fianna's fallen form. He fell to his knees, letting his head come up enough to look at her, though the effort of it caused him another bitter pang. Seeing her like this, still and broken and empty...

And then her eyes fluttered. He bowed he head toward hers, his eyes filled with desperation – the same desperation he saw in hers. Even here, they scrabbled for life, clawed and bit and kicked. He smiled at her, and kissed her gently – once, twice, three times, as if his lips held life and he could breathe it into her. She spoke something into his ears – or tried to. But her mouth was filled with blood, and he knew what she intended to say only by the shapes her lips made. He nodded, and she knew he understood – just as they both knew that it could never be enough. Her hands gripped his armored shoulders, wrapped around to find the back of his neck and pull him close once more. And then she lost the last of that desperate strength. What followed was silence, and Umber felt tears of bitter grief, and a rage so vast that it eclipsed all thought, for a time.

Umber had seen a great deal of pain, and much of it caused by him. He was not a good man by any standard - and by many standards he was not a man at all. But he had known love. He had lost it, for a time, and for a brief and bitter instant he had regained it. But he looked upon Fianna now, and saw that she had gone. For a moment, he contemplated Woe, tracing the ancient, hungry blade with a caress similar to that he had once placed upon Fianna.

His eyes blurring, Umber sheathed the sword. Perhaps it was cowardice - that old fear of what lay beyond the dark and impenetrable wall of death, the same fear that had driven him and Fianna and all the others to do what they had done those many thousand years ago. Perhaps it was the knowledge that to do what he had briefly considered would be to spit in the face of everything he and Fianna had stood for. Or perhaps it was something else entirely. He was too weary and too consumed by grief to consider it. As much as he tried to rationalize, to consider, to hink - the elemental truth of Fianna's death was insurmountable. Whether his failure was justified or not meant nothing; she was just as dead. Words, when you got down to it, were pallid, pathetic things next to the brutal, baying beast that was the human heart.

Umber began to remove his armor, piece by slow piece. He thought the wound in his side had closed – he couldn’t feel it anymore, and he knew that he would have no need of it. He left it there – let some battlefield scavenger claim it, if they dared. It would bring them no more safety than it had brought him.

Umber reached down with his naked hands and picked up the remains of his wife, pressing her to his bloodied chest. He kissed her, very gently on the lips and began to walk, carrying her out through the city's broken gates. He moved slowly, but none dared bar his path - Past dying angels and raging fiends, past broken bones and men lying dead - good, bad, and uncertain alike, all no more and no less than the cooling meat that Umber himself carried. He bore her like a bride on her wedding night.

After a time, Umber noticed as he walked that he was... not where he should be. The sky above was vast and cool, and night had fallen while his attention had been elsewhere. The stars were multitudinous, and not at all in familiar configurations. He looked down to find himself in a desert... a rocky, arid place with blowing dust and sand. It reminded him of home - save that that the dust, the sand, the rocks - all of them came in shades of dark grey or black or white, stark things like bone bleached too long in the sun, or else wrought of the darkness that had grown outside the shadows of all the gods. He looked up to the sky - no moon at all. Only starlight...

Well. Umber had found his way by less. He would do so again. On he walked, into the night that never ended - a man who had been named many times, feared by most, hated by more, and for a time, beloved of one. Umber walked, bearing the body of the only woman who had ever held his heart. And for a time, he knew only the company of the stars, of the wind, and of the weight that had settled upon him like a stone.

[Lonna]

Pyrene/Jacqueline the Sorceress

Ariella's last venomous comment stiffened Pyrene's spine with a flare of rage, but then Wulfric and Volesin's butler (had she ever learned his name?) were pulling the half sisters in opposite directions, and Pyrene allowed herself to be diverted by the pleasant feeling of Wulfric's arm around her shoulders. That in turn led to some very pleasant thoughts about a future with him, assuming she had read his intentions correctly.

And then she saw Alya, and remembered that there were things that she still had to do and learn, things that Wulfric didn't know and might not understand. Things that Pyrene didn't understand entirely.

“Princess, your mother has sent me to retrieve you. It is past time for you to return to Phaedra and stand by her side.”

“And if she doesn’t want to go with you?”

Wulfric said in his low, “I’m dangerous” tone. You could feel him begin to reach for his sword. Alya looked down at her nails with disinterest, flexing the fingers there as if they were talons.

“Then this may become unpleasant. But there is no time for such games. Humanity’s chosen king, Demetrius Gast, has dispatched one of his premier assassins to ensure that this does not come to pass. As with anything he cannot control, he will seek to destroy it.”

“Another one of his “Hands”, I suppose? I’ve fought a couple of those. I’m pretty sure we’ll be fine, thanks.”

Here Alya looked up, locking eyes with Wulfric.

“Not this one.”

Then she turned her eyes to you.

“I will not return to report failure to Queen Titania. If you do not wish to travel to your mother’s side, then I will remain with you until such time as you change your mind.”

Wulfric turned to face you, forcing a smile on his face although his eyes told a different story.

“Well? I guess I was going to have to meet your parents eventually. Just no awkward dinner conversations, please?”

“Ah yes, one other matter. If you do travel to your mother’s side, it will be with me alone. This is not a command, but a precaution. Your mother’s subjects will certainly respect her daughter, but humans are not welcome in Phaedra. I cannot make any guarantees as to your paramour’s safety if he should accompany us.”

Pyrene and Wulfric blushed in unison, and Pyrene only half-listened to Wulfric's rapid fire questions as she tried to figure out how to explain this with Titania's servant right here. Opening her mouth to answer, however, she merely grunted as an assassin's bolt struck her chest.

Theme Music!

The next few minutes were hazy - partially due to the effects of the poisoned bolt, and partly due to the shadows that seemed to fly off of Alya's tattoos. And then she was moving, Wulfric scooping her up, shielding her with his body as he hurled them both through the strange portal and into the stranger forest.

The jolt of landing on the other side did her wound no good, but it cleared her head a bit - enough to see and hear Wulfric clearly. And to know how dire their situation was.

“These are poisoned, aren’t they?”

Wulfric asks you, and then chuckles.

“I still have a couple healing potions on me, but without the antidote, we are so ****ed!”

Wulfric brief mirth fades back into seriousness as he flop-waves his hand at the crossbow bolt still sticking out of your chest.

“That thing has to be only an inch away from your heart. I’m not sure it would be a good idea to remove that thing anyway. Healing potion isn’t going to stop you from bleeding to death in a matter of seconds. So, uh . . . this is probably not the best time to talk about this, but well . . . I’m not sure I’m going to get another chance here. So . . . I guess what I’d like to say is . . .”

You see a thought form in Wulfric’s eyes, that same thought you had seen a couple times before now. He starts to form words, they get interrupted by a bloody cough, he starts again . . . and then simply stops and shakes his head.

“Y’know what, how about this instead. I . . . I seem to recall that first night together, you promised me a kiss. I never did get it. Now seems as good a time as any. If you’re up for it?”

As she gazed into Wulfric's eyes Pyrene- no she was Jacqueline again, wasn't she? For the first time since her mother died, she could reclaim that name without shame or worry, thanks to this man. Jacqueline saw in Wulfric's eyes the confirmation of her hopes, and sudden joy of that realization was matched by a determination to live, and moreover, to live with him. She was so powerful she had had to be incarcerated in Ironheart hadn't she? And even Ironheart could not hold her, even though she had not had full knowledge of her power. Neither she nor Wulfric was dead yet, and she would be damned before she let an assassin steal him from her!

With a great effort, she took Wulfric's head in both of her hands, pulling his face close to hers. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "This is going to hurt." And then she kissed him.

For an instant, the kiss was everything a first kiss ought to be - sweet and soft and tender - and then Jacqueline poured her power and her consciousness through the physical connection, rushing through both of their systems, driving out the poison, burning the arrow shafts to nothing and forcing the metal tips out with the forced regeneration of the flesh around them. For hours or minutes, she labored at her task, making sure that not a drop of poison remained, not a scratch nor a splinter to indicate the impact of the nearly fatal bolts. Finally, exhausted by her efforts, she retreated into her own body, her own mind, and opened her eyes. Her power was all but drained, and her instinct was to sleep. "Wake me when they come, and say that Pyria will vaporize anyone who hurts you."

[Inspectre]

The Heroes Who Would Oppose a King

WhiteKnight777

Although you were supreme amongst the Lords of Blood, Marialta had been nearly Fianna’s equal at magic – and her clear superior with blades. But this was something you had never seen before – Marialta moved with an unnatural speed and confidence, her every move timed perfectly. She had been blessed with supernatural luck before her ascension, but this was something beyond good fortune. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t save her!

Unable to touch her physically, you seek to wound her emotionally instead. Marialta simply smirks and throws the words back at you.

“Second best? Isn’t that what my dear sister was to you? You threw her away for your immortality, and now you have thrown her away again in favor of your vanity! Your quest to reclaim your fate has led you and her to this point as inexorably as if you had slit her throat and your own! So tell me Umber, how does your throne of ashes taste? I bet – urk!”

You silence the witch by lunging forward, smashing her blades aside with your own and then choking her with your free hand. You lift her up off the ground, channeling all of your energy into the climax of your incantation. Before you are able to finish, Marialta smiles, spits blood into your face, and then brings one of her blades up in an arc, plunging it down into a small gap in your armor, and then through into something vital. You recognize it immediately as a fatal wound – but your death would not be instant. Neither would Marialta’s for that matter, as your incantation complete, you blast her skyward – and into the dark beyond even that! Even here, your victory is a hollow one, Marialta laughing rather than screaming as she ascends out of sight.

Theme Song

Fianna avenged, you turn back to her body to find Ross already administering to it. For a moment you feel a surge of fury at the thought of this beast touching her, but it cools as the rational part of your brain realizes that he is trying to revive her. Trying and failing it seems, as he slumps back with an exhausted growl.

“I dunno if it’s the damned ritual the Baron put up, or the fact these wounds were made with no ordinary blade. I can’t do anything . . . she’s gone.”

You barely even hear Ross over the sound of your own agonizing heartbeat as you fall to your knees beside Fianna. Her alabaster skin had paled to a shade rivaling the one she had in undeath, but she was still breathtakingly beautiful, her face still in perfect condition – minus the blood splatter from her chest wounds and the bruise from Gilgaem’s fist, of course. As if her spirit had sensed your proximity, or perhaps felt challenged by Ross’s admission of defeat, Fianna’s eyes suddenly fluttered.

You had a moment together with her – one last moment of time instead of what should have been an eternity. But it would have to be enough, for then the moment passed, and Fianna’s eyes closed once more, never to reopen. She was dead, and for an incalculable period of time your mind shut down, focused inward on an inconsolable grief and an insatiable rage. Death had won your little game after all, the cards so rigged in its favor that no amount of trickery or raw power could overcome its advantage forever.

When you were once again aware of the world around you, you briefly contemplate your blade, and the possibility of folding and bowing out of the game entirely. But no – whatever else you were, you were still a gambler at heart, and you were not finished. Not yet. It also probably helped that Ross was screaming at you and pulling you up to your feet.

“You crazy bastard! You better start wiggling your fingers or something and get us out of here, because now the whole damn city is collapsing!!”

Looking at where Ross was pointing down the street, you see that the city was indeed falling away into the Hells, one block at a time. Apparently the ignorant pup had forgotten you were now capable of flight. It was indeed time to leave – there was nothing left for you here. Your side pulsing with pain now, you do your best to ignore it as you gather Fianna up in your arms and take off into the air, leaving Ross to cowardly cling to your feet, wincing as he is nearly smashed into buildings several times on your way out.

Soon enough, you arrive at the city gates, beyond where the ritual’s aftereffects held any power. You set Fianna back down – it was still hard to think of her as a corpse – and then went to work removing your armor. You wouldn’t need it where you were going, and it was starting to feel heavy. For your journey ahead, you would need to travel lightly. Whatever else Ross had to say, you didn’t hear it as your world again receded to Fianna’s face. Picking her back up into your arms, you carried her across the remains of the battlefield surrounding the utterly destroyed capital, a bloody bride at an equally messy wedding (one that exceeded even Cheran’s). Dimly, you hear one last howl – Ross – coming from somewhere behind you, and then you simply lose yourself in memory, your body continuing to mechanically carry on its task to take you and Fianna away from here without need of further instruction.

Umber’s Ending Theme

Eventually you come around again to find yourself . . . well, you aren’t quite sure. That seemed oddly appropriate, the pale light of the stars scattering across the desert sands to give it a ghostly appearance. Your side was simply one throbbing mass of fire now, and you were starting to find it hard to breathe. Your leg on that side was also starting to seize up, periodically threatening to pitch your face first into a dune. You continue to walk onward, driven by a desire to go on one last adventure with your great, and only true, love.

Finally, coming to the top of one dune, your leg buckles, and then gives completely, throwing you down onto the dune. You lose your grip on Fianna, her body sliding down to the bottom with yourself tumbling and rolling down after her. You land a short distance away from her, and with your legs failing to respond, drag yourself across the necessary distance to place your hand back in hers. Then you roll over onto your back and look up at the stars. They had moved much farther away than that had been, or perhaps that was a mere optical illusion. Either way, their dim light had grown even dimmer, and now only the barest glimmer stood out against the night.

You feel a wave of euphoria wash over you – no doubt brought on by blood loss, but it brought with it a comforting thought nonetheless. You were Umber, and Death would never be your master. You had eluded its grasp for thousands of years, and in that time saw and experienced everything this world had to offer. Who knew what fascinating wonders and horrors lurked on the other side of the veil between Life and everything else? You were about to begin a new adventure to find out!

Whatever awaited you, as the light faded to complete darkness you were sure of one thing. You may have lost Fianna for thousands of years, but for one brief moment in time you had reclaimed her. Even if it took thousands of years more of wandering on the far side of the Veil, you would find her yet again. And then you would spend Eternity together.

End of Part II

(Yes, Umber is well and truly DEAD. But if you think he’s going to stay that way for long, then you haven’t been paying attention. Come back shortly - player survey going up after The_Snark and OverWilliam post!)

The Perpetual Princess (of Peril)

Lonna

Theme Song

Wulfric was dying. You were dying. These two seemingly immutable facts, coming so closely on the heels of a glimmer of a happy ending for you nearly crushed your spirit. The world simply was not fair, and seemed to have a bizarre fixation for turning everything around back at you. ( ) You were sick of it, and that outrage at your fate turned into unstoppable rage as you fanned the flames.

You were not some helpless little girl, hiding under the bed while your mother was brutally killed above you. You were not a victim for the predators among men to do with as they wish. And you most certainly were not dying today!

You are Jacqueline, and Pyrene the Temptress, and Pyria, daughter of Queen Titania of Phaedra (even if that last one still didn’t quite fully make sense). You had survived Ironheart, and although you are still learning what exactly you are truly capable of, you know that you are powerful.

Summoning all of that power now, you push yourself up, nearly collapsing again as the movement causes the bolt in your chest to shift, working itself in deeper. Forcing the pain back, you crawl the short distance to Wulfric and place your hands on either side of his face. Then whispering an apology and warning, you grant Wulfric his final request. As your lips meet, you pour your being into him, your will just barely enough to contain the torrent of arcane energy you had summoned forth.

Slowly at first but with increasing speed you incinerate the poison flowing through each of you, then the shafts of the bolts, and finally the metal tips that had piercing your flesh, melting them and then pushing the molten remains back out of the wound. And then finally you sear the wounds closed, rebuilding the flesh behind the burns until all that remains are faint scars. It is slow, delicate work, and the strain of using your powers so carefully is quite taxing.

Jacqueline’s Ending Theme

But as you slump back exhausted, you look into Wulfric’s eyes and see your own feelings mirrored there - fear and confusion giving way to relief. You were both going to survive after all! Wulfric manages a slight grin, coughing as his muscles still twitch in pain to his phantom wounds.

“Wow. That was . . . totally . . . worth it.”

Although you would like to remain awake with him and continue sharing in your mutual close escape, that life-saving effort had left you exhausted. You lacked the strength to even keep your eyes open, and so began to drift off into sleep despite yourself. As your eyes closed, you hear the sound of footsteps – someone or something was approaching. Using the last of your strength, you give Wulfric instructions on what to say, and hope it is enough. Just as you are drifting off, however, you hear a feminine voice reply to your command.

“That will not be necessary, Princess. My name is Ruya Perist. And I have been sent to bring you home safely. Your mother is anxiously awaiting your arrival. Welcome home.”

End of Part II

(Come back shortly - player survey going up after The_Snark and OverWilliam post!)

[The_Snark]

Mar

His eyes were closing, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Mar held fast to his hand, even after she heard his breathing come to a gasping wretched halt. Her grip tightened convulsively, as though she might keep him from leaving if only she held on tight enough. Of course she couldn't. She knew that. Wanting him not to die couldn't make it so, no matter how much she wanted — and she did, oh, wanted it so badly that it hurt. How long had she known Julian? A few hours. A few days. Not long enough. She wanted him back. But it would take a stronger and crueler anchor by far to keep the soul from flying to its rest.

It was monstrously unfair. She'd saved him, and now he was dead anyway.

The clangor of falling metal roused her from grief just in time to see Istomilo step forth from the inferno, still wearing Brother Corwin's ragged body. At that moment Mar hated the sight of him. She was so tired of dealing with him: tired of having old wars dragged into her life again and again, tired of feeling sorry for him and hoping to change him for the better, tired of being at the mercy of his tattered conscience. Maybe he could still find some sort of peace, but right then Mar wanted nothing to do with it. She wanted to walk away and forget.

But she couldn't. He wouldn't let her, and there was nothing she could do about that. She wasn't Marisiel. She wasn't powerful. She was just… Mar.

She looked away as the knife came alive and began carving into Julian's flesh. It didn't matter, she told herself. Julian was gone. His body was like a discarded set of clothes, and none of the ugly things Istomilo did to it could actually touch him. He was elsewhere, safe at rest.

When had death started looking like an escape, she wondered? When she learned that she couldn't have it?

Casting about for something else to look at, her gaze fell on the pale sorcerous flames that surrounded them. It occurred to her that she could fly over them, make her escape while Istomilo was busy with his desecration. Her back twinged at the thought, all-too-human muscles still aching from the effort of bearing her aloft a few minutes earlier, but she could do it. Only... what was the point? Even if he didn't have some spell ready to snatch her out of the air, he'd only come after her again, and she couldn't run far or fast enough to keep away forever. At best it would delay him. No. Time to stop running.

When Istomilo turned to face her again, she greeted him with folded arms and a cold stare. Her face was stained with tears, but she did her best to look composed. Maybe she couldn't stop Istomilo from taking her to Phaedra, but she wasn't going to go willingly.

[Inspectre]

Theme Song

Picking Herself back up, Miriam limped back towards the ruins of the capital. She wanted to grieve for Melcara, for all of Her fallen daughters, and all of the other souls, innocent and corrupt, that were now forever lost. The body of Her chosen vessel ached, no longer being actively ripped apart by Istomilo’s curse, but so badly damaged that it was impossible even for Her to put it back together. Both She and Sara had known going into their union that the Baron’s daughter would likely die soon after the battle, by the overwhelming divine energy that would linger in her body and poison it.

But the end in that case would have come days after the victory. This was no victory – it was mere survival, the sacrifice of thousands of souls so that Miriam could remain. And She couldn’t even extend the life of one human girl past a few minutes after Her departure in return.

Seeing the cluster of Her daughters – was this handful all that remained of the once vast armies of the Heavens? – Miriam quickened Her step. The angels sensed Her approach, and turned to face Her as She neared, pulling themselves up to stand at attention as best they could. They were all exhausted, filthy, and most of them sported wounds that were closing only slowly. But they too had somehow survived as Miriam had, and that was at least one spark standing out against this black day. Then the circle of angels parted before Her, allowing Miriam to see at their center there was one angel who had sensed Her approach, but had chosen not to stand. From her position atop the body of a human, Ysora finally looked up with tear-filled eyes.

“Why?”

The archangel choked out, and then returned her attention to the man, smoothing a lock of hair out of his face.

“He was a son of Demetrius, and yet he gave his life to save us. He didn’t do it for a reward, or to save himself. He did it because he wanted to. But why?”

At Ysora’s mention of the man’s selfless act, the other angels nodded in agreement. Miriam wasn’t sure what She could say to comfort Her obviously distraught daughter, but then Ysora asked a question that completely caught Her off-guard.

“Is his soul condemned to the Hells, then? Was he right when he said that one heroic act does not outweigh a lifetime of evil?”

Although the question was most unexpected, the answer was so simple as to be automatic.

“Yes. You know that it has to be this way, Ysora. Otherwise -”

And now the biggest surprise of all came, as Ysora leapt to her feet, anger allowing her to spit the words out through her tears.

“And what of all the innocents within the city? The paladins who chose not to abandon their goddess in Her hour of need? My sisters? Did they deserve that fate as well!? What was their crime, to earn the punishment of eternal damnation!?”

Miriam could see the same questions reflected in the eyes of Her remaining daughters. In Her own mind, She watched Korram Alstan fling himself into the path of the Herald’s scythe, giving his own life in trade for Hers. He too was among the victims of this great injustice, unless Demetrius’s ritual had failed at just the right moment. And even then, Miriam knew the other sacrifices he had made to get to this moment. And yet, She could not allow Herself or Her daughters to indulge in such doubts, not right now.

“This is not the time or place to discuss this, my daughter. After we return to the Heavens –“

Again, Ysora interrupted Her, a second for who Miriam had previously regarded as the most level-headed and patient of Her daughters.

“No! I will not accept this and meekly return home with you! There is a debt here that must be repaid, and I will remain here until it has! I will help the humans rebuild . . . and then we shall see.”

Miriam could see several of the other angels nodding in agreement. This was getting out of hand. She did not have enough daughters left to risk in a mission to help the humans – not when it was likely some of them would seek some manner of ill-conceived revenge for this disaster. Seeking to regain control, Miriam stepped forward and grabbed Ysora by the wrist.

“That is not your decision to make! I will not risk a single one of my daughters trying to help the humans when they are more likely than ever to lash out! We need to withdraw and consolidate our losses, and give humanity time to forget what happened here!”

Ysora thought for a moment, and then delivered a verbal jab that was more harmful than any physical blow.

“Time for humanity to forget, or you!? Melcara was right, so long ago – you really don’t understand humanity. I once thought as You did, that humanity could be taught, shaped and molded to fit into Your ideal. But now I understand that Ysora the Teacher still has a lot to learn.”

Stunned by Ysora’s words, Miriam simply stood there as the archangel pulled her arm free and then turned away. As she started to walk away, Ysora called back over her shoulder.

“I am pleased that You escaped, and that all of this sacrifice was not in vain, my Lady. But I am staying right here. And if my disobedience results in my exile as it did for Melcara, then at least I will be in good company. Farewell.”

Ysora was already some distance away before Miriam recovered. Her disbelief was compounded further by the fact that half a dozen angels had one at a time bowed and turned away as well, trailing after their leader. This was exactly what Miriam had feared, and yet there was nothing She could do.

“Ysora! YSORA!”

Miriam yelled after the departing angels, but not one of them turned to look back. Before She could work up the strength to chase after them, another group of surviving angels dropped down to join them. These angels, however, had already been marred, defiled even before the battle had begun. And they knew it too, standing back a distance from Her and their remaining sisters, with only their leader deigning to approach.

“My lady.”

Melissan said simply, turning her head away so that Miriam did not have to look at the unholy brands crisscrossing her face.

“We found a few servants of yours that I think you would like to have back.”

From the group of branded angels, Ander limped forward, carrying Hephestia in his arms. Miriam’s brief relief at seeing her chosen champion and general soured as she noticed the similar brands on Ander’s face and the fact that Hephestia was on the verge of death.

Theme Song

“My Lady . . . you must . . . heal me . . . send me back . . . and I will be . . . your vengeance personified!”

With a snort, Ander unceremoniously dropped the archangel at Miriam’s feet.

“Your Adjudicator has taken it upon herself to exterminate humanity on your behalf. Including your own servants and innocent children!”

Even as Miriam looked down at her daughter, she could see the stains of the slaughter on her soul. But still she had to ask, even if she already knew the answer.

“Hephestia, is this true? What could motivate you to do such a vile thing!?”

“Humans . . . breathe treachery . . . your servants . . . will forsake their . . . oaths, and . . . their children will grow . . . to be monsters . . . in time.”

“You are my Adjudicator, the one to separate the innocent from the guilty, and to punish those who chose a wicked path. Now you deign to tell me that all humans are guilty, and none are innocent!?”

Hephestia turns her head to look back towards the capital, as if the truth were self-evident. Miriam covered Her eyes with Her hand for a moment, struggling to hold Her anger in check.

“You cannot judge them for sins not yet committed, Hephestia. There is always hope that they will choose a different path. I gave you and My other daughters the ability to see humanity’s sins so that you could see them as they are. Now I see that this has blinded you to what they could be. This is my fault – perhaps I should have given you compassion instead, so that you might have emulated your sister Marisiel better – or even Melcara.”

“That name again!”

Hephestia spat, her fury overcoming her injuries for a moment.

“How could you . . . love that traitor still!? My Lady . . . you are a fool!”

Unleashing her anger at last, Miriam reached down and grabbed Hephestia by the throat, lifting her up off the ground with one hand and silencing any further protests. Though the act would be a terrible strain on Sara’s already battered body, Miriam funneled divine energy through it into Hephestia, sealing her bleeding hand and then causing a blinding glow to envelop the archangel. Through the blinding light, Hephestia’s screams of agony could be heard, but Miriam’s thundering voice drowned out even that.

“*You* are the traitor, Hephestia! You have betrayed *everything* I made you to be! In olden times, I would have cast you out for your actions, as I did Melcara before you! But . . . I have lost my taste for revenge, for punishment. So instead I will give you the opportunity to learn from your mistakes, my daughter, and chose your ultimate fate for yourself.”

Releasing Hephestia, Miriam allowed her glowing form to drop back to the ground. As the glow faded, the other assembled angels gasped in shock. The archangel was no more – or rather, the angel part was. Hephestia’s wings were gone, along with her armor, having been replaced by a simple cloth dress. The former archangel looked down at her hands in horror, flexing her fingers with a mix of fascination and disgust.

“What have you done!?”

“I have given you the chance to understand the humans by becoming one of them. If you live a virtuous life, then upon your return to the Heavens I shall welcome you home and return you to your place at my side. If you learn nothing and continue on your present path . . . then I suppose your exile shall be complete. In which case, I suggest you tell no one your former identity.”

“No . . . NO! Please, my Lady . . . send me away, banish me to the Hells, tear my soul apart if it pleases You! Anything but this . . . this . . .”

Hephestia is silenced by Ander stepping forward and placing a firm hand on her right shoulder.

“Being a human isn’t all bad.”

Ander said, fighting to keep a smirk off his face. He grows more serious as he turns his attention back to Miriam.

“I will make sure she stays on the straight and narrow.”

At this, Miriam quirked an eyebrow, struggling to keep the disappointment off of Her face.

“You are not returning to the Heavens? What of your family? My Church has been cleansed . . . you have done enough, Ander.”

Ander scowls and shakes his head, gesturing at his brands.

“You mean I’m welcome back, even with these? I thought you despised the presence of even the slightest unholiness? Besides, I am needed here – someone has to rebuild the Church. And teach this one proper human behavior.”

Ander added, reaching up with his other hand to pinch Hephestia’s left earlobe. The former archangel winced and whined, reaching up to desperately slap at his hand with a desperation that was far out of proportion to the minor pain. Miriam sighed, but nodded.

“Very well. Good luck to you. And what are you going to do, my daughter?”

Miriam asked, returning her attention to Melissan. The branded angel thought a moment, and then shook her head.

“Even if you would accept us back, my Lady, we are needed here. There are many of our sisters who were not so fortunate victims. We will help them as best we can, and perhaps someday, if we are still welcome, we will return home.”

“As you wish.”

Miriam replied, bowing Her head and then turning away so no one could see the tears starting to form. It seemed she would be returning home virtually alone, all but a meager handful of angels remaining behind for a variety of reasons. And among them, the last of Her most treasured daughters, the archangels – the last of them now lost to Her as well. It was time to leave – Miriam could feel Sara’s body starting to fail, Hephestia’s transformation the last act that it could support. With a gesture in the air in front of Her, Miriam opened a portal to the Heavens.

“Come, my daughters. It is time for us to depart. Go. I will join you on the other side shortly.”

Those angels who had chosen to remain with their Lady quickly went through – barely more than a dozen now. Miriam sealed the portal behind them, and then looked off to the horizon for a moment.

“I wish to be alone now.”

The Valkyrie said simply, and then set off through the muddy field strewn with bodies and broken banners. No one moved to follow her, Ander, Hephestia, and the branded angels turning to walk in the opposite direction toward where the remaining banners of the Church still stood.

Theme Song

Walking a short distance further, Miriam stood upon coming to a bare patch of ground. Pulling in enough energy to perform one last minor miracle, Miriam caused the muddy earth to harden, and then begin to sprout new life, grasses and wildflowers bursting up to form a bed of vegetation. The patch expanded a short distance, and then stopped as the last of the energy Miriam put into the effort was expended – now it would be up to Nature whether the field ultimately became a beautiful meadow of flowers, or a barren wasteland to mark the site of this terrible battle. Gently, Miriam lowered Herself down onto the ground in the middle of this patch of reborn earth, and then stretched out onto Her back, gazing up at the sky. She then began to withdraw from Sara’s body, keeping only enough of Herself present to keep the mortal’s form from falling apart instantly. Even so, it would not be very long now.

As they had been since the start of their union, Sara and Miriam communicated within the mortal’s own mind.

I’m sorry for how things turned out. If only I had been stronger.

Nonsense. We did the best we could. If I had not run foolishly into the Baron’s trap, none of this would have happened.

He would have manipulated you into it one way or another. My father spent forty years preparing for today.

[b]And I have existed for thousands. The fault is mine, though others paid the costly price for the mistake.[b]

Like Incom . . .

They had both seen the armored husk that had held Incom Morgan’s soul helping with the evacuation as the Gastly Truth began to disintegrate and fall down into the rift. It seemed likely that he had been lost as so many others had been.

On my way to Genevieve’s grave . . . I asked him what it was like to die. I wanted to know, so that I could be brave. Was I brave?

Absolutely.

That’s . . . good. After all this, all this suffering and death . . . did we make a difference? Is the world going to be okay now?

Now that the battle was over and She was pulling Herself away from the mortal realm, Miriam’s omnipotence was beginning to return. She had been unable to see anything beyond this point in time, leaving Her clueless as to the battle’s outcome. It was only natural to assume then that this would be where She met Her end, at the hands of the Certain King. But evidentially Demetrius Gast was not the Certain King after all, and so the world would limp on. But as she gazed upon what was now to come instead . . . sometimes faith had to be rewarded. And so, just this once, Miriam borrowed a page from Azguloth’s book – and lied.

Yes.

That’s . . . very good! I was worried. I think . . . this is it. Am I going to the Heavens? Or, because of my father . . .

Demetrius’s sins were his own. Your brothers went there because of what they did as well. You have done nothing wrong – I could not be here otherwise. I will escort you through the gates of the Heavens personally.

Okay . . .

Sara’s eyes closed for the last time as she began to slip away. But as Miriam reached out for the girl’s soul, something hard and crystalline slammed down between them, severing their link. Istomilo’s second surprise was now revealed as a crystal took shape in Sara’s hand, materializing from the ether. It was not powerful enough to trap what was left of Miriam inside of Sara, but it was more than sufficient to ensure that the brave girl would not have any sort of afterlife at all. From the far side of the crystal, Miriam screamed silently in frustration as Sara’s soul fell away into darkness. And then Sara’s heart beat for the final time, and Miriam opened Her eyes to find Herself back in the Heavens. Alone.

The Last Lost Archangel

The_Snark

Mar’s Ending Theme

It took Istomilo only a minute to use the knife to cut apart Julian’s chest, the edge obviously magically enhanced as it cut smoothly through skin, muscle, and bone. As if it were a slice of apple, Istomilo gestured, plunging the knife into the middle of the cutaway section, and then pulled it free.

“There.”

He said, moving to bend down over Julian’s corpse and delicately place his soul crystal down into the freshly made cavity. Daddy’s corpse fell over the instant its fingers left the soul crystal. A moment later, and Julian opened his eyes again as you had wished him to – only it wasn’t Julian now.

“Yes, haha. The boy did keep himself in shape, I will give him that.”

Istomilo said, flexing Julian’s limbs experimentally. Then he sprang up to his feet and returned his attention to you. His jubilation faded somewhat as he noticed your expression, but it didn’t stop him. It never did.

“Oh, come now Marisiel. We are about to go on a grand adventure, you and I, to a place that mortal eyes have not seen in thousands of years. We will return to the place where this all began, and write a new ending to our tale! Besides.”

Julian’s lips curled up into a smirk that lacked all of the warmth his smile originally had.

“In Phaedra, time has no meaning. Assuming you can convince Titania to spare you for her own amusement, you shall live forever. Here, you would enjoy only a few sweet more months at most. Or did you think that your precious Daddy cut out the hearts of all of your prior hosts because it amused him?”

Istomilo gestured, and a glowing portal opened into the air once more. This time, instead of a fiery wasteland, only utter darkness was visible beyond. Reaching out, Istomilo grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you along behind him in a fashion similar to how Julian did during your joint attempt to Escape from Ironheart. Only this time, instead of leading you to freedom and safety, you were being dragged towards more misery, darkness, and death. A few moments after you passed through the portal, it closed behind you, leaving only a pile of busted scrap metal and the mutilated body of Brother Corwind behind to mark your passing.

As a memorial went, it could hardly compare to the ruined city of Vallon, but now as then, destruction was not the only thing left in your wake. You had helped a small family as they had helped you, and perhaps one day those meager seeds would sprout. But not in time to save you. No, it seemed this time you would need to save yourself. And you had no idea if you could.

End of Part II

(Check back after OverWilliam's finally DM'd for the Flight wrap-up and player survey!)

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

Tare didn't breathe for a few seconds after Teareal turned around, empty bow still in hand. And then the elf was gone.

Tare blinked, the world around him starting to reel as though he were drunk. After a few seconds he recognized the surreal light-headed feeling as mere adrenaline erupting throughout his body.

Limier.

Tare spun back to the Assassin, moving to the fallen assassin's side in mere steps. "Limier!"

The assassin threw a disaproving eyebrow at him, a fully visible expression since her glasses and mask had fallen ajar. "I'd thank you not to shout, Tare," She reproved, but much of the force behind it was absent. Though obviously not a stranger to pain, it was all the assassin could do to merely gasp when she pulled her hand free from the ground, apparently not bothering with finesse in favor of getting off the streets in a hurry.

Some reserve of hope in Tare's chest began to crumble when he saw the assassin reach for the shaft imbedded deep in her shoulder and visibly decide not even to waste the energy on snapping off the body of the arrow.

"Ooooh ... this one hit something vital ... I can feel it."

Tare bit his lip. He hadn't been able to react quickly enough-- Teareal had struck his mark after all. Limier lemented the lack of healing potions with the same levity as if she had been lementing the absence of good strawberries this time of year, and it was all Tare could do not to break down then and there. Fortunately Jonas and Hanna appeared, and Tare took inspiration from the man's simple, no-frills good sense to re-focus on what they were to do.

"Maybe you’d better run along now, and see to that lost little angel you’ve freed twice now."

Goosebumps went like lightning up Tare's spine. Melcara.

"...Not yet. Help me get her off the street, Jonas," Tare directed in the courtesy-absent tone of a group of people who know they have no time for pleasantries.

And then everything changed.

They could hear it coming in the distance. The rumble deeper than sound, percieved by the whole body at once, that signaled the approach and then passage of unbelievable energy. Screams eruped in the distance, both human and obviously not as the wave of change flashed across the city. And as it washed over them, it left desolation in its wake.

The sun vanished.

The air turned thin and clammy, oily almost, making it wretched just breathing in and out.

The barest red haze filled the streets, concealing any number of horrors in its subtle hue.

Cackles of fiendish laughter echoed as the world was invaded from beyond.

And the rain was turned to blood.

Tare knew this place. He knew it well.

"...Oh, no."

All of a sudden, though it was hardly possible to imagine, the city was even more dangerous than before-- and death was exponentially more horrible.

"Quickly! We need to get off the streets!" He directed, and both Jonas and Hanna lept into motion without hesitation. Moving the damaged assassin as easily as possible, the three moved her into a dead-end alleyway protected from the street by a toppled-over building blocking the mouth. She bore the pain of transportation stoically, if not gratefully in the slightest.

"Well ... looks like we’ve come to the main show then. Don’t know how ... but the Baron’s summoned the ... Hells ... here. Which means we’re all ****ed now. Me, I was expecting to end up here sooner or later. But lumbering Jonas ... and skittish Hanna over there, they’re coming ... to stay if they die now. You really ought to run along now."

Tare scrambled mentally to catch up with the new twist of fate. "...So you're saying... the same rules apply here as in the actual Hells?? How could the Baron do something like--" He remembered the portal that got them all from the hells back into the city. "That room. With all the angel blood. This city's been connected bit by bit and piece by piece to the hells for months in order to set this up, hasn't it??"

The assassin only nodded. "...I have one last request, and one last confession to make. And neither of them are for the ears of anyone but Tare."

Tare listened in shock and silence as Limier proceeded to take his entire world, which was already in shambles, and turn it completely inside out.

~~~

“I don’t know if the Baron has overstepped his reach this time or not, but someone has to kill him if he survives this. If you decide that person is going to be you, beware of Trent – I don’t know if he’s aware you are his son or not, but he won’t care, and he won’t hesitate to kill you. Or, worse . . . try to make you into him, so he has an heir.”

Limier sighs and slumps back down onto the street.

“Well . . . that’s it. That’s all I’ve got for you kid. Now I’ve got one last request for you, nephew . . . kill me. I’m dead either way, and I always knew it’d be down here that I’d end up. But if I’m still alive when these fiends find me, it’s not going to be a gentle death. I’m just going to slow you down, and if you want to get everyone out of here in one piece then you’d better move quickly.”

Limier tilts her head back and pulls aside her scarf, still looking at you from the corner of her eye.

“Straight across the throat, fast and hard. Do it. At least this way, I won’t die alone. I’ll die with family.”

Tare stared in shock at the wounded woman leaning, back to the alley wall, in front of him. "You-- you just finished telling me that I have family still alive somewhere-- hells, you're my ONLY family as far as I know!! And now you expect me to--" He couldn't force the words out. "No. No, absolutely not. Limier, you're going to live. I'll find the way, I'll keep you alive somehow--!"

"Tare."

"NO!! This isn't what's going to happen, it's not going to end like this!!"

"TARE."

"You can't die now. You CAN'T. Not with the hells brought here, you'll be lost!"

When Limier's hand closed around his wrist it was like her fingers were as strong as swordmetal... and just as cold. "I'm dying, Tare. I know it. Watch as many lives slip away as I have and you'll recognize it too. Moving me right now will only make it more painful than it needs to be. There's nothing you or anyone can do now. It's over."

The color drained from Tare's face.

"There's not enough time for you to sit and watch me die, Tare. You have to go find the little girl. Let me die on my own terms, the way I want to."

"...Limier..."

"Come on. Do it."

The dagger burned cold in Tare's hand. Limier recognized it. She choked on a small laugh. "That's right... Ulrich's blades. ...It is fitting that you two, of all people, be the ones to show me the next life."

Theme Music

Tare couldn't talk anymore. It was all he could do to breathe. "Goodbye, kiddo. Maybe we'll see each other again someday."

She didn't flinch when Tare forced the blade across her throat in a single motion, the interwoven blades mercifully sharp.

The thief was never much of a singer. But, unbidden, the lyrics of a simple, and chillingly sweet song from the murky years of his earliest youth came into his mind. It felt right to give this Assassin, now his revealed Mother's sister, an anthem to ferry her from this life to wherever her soul was bound next.

His voice was broken with time and pain, quiet with anguish, and only mostly on-pitch. Still, Jonas and Hanna both heard the thief's mournful lyrics and knew what had happened.

"Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand..."

Limier watched the thief's tear-filled eyes, startled as though by a distant memory. By the time Tare's voice broke and he could sing no longer, she was dead.

Tare cried over her body for a minute or two before Jonas returned to put a hand on his shoulder. "...I'm sorry, lad."

Tare collected himself and stood, wiping first his eyes, then the dagger on his worn and partially shredded clothes. "...Thank you, Jonas. ...Come on. We have to go."


~~~


With Melcara nowhere in sight, Tare made the only choice that there was left to make and led the now-trio back toward Limier's safehouse. The whole city was plunged into chaos-- and literal hell. It was not an over-difficult task to navigate the bedlam, but it was time-consuming and nerve-wracking at every step. The closer they drew to the old building, the larger the sense of dread in Tare's chest grew.

It wasn't until the moment before he opened the safehouse door, however, that Tare recognized it.

"No-- Brock!!" The guild leader was dead. It looked as though his throat had simply been gouged out, possibly by Vylethar's bare hands. But in an explosion of relief, fear, and fury in near-equal proportions, Tare saw that Karami was still alive.

And he nearly puked when the General's aura smacked him right in the face.

"Ho yes, this one is nearly ripe. The human Gast was quite right when he said I’d find something of value here. But now here comes the man I really wanted to see! You have something I want, human – revenge!"

Gast? So the Baron had arranged this as well?

Further contemplation on the subject was instantly cut short by the blossoming of pain between Tare's shoulderblades.

Tare stared straight at Vylethar's sickening grin while he mustered the willpower to look down at his chest. Two seeping wounds and the tips of two crossbow quarrels stared back up at him. Seemingly copying his own tactics, invisibility charms faded all around the room and a small army of fiends revealed themselves from hiding.

"Alright lads, go have some fun. But before you kill him, make sure you kill those two old people in front of him."

Perhaps the realization that he was going to die had broken Tare's subconscious limiters on his own strength. Perhaps seeing Karami where she was triggered the same sort of superhuman effort that let mothers haul castle stones off of their young bare-handed. Perhaps the impromptu long-distance accupuncture applied to his spine at that moment unleashed the deepest reserves of his energy in a way his attackers had never thought or expected to happen.

The pain became a distant concern, almost academic in nature and not compulsory or reflexive at all. Even as blackness began dancing at the edges of his vision, a light of fury boiled up from within him. And this light burned blue.

With a shriek of power being released, Tare's entire body erupted in screaming, arcing tongues of lightning. The crossbow bolts literally disintegrated where they were, leaving the wounds behind to bleed freely, the red turned black by the harsh light. In one step Tare crossed the distance between himself and Vylether, catching the Grandmaster's kick with his bare hands and sending an unbelievable charge of electricity into the succubus' shin and coursing through his whole body.

"Tare!!!" Karami wailed in warning as half a dozen fiends rushed him all together. Tare let his grip on the spasming Vylethar slide, and stepped over to stand over Karami in defense, his eyes cold. The General collapsed to the ground, stunned and sizzling.

"Just watch."

In one motion, Tare rushed in five different directions. Two were armed with Ulrich's daggers, one threw bolts of lightning like javelins, two fought with their bare hands, turned sharp and lethal by casings of solid lightning. In the first second, seven demons died. In the second, nine rose up to take their places. The room was turned blue by the sharp glare of energy erupting from six bodies at once. The fiends fought like demons, but none could move as fast Tare could, fast enough to be in four places at a time. Several of the copies seemed to be mere afterimages created by truly transcendent speed; others, composed of pure lightning, were nothing if not solid. The demons piled up on one, burying handaxes and cruel knives into its back. The clone responded by exploding into a shower of lightning needles sent shooting in every direction.

Crossbow quarrels flew wild around the room. One leapt for Karami. Without thinking, Tare stepped between it and her. The quarrel was already beginning to fly apart as it entered the aura of electricity that surrounded Tare's entire body. It still sunk deep into his chest, likely puncturing a lung, before it was destroyed completely.

One lightning clone carved incredible swaths through the horde in single, two-armed swipes that stretched from one side of the room to the other. Another delivered dissipating spikes of blue energy with blinding speed into skulls and weapon arms and feet all around the room. One demon landed a pincered claw around the neck of an after-image only to find that there was nothing solid there to land his strike on. The demon's head was blown off a moment later by a lance of lightning.

A lucky dagger throw managed to sink into one lightning-copy's shoulder. An opportunistic axe took the opening to sink deep into the clone's knee. It went down swinging wildly with both arm-blades of lighting blasting, but was buried like a beetle beneath ants. What the ants weren't expecting was to face the wash of frying energy that exploded from the downed figure as soon as it took too much damage to remain coherent. None of them within five feet survived.

Within minutes, the floor of the room was covered in black blood so that one could no longer tell what color it had been. With only a dozen or fewer demons left standing, the last lighting clone fell to the force of numbers leaving Tare standing alone above Karami's panicking little curled ball. Tare threw his focus inward and pulled the Serpent's Fangs to ready position in either hand.

He firmly squeezed both handles, instantly coating both legendary blades in one of the deadliest posions ever invented by mankind.

And with one final wave of lightning and speed, Tare was everywhere in the room at once. There was no space in the room not already occupied that he did not fill for the barest flicker of a moment. The noise was deafening, but it was over in an instant.

And then he stood in the center of the room, lightning aura gone. The sudden quiet was shockingly abrupt.

And then a dozen demons fell to the floor in four or more pieces each.

Karami's breathing was the only sound left in the room.

Tare staggered over to the gradually recovering Vylethar and stepped over him so that he could lean down to jerk the demon up and face-to-face by the collar of his luxurious (and now completely bloodstained and burned) clothes.

"Listen up, you spawn of hell. I'll tell you what's going to happen next. I'm going to drag you back to hell by your tongue, you putrid abomination against everything living, and I'll do everything I can to make sure you hit every bump on the way down. And you had better pray that I land in the fieriest corner in all of Azguloth's pit, because that's the only thing that'll slow me down more than a number of hours before I come to find you. And when you get back down there, you had better put every soul you can find--human, fiend and otherwise-- in all the Hells between you and me, because so help me, I intend to slaughter half and recruit the other half before coming to stand over wherever it is that your slime-ridden puss sack regenerates itself, where I'm going to personally murder you again, and again, and again until the stars themselves burn out. And I might even find the way to unmake you permanently on my way there, but that won't be good enough for me. I've killed you twice now, you worm-infested caricature of flesh. Keep the sensation in mind-- that is all you have to look forward to until the sanity has been stripped of your mind by unimaginable torment, and still I will not stop until all of existence takes pity on you and ends your torment by ceasing to exist."

"This isn't a warning. This isn't a threat that you can avoid by meeting my demands. There is no way out, not even if you only promise to leave us alone for the rest of forever. It's too late for that. You've already crossed that line."

"Look for me, you son of a b****."

"I'll be coming for you."

And Tare stabbed his hand ensheathed in lightning up to the forearm into the Grandmaster's solar plexus with a swinging upper cut that sliced through bone and flesh with enough force that his bare arm erupted from the now-thoroughly-dead demon's skull.

What was left of the succubus was turning itself into ash before it hit the ground.

And then Tare fell over backwards to an uncomfortable sitting position. His vision was almost blacked out now, on account of the three wounds in his chest. His own blood was flowing far too quickly now, starkly destinguishable as the only patch of red amongst the rest of the room's black. Karami scrambled over on all fours, throwing herself onto Tare's chest and squeezing as though she meant to slow the blood loss with her body. Tare couldn't feel her touch anymore.

"Tare, I'm so sorry about what I said to you before. I didn't mean it, I didn't mean any of it!! Please, please don't die, Tare..."

Jonas and Hanna re-emerged from where they'd been forced to take immediate cover before. Hanna made it to Karami's side before Jonas could.

"Tare!" The urgency in her voice made her shrill. Jonas slid to a stop above them all, his face grim.

"It's ok, it's ok," Tare tried weakly to reassure Karami, who was almost hysterical by this point. "Listen to me, kiddo... I love you more than anything else in this world. I mean it. I love you so, so much." Hanna and Karami were both crying openly by this point, and not even Jonas seemed unaffected.

All of a sudden, the door behind them all was ripped from the hinges and Melcara burst into the room in a flurry of hair and feathers. "TARE!!!"

Jonas almost started moving to put himself inbetween her and Tare, but Melcara's speed was too much for the older man's reflexes-- all the better for Jonas, because he wouldn't have slowed her down anyway.

Theme Music

The realization that the archangel was here and alive seemed to return a fraction of Tare's energy to him. "Melcara!" He choked through the blood filling his lungs. "TARE!!" She gasped, sliding to her knees and pulling herself close to him.

"I should've... I... They got me good, I guess," He tried to smile, but it was plain that he was in agony. Melcara tried to see how wounded he was, but upon seeing the surely fatal wounds in his chest, her face lost its frantic hope.

"Did you get her, Mel?" Tare asked. Melcara seemed not to even remember who he was talking about for a second, and when she did it was not without pain. She smiled anyway. "Yes, I got her, Tare." He nodded. "Good."

Tare looked up at Karami. "Be a good girl. Keep painting." He charged her. She smiled through her tears and nodded.

"Jonas, Hanna... keep her safe."

Jonas nodded firmly. "I give you my word. She will be protected."

Tare nodded and smiled a smile of peace. He laid back against the archangel cradling his head. Finally, something caught the thief's mind and somehow registered in his mind even as it caused his heart to catch in his throat. "...Melcara, you're bleeding," He managed a whisper, through a cough of his own blood that dribbled down his chin.

Melcara choked on a laugh. "You foolish thief, think about your own self for once." Her smile was reassuring, but her eyes were full of the pain and horror of knowing that her fate, not unlike his, was at this point inevitable.

"We'll find each other, Melcara. I promise, I'll find some way to-- to..." By now the color was gone from his eyes. Melcara held his head close to her own.

"Melcara?"

The archangel sobbed through a deep breath, unable to disguise the anguish anymore. "Yes, Tare? What is it?"

He was silent for several achingly long seconds, and when he did finally speak it was clear that every remaining ounce of his strength was spent forcing his mouth to slowly form the words. "........I love you."


...And the thief was dead.

[Inspectre]

The Hero of the Oppressed

OverWilliam

You unleash everything you have left, and far more beyond that, into the host of bodyguards Vylethar had brought with him. Though it was a fierce battle, none of them ever stood a chance. When it was down to just you and Vylethar, the humbled grandmaster tried to crawl away from you into a dark corner, whimpering.

“What are you!? Not a demon, not a human . . . what the Heavens ARE YOU!!?”

The demon lord falls silent as you grab hold of him, lifting him up to within an inch of your face. He remains silent save for terrified whimpers as you explain to him exactly what was going to happen next. And then when you are finally sick of looking at this disgusting creature, you pulverize the top half of him into ash with a single blow. It is only then that the past five minutes catch up to you, and you collapse to the floor. As Limier before you, you can tell that it won’t be long, and that there would be no stopping or delaying this return trip to the Hells.

Tare’s Ending Theme

Karami, Hannah, and Jonah crowd around you, the two adults giving their surrogate daughter space as she desperately clings to you and blubbers apology after apology. Then the door tears itself apart, and Melcara rushes into the room. She looks around at the new black blood paint adorning everything in confusion, and then her eyes settle on you and all is forgotten.

“I can fix this. We can get you out of the city in time. The Hells won’t become your home.”

Melcara mutters, her tone no less desperate and pleading than Karami’s. But it quickly becomes clear that you cannot be moved, certainly not as far and as fast as it would take to get outside the city in the time you have left. So, reluctantly, Melcara joins the other three well-wishers at your wake, and clings to the short remaining time you have left together.

Although your vision is fading, with your head on Melcara’s lap you cannot fail to notice the steady stream of blood oozing out of a scratch on her cheek, the blood flowing down and mingling with her tears before dripping down onto you and the floor. Unlike previous, far more serious wounds, this simple scratch stubbornly refused to close, and you knew that Melcara would be joining you shortly.

All that effort to get everyone safely out of the Hells, and for what? Teareal was leading his people on a genocidal rampage, you, Limier, and Melcara were going back to the Hells, and gods know whether Jim was keeping his promise to make the most of his second chance. It wasn’t going to be all for nothing. You crawled out of the Hells once, and if it was going to be your new home, then you damn well were going to do some redecorating! But . . . later, after you rest . . . you were so tired . . . couldn’t even keep your eyes open anymore.

With the last of your strength, you whisper the words that had been steadily growing in your heart. Whatever Melcara’s reply, you didn’t hear it as you allowed the darkness to claim you at last.

*****

You awake slowly, the sound of moans and distant screams ringing in your ears, and a hot wind blasting into your face. As you open your eyes, you find yourself lying on the edge of an all-too-familiar dark forest. And off in the distance on an also all-too-familiar plateau sat the dark shape of the Screaming Dark Estate.

Only something was different about the estate now. Its windows were all brightly lit, a hellish glow pouring out of every single one. Countless demons danced and twirled in the skies above, and on the ground, an endless moving stream flowed towards the estate’s gates. It took you a long moment to realize that the stream was composed entirely of bodies, countless slaves shuffling along while forward along by fiendish whips and insults. And to your steadily growing horror, not all of the Screaming Dark estate’s new guests were human, as filthy wings that were once pearly white jutted out from the crowd here and there.

You have only a minute to take this all in before the sound of a guttural throat being cleared comes from somewhere behind and above you. Twisting your head, you find Crx standing there, towering over you as he glowers down at you.

“Welcome back.”

He grunts with a grin, and then he brings his trident down onto your head, and you fade once more into blackness.

End of Part II

[Inspectre]

On the far side of the city, the withdrawing paladins and bedraggled survivors watch in horror as the capital city collapses in upon itself. For a few minutes the motley assortment simply watch the destroyed city, hoping – but also fearing – to see anything crawl or fly out of the devestation. Finally, Tyra gives the order from her stretcher.

“Move out. Let us camp as far away from this damned place as possible!”

Slowly, the battered army gathers itself together to move off, but not before a sentry looks back for one last time.

“Watch out! That dragon is coming out of the ruins and heading right for us!”

Slowly, too slowly, those paladins still capable of fighting draw themselves together into a battle-line, arming themselves with ranged weapons as they form up. Fortunately, another sentry with shaper eyes makes out a number of other winged shapes flying in formation with the dangerous beast – the remaining branded angels.

“Hold! Do not fire!”

Tyra orders, and the command is relayed in time to avoid any tragic misunderstandings. Also fortunate, for there were very few paladins left that are in any shape to fight. As the dragon grows large, it swoops down towards the assembled crowd as if preparing to make a strafing pass with its dragon breath. Many civilians cry out in terror, and even more than one paladin flinches in preparation for the stream of fire. But no such attack comes, and the dragon lands a short distance away, chortling to itself. The paladins riding upon its back immediately throw themselves off, and the dragon helps more than a few by shaking its back like a dog casting off fleas. When the last paladin is off, the dragon rears up and speaks in its loud rumbling voice.

“Good. Maybe you cretins will remember this the next time some idiot decides he wants to be a dragonslayer. And with that old debt paid, I’m off to remind the world that not all of the dragons are dead.”

And with that the dragon heaves itself back up into the air and rapidly disappears in the direction of the horizon. Everyone present breathes a sigh of relief at the creature’s departure, and then the questioning of the would-be dragonriders begins.

They are able to confirm that Miriam escaped, that the heretic Gast went down with his airship, and that they are the last ones to make it out of the city.

“And what of the Lord General?”

Katashiko asks as she muscles her way to the front of the crowd.

Ander was last seen fighting Hephestia on the ground. There was no way he could have gotten out in time.

“Not that one!”

Katashiko snorts, although she manages a concerned frown at the fate of her first holy man friend.

“Your current leader! Tall, broad-shouldered, rocky complexion, likes to talk about duty and honor!?”

Hondshioh was aboard the Gastly Truth as it went down. He held off the Herald of Azguloth, allowing them to escape. In the final moments, he was overheard asking Seraphan Gast if a message could be delivered. Evidentially Seraphan did not make it out either.

“And this message? What was it – some sort of final encouragement? Keep fighting the good fight, eat your vegetables?”

Apparently it was an apology of sorts – the exact specifics were not heard over the din of battle, but the Lord General wanted to apologize for breaking his promise. Understanding the meaning of this, Katashiko makes a choking sound, half laugh and half sob, and turns towards the city. She raises a hand halfway up her face and then pauses, looking down in seeming fascination as she works the fingers one by one. Slowly, she balls her hand into a fist and turns back to the crowd.

Theme Song

“Why do the brave ones always die?”

She whispers, and then repeats the words, shouting them so that all eyes suddenly turn to her as she continues.

“Why do the brave ones always die!? I’ll tell you why – because they throw themselves into harm’s way! They think that they have to, that by taking the blow meant for another they are saving that person! But we, the survivors, know the truth don’t we? We know that they are WRONG! That we are more injured and diminished by their loss than any wound a mere blade can inflict! They think that their sacrifice is a selfless act, but who is really spared by their death!? They are DEAD! They feel NOTHING anymore! While we have to endure not just the loss, but do it without the support they once offered! And what do we give these “heroes” in return? Our admiration and monuments to ensure that they are never forgotten!”

“That is enough. You will not speak ill of the dead! Not here, not today!”

Tyra growled from her stretcher, trying to push herself up only for her attendants to push her back down. Katashiko merely laughed and threw her arms wide.

“They’re DEAD! Don’t you get it!? They can’t hear us, they don’t care about us, they are gone and they are never coming back! Oh, and how does it feel to know that all this sacrifice has been for nothing!? That there is no reward waiting for your friends and loved ones, no peaceful rest for them to enjoy after giving EVERYTHING for their damn goddess!?”

“Enough! If you wish to grieve, do it in your own way somewhere else! We have all had enough blasphemy for one day!”

Tyra said, her anger having faded with her voice to a low, threatening pitch. Again, Katashiko simply laughs, although this time her laughter cracks briefly into a sob.

“Oh, I intend to! I am going to the nearest inn that is left standing, right after this! And I am going to get so drunk, that I will hopefully black out not only the memory of what follows after, but this entire damn day! But . . . before I go. Since you all clearly want a monument to commemorate this slaughter, allow me to indulge you!”

Whirling back to face the remains of the city, Katashiko held her hands up, like a conductor before an orchestra. Strain became visible on her face immediately, and for several long moments nothing happened. Then, with a loud crack, the city began to shift again, this time not down by up. Waving her hands furiously now, as sweat began to bead on her brow, Katashiko tore the earth beneath the capital apart. Some parts she plunged down into the sea, allowing the bay to expand as little inlets here and there. Other sections she thrust up high into the air, long spears stabbing up at the sky and shadowing the new narrow coves that had been created.

The end creation was chaos, a jumbled collection that followed no rhyme or reason – Katashiko’s own interpretation of the meaning of life made real. When she finally stopped, it seemed more out of exhaustion than desire. Somehow, she managed to stay on her feet, slowly walking out through the crowd and towards the horizon alone. Although a few moved to help her, they all stepped back when she turned her gaze upon them.

And no one saw the blond-haired woman standing far off in the distance, listening as Katashiko’s words were carried to her on the wind. Nor did they see her smile as she relayed a message of her own on the same breeze.

“She has broken her pact with the holy men, as we knew she would. Now is our chance to end this.”

************************

(Incidentally, Trent’s crossbow, albeit a fantasy version on crack, actually exists! )

Theme Song

If he was capable of feeling it, Trent would have been disappointed as Titania’s supposed daughter escaped through the portal. But the wind did not feel disappointment, nor did the sun tire of making its rounds from horizon to horizon every day. If she survived, Trent would find her again, and end her. For now, he would deprive her of a useful ally, and eliminate a dangerous traitor in his master’s ranks, by making sure that Alya was dead.

He was cautious in his approach, for caution was not an emotional response provided it was motivated by operational prudence and not fear. The young girl who had come to the Baron’s court had been weak and easily frightened, but she possessed enough strength to ask him for knowledge. Knowledge he had given her via Istomilo, and later Titania, and the frightened girl had been hardened into another monster the Baron could set loose against the world. But that monster had bit the hand that had created it, as Trent suspected that it eventually would, and now it was up to him to put the monster down.

Like caution, surprise was not an emotional response, but it was nonetheless undesirable as it implied a lack of knowledge and foresight. Trent was surprised to find Alya lying in a pool of her own blood, one hand clasped desperately and futilely around the bolt protruding from her throat. The monster appeared to be slain already, and that surprise only made him more cautious. Prudence dictated his actions, and so he raised his repeating crossbow back up to his shoulder and loosed another bolt into the witch.

The “corpse” twitched in pain, its scream of agony and fury reduced to a mere gurgle as Alya’s eyes opened. Somewhere behind and to the right of Trent, something did the screaming for her as it took shape to leap at him. Trent danced aside and fired two bolts into the thing’s back as it flew past him, its lunge missing entirely. But this creature was some sort of shadow construct, a monster from the spirit realm formed from Alya’s living tattoos – Trent’s bolts did nothing.

Immediately switching tactics, Trent returned his focus to his original target. He snapped another shot off at Alya, this bolt catching her in the shoulder. At the impact point, her tattoos rippled and flexed, living shadows rising up to wrap around the wound and the base of the bolt’s shaft. Confirmation that Alya’s continued survival was only due to magic. Trent was something of a magician himself – not enough to claim any real talent, but enough to discover ways to disrupt the pattern of existing magics.

Imbuing his last two bolts with that technique, Trent fired them in rapid succession, both of them striking Alya in the torso. He did not feel pleasure at the sight of her tattoos fading, leaving the last of her lifeblood to rush out of the five holes in her body – but it was fortunate that his hypothesis had been correct. The shadow beast Alya had summoned likewise faded and began to break apart – but then reformed with a vengeance and lunged at Trent once more. Only hatred kept Alya alive now, and that was not nearly enough as Trent threw his repeating crossbow aside, drew a pair of blades, and threw himself down on top of her.

The maneuver brought him low and beneath the shadow construct’s final attack, and he used the force from his fall to drive one of his blades deep into the witch, the tip sliding between two ribs to pierce her heart. Even still, Titania’s pet did not immediately die, her lips choking out a sputtering whisper.

“P-princess . . . out of your grasp . . . now.”

“Perhaps.”

Trent said casually in reply, and then swung his other dagger up and then down, burying it in Alya’s left eye and into the brain beyond. The witch shuddered violently for a moment, and then went slack, truly dead at last. Its summoner gone, the shadow beast fell apart, its animating spirit retreating back into its own world. If anyone within the nearby estate had observed the following proceedings, no one dared show their face to investigate. Which was fortunate, as then Trent would have had to kill them. It would not be prudent to do otherwise.

Retrieving his weapons, Trent cleaned his daggers and reloaded the repeating crossbow. Then he pulled several vials from a pouch sewn into his cloak, pouring the contents onto Alya’s body. The caustic liquids began to melt her body, and then burst into flame when they came in contact with each other, incinerating the rest. The witch was no more. Now only the princess remained on his list of targets.

Or perhaps not, as the communication crystal held in another concealed pocket chimed. Pulling it out, Trent examined it to find that a message had been sent to him. Activating the crystal, Trent was not surprised to find that it was Angelo, and not his master Demetrius, who was contacting him. He had been briefed on the possibility that his master would not survive his battle with the Valkyrie, and this seemed a sure confirmation of that outcome.

“Father failed.”

Angelo said simply, evidentially appreciating Trent’s desire for directness.

“Meet me at the fallback rendezvous point. We will be starting Operation Revenant immediately.”

And with that, the master’s son disappeared as he deactivated his crystal. As he had been instructed, in the event of his death the orders of Demetrius’s son were to take precedence over his previous orders. Which meant that he would have to wait to confirm the princess’s death until later. It was only prudent.

**********************

Theme Song

Out of the shattered city, Angelo flew on to safety. His survival was a hollow victory, for he was without resources, without followers, and without family. His father’s plan had failed magnificently, and although he had dragged a great deal of his enemies down with him his ultimate goal had failed to be achieved. The Goddess was still on Her throne, and that meant a great deal of further woe to Angelo if he failed in his next steps.

But Father had always been ambivalent about his chances – one did not simply unmake one of the world’s creators. Though he had failed to kill Miriam, he had made Her bleed. And now it was up to Angelo to devise a way to turn that into a fatal torrent that would drown the gods and wash in a new age for humanity. Right now all Angelo wanted was a very large, very stiff drink.

Landing on a hillside to catch his breath, Angelo turned back to watch as what was left of the city was transformed into a macabre new coastline. Trying not to replay the battle and all of its traumatic moments over and over again in his mind, Angelo thought through his next moves. Somehow, he had enough presence of mind left to remember that Father had sent Trent out to hunt down Pyrene. One assassin hardly seemed enough to restart a revolution with, but it was one more than he had a moment ago.

The communication crystal was slippery with blood – his or Seraphan’s or Aedra’s, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it nearly fell out of his trembling hand as he held it up to his lips.

“Trent.”

He breathed, and the crystal did the rest of the work establishing a link to Trent’s own crystal. A few moments later, and the crystal blinked a picture of Trent’s face into existence. Angelo did his best not to stammer at the master assassin, keeping his sentences short and to the point by necessity.

“Father failed. Meet me at the fallback rendezvous point. We will be starting Operation Revenant immediately.”

Then Angelo thumbed the communication crystal off, the item once again nearly slipping out of his hands. He barely managed to get it back into his pocket before his shaking subsided, to be replaced by the bitter taste of bile in the back of his throat.

“Oh gods!”

Angelo managed to choke out, before he was forced to his knees and expelled the contents of his stomach. Even then, his sickness was not satisfied, and so he dry heaved until at last he brought his body back under control through sheer force of will. It was only then that the voice behind him spoke up.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting?”

Attempting to whirl around at the sound of another’s voice, Angelo only managed to trip himself up and fall onto his ass, thankfully just missing the pool of vomit he had created. Appallingly clumsy as it was, it did bring the interloper into view.

At first Angelo thought that Trent had somehow already gotten here, or perhaps this was Limier, so closely did the man’s garb resemble theirs. But it was equally clear that this newcomer was neither, as he offered a gloved hand down to Angelo.

“Fear not. I am . . . a friend. And I have traveled a very, very long way to be here now. So . . . what’s the plan?”

*****************

Theme Song

As Fate decreed, the Battle for Narle, as it later came to be known, ended in a way that no one involved had intended. No side won the conflict, and for many it was not even a draw for that implied survival.

Gazrul’s mercenaries, Umber’s army, the Undead, and the Mermen were completely wiped out.

Miriam and the Baron’s forces, the principal drivers of this confrontation, had fared little better, their numbers each reduced to a scattered handful – but Miriam still lived.

The paladins had likewise survived, but its survivors were nearly to a man wounded in body and/or spirit. It would be at least a generation before the paladins could field a suitable force again – and it seemed unlikely that the Church would have that long.

The two armies that emerged in the closest thing to victory were the elves – who had withdrawn and fled the battle entirely – and the fiends.

Just as Hondshioh had predicted, the fiends had been the only ones to truly benefit from the Baron’s efforts, their losses nothing that would not reform in short order. Meanwhile, they had acquired countless souls, and far more valuable to their sadistic tastes, equally numerous living prisoners – both human and angel. The Hells could feast on the suffering that would be born in its depths from this battle for many years to come – but as always, it would never be enough. Azguloth had bred His malformed children to be insatiable.

But for now, even the Hells’ armies could not endure the losses it had sustained in this one cataclysmic battle. The fiends would inevitably return, but for now they would do as they always had done, and retreat into their damned kingdom to enjoy their spoils and lick their wounds. For a brief time, the world would once again know peace.

But this peace was not to be the calm rest after the storm. Instead, it was the raw quiet between the tragedy and what came after. No one was satisfied with this outcome, and so in time the horns of war would once again blow. Some would fight to reclaim what had been lost, while others would seek to gain only more.

For now those who had escaped the destruction, either by Flight or Death, they surely thought they had seen an end to this horror. But the first link in the chain has been forged. Nothing can averted. And those who thought the darkness had now passed were as mistaken as those who sought to claim victory today. The worst was yet to come.

END OF PART II

Credits
Theme: Glory to the Brave by Hammerfall

The Cast
(By Order of Appearance)

King/Baron Demetrius Gast (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Gazrul (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Falconer
Innkeeper (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Warpfire777
Adventurer (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Ruya Perist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Meltemi
Hans von Ravenstein (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . MrEdwardNigma
Prisoner (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Prock
Abbie (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cpt. Soup
Guard (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Telest (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Gourtox
Dattan (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . DJDeMiko
Carl (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Korram Alstan (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dorizzit
Sohssal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Iethloc
Roger . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Omega/Dahlia (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Ander Windrivver . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Baerdog7
Melcara (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Peeping Tom (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Mar/Marion/Marisiel the Protector . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The_Snark
Julian (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Istomilo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Umber (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . WhiteKnight777
Bran . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Pyria/Pyrene/Jacqueline . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lonna
Countess Amelia Ashargrin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Garthax . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Klaus (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Rudolf (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Ardrakhet Oldn (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pwenet
Tare (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . OverWilliam
Limier (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Calcifer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Scruff (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Stonefall’s Priest . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Seymour Crast . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Caroline the Elder (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Caroline the Younger . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
William . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Sir Cheran Gast (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Sir Angelo Gast . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Sir Seraphan Gast (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Sir Nephilium Gast (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Rose Volesin Gast . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Kris/Katrina Alstan (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Varlest (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Richard (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Wulfric Termann . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Alexander Ross . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Seymour the Dog (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Malohk (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Melissan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Heath (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Lucure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Delora Cryst (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Infernas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Harold Delmonte (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Athelion the Lightbringer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Miriam the Valkyrie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Caitlyn Windrivver (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Gerald Windrivver (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Jacob . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Tur Villid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Vash (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Adamè . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Vivian (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Madeline (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Sandra/Amanda (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Kurt (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Joanna (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Mellita/Marialta (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Vickers (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Grandmaster Vylethar (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Ysora the Teacher . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Queen Titania . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Speaker Adamus Crane (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Speaker Morganna (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Exarch Tyra . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Exarch Logan (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Exarch Gustaf (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Exarch Quincy (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Exarch Greyson (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Exarch Damont (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Exarch Tiberius (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Kartul (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Karth the Purifier (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Caxle the Obnoxious (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Helion (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Alya Perist (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Karami . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Brock (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Ariella . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Duke Hohenheim Volesin (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Fury (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Sir Celestan Gast (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Sara Gast (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Isabella Gast (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Hephestia the Adjudicator . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Sunbeak the Griffon (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Captain Drakeson (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
David the Squire (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Miranda . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Incom Morgan (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pwenet
Prince Teareal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Jim/Moloch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
First Talon Crx (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Abbot James Hallowell . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Isera Harvent . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Kasanip
Berrick Ternist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Cherise . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Carlain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Argan (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tackyhillbillu
Meya Wayborn (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Soras Teva Gee
Pan (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Hondshioh . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archpaladin Zousha
The Spirit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Gorgondantess
Octavio Galloway (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Darth Malevo
Johann (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Morpheus
Marlexa (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Marius (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Richard/Pete (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Gilbert (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Clara (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Tinavius Augustus Winthrop the Third (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Gilgaem (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Larry the Warden (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Icarus (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Wilford Daedelus The Third (Dead). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Mina (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Grodo (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Soneir Perist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Ayse Perist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
The Owner (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Mountain (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Shiakti (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Royal Healer Fenrick (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
King Tallon IV (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Oldak Chandler (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Jean Harvent . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Duncan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Shanks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Xerxes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Alice (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Bruce The High Priest . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Ulrich (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Martin (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Purifier . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Burton the Butcher (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Xera the Griffon (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Theresa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Firkas (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Katashiko . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Constable Eastham (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Willifred Duramont (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Yukiko . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Sorako . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Natsuko . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Nepton (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Donallo (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Cassandra (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Aedra (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Deborah (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Maurice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Reaper (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Totobean
The Puppet Master (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Jamkas Urtharson (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Winril Milner . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Ricster Hawklight (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Belroar Halfhand (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Norven (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Emma/ (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Cynthia Whitehall (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Larry Gecko . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Fernard . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Inquisitor Albert Silverton (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Mario (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Insecptre
The Black General . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Artur (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Daz’ckick (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Jacqueline’s Mother (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Lunara (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Sal Mercer (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Elsa Mercer Gast (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Albert . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Arlan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Eldred . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
GHAST Arguile (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
GHAST Jape (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
GHAST Walters (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
GHAST Cuso (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Zarieal (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Omnicron . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Viscount Damont . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Hannah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Jonas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Quadramus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Augustus (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Nu (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Omnicron’s Sister . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Genevieve The Champion (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Mal Harath . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Vegna
Ms. Hatchaw (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Lars (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Victoria (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Xeric . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Tournament Organizer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Tur Galadren . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
The Judge – Adrianna (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
The Judge – Arlan (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
The Herald of Azguloth (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Daddy/Brother Corwin (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Walters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Benedict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Alfred . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Selvi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Ember Montiguard (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Skor Pon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Val’Tosh . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Elandra (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
The Hierarch/Dacian (Dead) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Master Vork . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Trent Addler . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre
Mysterious Cloaked Figure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inspectre

Special Post Credits Scene

After the chaos of the Gastly Truth’s descent into the Hells, after its explosive destruction, and after the area has been swept clean by the fiends, all is silent and still around the memorial to Demetrius Gast’s madness. But then, in one small corner of the wreckage, a piece of scrap shifts, ever so slightly, allowing something to crawl out. No bigger than a large rat, the imp chatters with exertion as it struggles to pull itself out the rest of the way from the metal plate. Its progress is further hampered by the finger-size red crystal jutting out from its chest, but eventually the creature escapes from its prison. With a sigh, it stretches out on the barren, wind-swept ground.

“Well . . . that could have gone better.”

Demetrius Gast hissed to himself, scrambling back up onto his tiny clawed feet as he heard another tiny voice answer him from behind and above.

“Actually, I thought it went just fine.”

Turning, Demetrius saw another imp perched on a tall, narrow spike of shrapnel above him. From its chest, too, a finger-sized crystal jutted.

“Now we’re both right where we belong, brother. You’re in the Hells as the lowest of the low, and I get to be here to make sure the rest of your existence is as miserable as possible. Speaking of which.”

Spreading his tiny wings wide, Incom Morgan swooped down onto Demetrius, and the two imps rolled around on the ground, hissing, spitting, and clawing at each other. It was going to be a long eternity.

Special Post-Credits Scene Two

Return to Ironheart
(Ironheart Sage Part Three)
Theme Song: Shot in the Dark by Within Temptation

(Each scene is tied to a different stanza of the song. I thought about trying to make a music video for this, but figured you didn’t want to wait a couple weeks while I pieced that together. )


Miriam – “The prophecy of the Uncertain King. All things must end, even the reign of the gods. Watch then for these signs that will usher in a new era, the reign of the Certain King.” (Intro)

*Scene of Tare, locked in an iron maiden with only his head visible, being dragged through the Screaming Dark Estate* (I’ve been left out alone, like a damn criminal)

*Scene of Hondshioh, kneeling on the floor of his cell in the Hells, trying to pray only to find that he cannot concentrate over the sound of the screams* (I’ve been praying for help, cause I can’t take it all)

*Scene of Umber opening his eyes to find himself in a barren wasteland, a primitive city just visible on the horizon* (I’m not done)

*Scene of Ander and Tyra in an office, arguing. “We’re finished, Ander, can’t you see that!? It’s over!”* (It’s not over)

*Scene of Korram pummeling several humans in demonic armor on the streets of the Heavens* (Now I’m fighting this war, since the day of the fall)

*Scene of Sohssal standing in the midst of a council chamber, surrounded by the Lords of the Hells, while one of them shrieks at him “Will you or will you not commit your resources to this invasion, Lord Nihilus!?”* (And I’m desperately holding on to it all)

*Scene of Pyrene waking up in a bed, looking around to find that she seems to be inside a castle made of ice* (But I’m lost)

*Scene of Mar being dragged along through a dark crystalline forest by Julian’s body, as the portal back to the mortal realm slowly closes behind them* (I’m so damn lost)

*Scene of Mal and Val’Tosh, pushing themselves forward despite exhaustion to crest the final hill on the way to Silverstream before nightfall, only to find the village in flames (Oh I wish it was over)

*Scene of The Spirit idly examining Maurice’s sword and reminiscing, while its high priest berates a bound man clad in filthy robes. “You’re a demon worshipper, this shouldn’t be hard for you! Tell us how to get into the Hells!”* (And I wish you were here)

*Scene of Incom as an imp scrambling down a hallway, a set of keystones dangling from his mouth as he desperately weaves through the legs of several devils trying to catch him* (Still I’m hoping that somehow)

*Scene of flames bursting into existence around Amelia Ashargrin as she screams “I am the Firequeen!”* (Cause your soul is on fire)

*Scene of Umber scrambling along rooftops after Marialta as she looks back, sneering over her shoulder as she begins to casts a spell. “You truly are incorrigible, aren’t you? You can’t fight Fate!”* (A shot in the dark, what did they aim for when they missed your heart?)

*Scene of Mal throwing himself off a cliff, turning the ground at the bottom into a miniature lake of mud before he splashes down into it, bobbing up a moment later*
(I breathe underwater, it’s all in my hands)

*Scene of Mar standing before a massive block of ice, through which a woman perched on a throne is barely visible. “Marisiel. I’ve been waiting a long time for this!” Titania’s voice howls as the ice begins to crack and split apart.* (What can I do? Don’t let it fall apart)

*Scene of Tare rallying a bunch of ragged prisoners to revolt* (A shot in the dark)

*Scene of Sohssal engaged in battle with Arlan, while shouting instructions to Shanks as he attempts to disable a set of demonic contagion canisters* (A shot in the dark)

*Scene of Pyrene using her memory-swap ability on Wulfric* (In the blink of an eye, I can see through your eyes)

*Scene of Hondshioh being confronted by the Black General. “So tell me paladin – after witnessing the full price that was paid, was it still all worth it!?”* (As I’m lying awake I’m still hearing their cries)

*Scene of Mar limping off down a hallway, while Istomilo howls in rage behind her, attempting to pull an icicle out of his leg* (And it hurts)

*Scene of Tare engaged in a shirtless, bare-knuckled boxing match with Lord Vylethar* (Hurts me so bad)

*Scene of Ander looking down at his wife’s necklace and clenching it in resolute anger* (And I’m wondering why I still fight in this life)

*Scene of Ysora throwing her sword into a lake and then walking away* (Cause I’ve lost all my faith in this damn bitter strife)

*Scene of Incom struggling to comfort an injured and weeping Isabella* (And it’s sad)

*Scene of Miriam burying Her face into Her hands and sobbing openly* (It’s so damn sad)

*Scene of Omnicron kneeling before The Spirit. “We need your help. The Archdemons have returned!”* (Oh I wish it was over)

*Scene of Hondshioh and Katashiko exchanging blows next to a small stream* (And I wish you were here)

*Scene of Master Vork bowing his head before Mal. “Although I wish it was not needed, I feel that the time has come to teach you my ultimate technique.”* (Still I’m hoping that somehow)

*Scene of Calcifer bursting into being in front of Korram. “You’ve got serious problems now, my friend.”* (Cause your soul is on fire, a shot in the dark)

*Scene of Pyrene looking on as Wulfric and a centaur savagely brawl in front of her* (What did they aim for when they missed your heart?)

*Scene of Umber breaking the surface of the ocean, clutching an unconscious Fianna in his arms* (I breathe underwater, it’s all in my hands)

*Scene of Ander and Hondshioh bursting into the throne room of the Palace of the Sun, as Miriam looks up wearily “Are you here to kill me?”* (What can I do? Don’t let it fall apart)

*Scene of Angelo standing over the Great Seal at the bottom of Ironheart, slitting his wrist as he screams “The blood of the Certain King!”* (A shot in the dark)

*Scene of The Spirit leaping up towards Quadramus, who is currently standing on the back of an utterly massive multi-headed worm* (A shot in the dark)

*Scene of Duncan stepping into the room with a self-depreciating smile. ‘So – I heard you were looking for an expert on the Hells?”* (A shot in the dark)

*Scene of Tare battling the Mysterious Cloaked Figure atop an open scaffolding tower while Hellish armies clash below* (A shot in the dark)

*Scene of Sohssal standing before an army, as Roger walks up to him. “It took me awhile, but I’m back! And I’m not going to let you get away with this, Sohssal!”* (A shot in the dark)

*Scene of Mar looking down at the band of copper scraps tied around her wrist, the voices of Julian, Jacob, William, and Caroline echoing in her ears* (I feel you, fading away)

*Scene of Tare standing in front of a simple grave marked “Rhea Eveson” (I feel you, fading away)

*Scene of Korram calling out Katrina’s name as he runs down a long corridor lined with packed cells (I feel you, fading away)

*Scene of Pyrene watching Wulfric sleep, a worried expression on her face (I feel you, fading away)

Azguloth – “The stars shall fall, and the ground shall wither. Those Who Sleep shall awake, and chaos shall follow after. Upon its funeral pyre the world shall burn, until the Certain King shall come forth to lead all into the darkness of perfect death.” (guitar solo)

*Scene of Umber touching an ornate gate carved into a mountainside, the door beginning to glow and swing inward at his touch (Cause your soul is on fire, a shot in the dark)

*Scene of a heavily armed cloaked figure defeating several assailants, and then pulling back her cowl to reveal herself as Rose (What did they aim for when they missed your heart?)

*Scene of Miriam conducting some sort of ritual, as the Heavens’ skies turn blood red* (I breathe underwater, it’s all in my hands)

*Scene of Umber cautiously advancing down the dark stairs of the ziggurat at the bottom of Ironheart, mad triumphant laughter echoing up to greet him* (What can I do? Don’t let it fall apart)

*Scene of Amelia throwing herself into a surprised Korram’s arms, kissing him vigorously* (Oh your soul is on fire, a shot in the dark)

*Scene of Nephilium brushing a lock of hair out of branded Ysora face. “Actually, I think they only make you more beautiful.”* (What did they aim for when they missed your heart?)

*Scene of Sohssal screaming as torrents of arcane power rush into his body, beginning to transform him (I breathe underwater, it’s all in my hands)

*Scene of everyone standing battle-ready before the Throne of Athelion, atop which sits a dark figure wearing a crown topped with a replica of Ironheart (What can I do? Don’t let it fall apart)

Athelion – “All has been foreseen. Nothing can be averted.” (A shot in the dark x 5)

The Certain King – “And now this world shall die – not with a whimper, but a scream.” (End)

[Inspectre]

Okay, Flight from Ironheart is now officially complete! Which means it is time for the official Flight from Ironheart Survey!!

If you could either post here or PM me answers to the following questions, I would greatly appreciate it.

• Barring escape from whatever unpleasant situations your characters currently are in, what are their future goals?
• What sort of situations would you like to see your character put in? Fighting, socializing, figuring out puzzles, taking a moral stand? What sort of things do you as a player most enjoy doing in a game?
• What did you like about this thread? What were your favorite parts?
• What did you think about the finale of Flight? (other than the fact that it was very slow )
• What did you like least about this thread?
• Who was your favorite NPC character(s)? (I thought we should stick to NPCs to avoid a popularity contest amongst players).
• Who was your least favorite NPC character(s)? (Note this is characters you thought were weak, or nonsensical, or grating - not vile characters who you enjoyed watching die horribly).
• Who did you enjoy seeing die the most? (Now you can talk about those characters you actually enjoyed to hate, if any)
• Is there anything you wish to see happen in Part Three?
• Do you have any general suggestions for Part Three?
• Any predictions for Part Three?
• Not necessarily a question you need to answer, but something you definitely need to think about. The central theme of Return to Ironheart is "Death is a transformation, not a conclusion". How will your character change in Return, either in reaction to their own death or whoever has died that was close to them (and how *they* change).
• Plus anything else you would like to talk about.

[Lonna]

Flight from Ironheart Survey!!

Barring escape from whatever unpleasant situations your characters currently are in, what are their future goals?

Well, since Pyrene's finale pretty much eliminated her ongoing goals from the first two parts, she'll be focused on developing her newly acknowledged romance with Wulfric, as well as dealing with the unknown complications of having a "mother" who is queen of the Fae.

What sort of situations would you like to see your character put in? Fighting, socializing, figuring out puzzles, taking a moral stand? What sort of things do you as a player most enjoy doing in a game?

I like my character being put in positions that challenge her moral compass (skewed as it is) and her assumptions of how the world works. She's just broken the cycles of hate and revenge that have determined her adult life and now she has to determine what she wants for herself. On the other hand, she's also the most powerful sorceress in existence, and kicking serious butt with magic is just fun.

What did you like about this thread? What were your favorite parts?

I really don't know how to narrow down my favorite parts of a three year thread! A few of my favorites include (in no particular order, just as they come into my head) Tare busting Melcara out of Hell, Korram finding out about Katrina, and everyone getting their kick at Cheran before he died.

What did you think about the finale of Flight? (other than the fact that it was very slow )

I liked that with a few exceptions, everyone's timelines got untangled enough that everything we were reading was happening more or less at the same time. I also liked that the result was highly dependent on the actions of the PCs; there was no sense that the players were being shoehorned into one of a few options.

What did you like least about this thread?

There was something to dislike? Well.... I suppose I disliked the way players sometimes disappeared without warning.... but we've gotten a couple of those back, so I really can't complain.

Who was your favorite NPC character(s)? (I thought we should stick to NPCs to avoid a popularity contest amongst players).

For me it's a toss up between Melcara, the first fallen angel, and Nephilheim, arguably the strangest of the Gast sons. I think I like them because they are complex, conflicted characters.

Who was your least favorite NPC character(s)? (Note this is characters you thought were weak, or nonsensical, or grating - not vile characters who you enjoyed watching die horribly).

No one comes to mind...

Who did you enjoy seeing die the most? (Now you can talk about those characters you actually enjoyed to hate, if any)

Cheran. GHAST Cheran. Oh, and Hephestia. Did I mention Cheran?

Do you have any general suggestions for Part Three?

Keep doing the awesome job you've done on parts one and two!

[Dorizzit]

Barring escape from whatever unpleasant situations your characters currently are in, what are their future goals?

Korram wants to rescue Katrina. In ignorance of the many terrible things going on behind the scenes and the coming storm, that is his first, last, and only motivation.
"Wait, in ignorance of what? Son of a..."

What sort of situations would you like to see your character put in? Fighting, socializing, figuring out puzzles, taking a moral stand? What sort of things do you as a player most enjoy doing in a game?

Fighting and situations dealing with morality are generally where Korram really shines. However, I felt like my characterization of him was a bit all over the place during Flight, and social interaction would give me a valuable opportunity to solidify his character and growth. Really, any of these are good. I'm not a huge fan of puzzles in Freeform RP, plus I would have difficulty justifying Korram's ability to solve such things.
"...What do you mean by that, exactly?"

What did you like about this thread? What were your favorite parts?

Yes.
"No."

What did you think about the finale of Flight? (other than the fact that it was very slow )

I really liked it. I thought it was a very epic and fitting conclusion to this thread. My only problem was that I felt pretty powerless to affect survival of the NPCs around Korram, but in reflection that's probably fitting given his situation.
"My whole family died over the course of 15 minutes."

What did you like least about this thread?

It felt a lot like every time I turned around Korram was stuck between two bad decisions with no right answers. While that kind of choice can certainly make the story better when used sparingly, it got a bit frustrating. I may also have a skewed perspective, however; since the game has been going on for so long, my sense of time is a bit distorted.
"The parts where you killed people I liked."

Who was your favorite NPC character(s)?

I really like Korram's cast of supporting characters. Seraphan and Katrina stand out as personal favorites; Seraphan for just generally being a Badass and finally pulling himself together, and Katrina for her indomitable will (can't imagine where she got that from), and managing to keep up, even just a little, with people who had her hilariously outgunned through a combination of wits, skill, and grit. I didn't pay too much attention to other character's story lines, so I can't really comment on their NPCs.
"Katrina."

Who was your least favorite NPC character(s)?

Purifier kind of showed up out of nowhere and seemed fairly one dimensional, but at the same time his presence wasn't completely illogical (Korram is pretty much a perfect host), and I get the sense I was only getting part of the picture.
"Stop being so nice to that thing."

Who did you enjoy seeing die the most? (Now you can talk about those characters you actually enjoyed to hate, if any)

Cheran. Dear god, that man was a horrible human being.
"...Actually, I agree completely."

Is there anything you wish to see happen in Part Three?

I'd like to see Korram and Calcifer meet again (not looking like it's going to be a problem).
I enjoy any conflicts between Korram and the Baron or his less sympathetic progeny.
I'd like to see some kind of resolution to the situations with Katrina and Sarah.
"Wow, I think every single one of those can go badly for me."
Someone is pessimistic right now.

Do you have any general suggestions for Part Three?

I've got nothing.
"Fix everything. Make it all better. Fill the world with sunshine and happiness, then turn Azguloth into a kitten or something."

Any predictions for Part Three?

The last time I made a prediction I was hilariously wrong. I'm keeping my mouth shut to avoid embarrassing myself.
"A bit late to start, isn't it?"

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Barring escape from whatever unpleasant situations your characters currently are in, what are their future goals?

Hondshioh's goals (apart from busting out of Hell, obviously), would be reuniting with Katashiko, Ander and company. Once they bring him up to speed on what's happened while he's in Hell, then he'd try to figure out where to go from there.

What sort of situations would you like to see your character put in? Fighting, socializing, figuring out puzzles, taking a moral stand? What sort of things do you as a player most enjoy doing in a game?

Taking moral stands is what Hondshioh's all about, and role-playing with others is a whole lot of fun. Fighting's something he's supposed to be good at, though I'm finding that Hondshioh tends to use the same tactics no matter what: Harden his skin, charge in and start swinging for the bleachers with a big sword. He's not as agile or subtle as a lot of these other characters.

What did you like about this thread? What were your favorite parts?

I liked the tough situations that every character was put through, and the final culmination of the stories. I think the moments where I got to make big self-righteous speeches were really fun. Made me feel like a real paladin

What did you think about the finale of Flight? (other than the fact that it was very slow )

It was pretty intense, though I think it was kind of (pardon my language) clusterf*cky. It was hard to keep everything that was going on straight.

What did you like least about this thread?

As one of the new kids, I felt kind of locked out by canon. A gazeteer or synopsis would have been helpful.

Who was your favorite NPC character(s)? (I thought we should stick to NPCs to avoid a popularity contest amongst players).

I'd say the generals were pretty fun when they bantered.

Who was your least favorite NPC character(s)? (Note this is characters you thought were weak, or nonsensical, or grating - not vile characters who you enjoyed watching die horribly).

Crane didn't make a whole lot of sense to me. He was supposed to be in charge, yet he seemed to be knowingly acting in direct defiance of Miriam. He was kind of nuts.

Who did you enjoy seeing die the most? (Now you can talk about those characters you actually enjoyed to hate, if any)

It was so satisfying to see Crane and the Baron get what was coming to them. And watching the Baron end up as a little imp was funny.

Is there anything you wish to see happen in Part Three?

I think most of your previews hit the nail on the head for stuff I'd want to see happen.

Do you have any general suggestions for Part Three?

No, not really, though maybe a recap of the events of the previous two threads may be nice for newbs like me.

Any predictions for Part Three?

I'd like to see how your previews pan out.

Not necessarily a question you need to answer, but something you definitely need to think about. The central theme of Return to Ironheart is "Death is a transformation, not a conclusion". How will your character change in Return, either in reaction to their own death or whoever has died that was close to them (and how *they* change).

I'm guessing that the rift between Miriam and the paladins is going to increase and Hondshioh is going to have to decide where his loyalties lie once and for all.

Plus anything else you would like to talk about.

Can't wait to get going!

[Vegna]

Barring escape from whatever unpleasant situations your characters currently are in, what are their future goals?

Become a Master of Terra Style and carry on the teachings to a student of his own.

What sort of situations would you like to see your character put in? Fighting, socializing, figuring out puzzles, taking a moral stand? What sort of things do you as a player most enjoy doing in a game?

I'd like to get thrown into it all But I guess a moral stand would be first on the list, as Mal hasn't had to really deal with the same issues as the longer-running players.

What did you like about this thread? What were your favorite parts?

I enjoyed the diversity and effort made, espescially when reading the hell the others are going through. As for favourite parts, Val'Tosh's boulder attempt.

What did you think about the finale of Flight? (other than the fact that it was very slow )

Just glad I could get into it in time. Very epic for the Battle of Armies, but mud monsters and teleporting martial artists are fun too.

What did you like least about this thread?

Nothing.

Who was your favorite NPC character(s)? (I thought we should stick to NPCs to avoid a popularity contest amongst players).

Val'Tosh! For NPC's that everyone else knew about, I'd say the Herald, pretty cool antagonist .... in design, not sympathy <.< >.>

Who was your least favorite NPC character(s)? (Note this is characters you thought were weak, or nonsensical, or grating - not vile characters who you enjoyed watching die horribly).

Eh *shrug* No complaints.

Who did you enjoy seeing die the most? (Now you can talk about those characters you actually enjoyed to hate, if any)

Baron Gast, because he's now an imp and that's hilarious.

Is there anything you wish to see happen in Part Three?

For Mal to be a credible help compared to the other PC powerhouses, before game's end, but I think long-range Earth magic and ULTIMATE TECHNIQUE(TM) kind of has that covered. Maybe get the chance to meet another PC too, pre-finale. Also, some attempt to get back any kidnapped slaves from the elves.

Do you have any general suggestions for Part Three?

For the Certain King, give him some minions that are can specifically counter individual PCs, so either tactics will need to be changed dramatically or teamwork is needed.

Any predictions for Part Three?

The Certain King will succeed in reducing all life to zero, minus himself and maybe his minions, but the PCs will come back to life again for the last time to defeat him. If they win, they'll be given the option to undo the deaths caused, or change the world in the own interests, possibly sparking the final fight to be between the PC's who have their own plans for the world and those who want it to be the same again.

Not necessarily a question you need to answer, but something you definitely need to think about. The central theme of Return to Ironheart is "Death is a transformation, not a conclusion". How will your character change in Return, either in reaction to their own death or whoever has died that was close to them (and how *they* change).

Its more the reverse in Mal's case, with Master Vork appearing to be alive again. Its lightened the vendeta he had, though the Tournement Organiser will face judgement if Mal can provide! *shakes fist* Its probably thanks to that mood lifter that he and Val'Tosh had a very un-Ironheart-ish laugh together at the story's conclusion.

Plus anything else you would like to talk about.

Even though I came in right at the edge of the finale, thanks for squeezing me in and making me a part of this amazing story!

[Gorgondantess]

[*]Barring escape from whatever unpleasant situations your characters currently are in, what are their future goals?

Find Maurice, if that wasn't obvious enough. Everything kinda fades into the background with that one.

[*]What sort of situations would you like to see your character put in? Fighting, socializing, figuring out puzzles, taking a moral stand? What sort of things do you as a player most enjoy doing in a game?

Moral stand, primarily- I don't think I've had overly much of that, and it would be interesting to see how that pans out. Also, socializing/intrigue and such is always good.

[*]What did you like about this thread? What were your favorite parts?

Hmmm... Hard to say, really. Her interactions with Maurice were probably my favorites, though.

[*]What did you think about the finale of Flight? (other than the fact that it was very slow )

...Didn't read much of it, really, and considering I wasn't even really a part of it... yeah.

[*]What did you like least about this thread?

The slowness. I know it's been said before, but seriously, part of the reason I'm finding this survey difficult is because it's been so damn long since I've done anything. Granted, I have special circumstances, but still- the fact remains that the slowness of this thread has a direct negative impact on the game beyond the simple "Takes longer to get stuff done." When I put up a post, I start to immerse myself in the events of this game once more. I'm in the headspace, y'know? And then a week passes, and that headspace is gone. And another week passes, and I frankly I forget about Ironheart altogether because other pressing things arise. And then when a post finally goes up I have to re-immerse myself in the setting and character, every bloody time. I, for one, can say that it's rather hurt my characterization- I feel I could do a lot better on that front, and I think a part of that is due to the lack of immersion.
Now, I'm not trying to point fingers here. I know it's beyond the control of just about everyone here. However, I do think certain things should be addressed- one point of note is the length of each post in this game. Truly, especially compared to other PbP games, it's titanic While it's not necessarily a bad thing- indeed, it's part of what makes this game unique- I think it has a correlation with the slowness. After all, it takes longer to write up a longer post. I think this may be partially due to a sortof positive feedback loop- we all know the game's slow, which makes everyone want to stuff more content into their post because they know the next one will take so long to get to, which then increases the time it takes for them to post, which then exacerbates the problem of needing to stuff more content into their post, and so on and so forth.
I'm not trying to stand on a soapbox here and preach to anyone, and I'm certainly not trying to accuse anyone of anything, or try to change how this game is run. Honestly, it's OK as it is, but this is one problem with it (that may well be impossible to fix without otherwise damaging the integrity of this game), and there's my reasons for why/how this problem occurs, and its effects thereof.

[*]Who was your favorite NPC character(s)? (I thought we should stick to NPCs to avoid a popularity contest amongst players).

In my own game... Maurice? I mean, she's the only one who's really, really developed.
Otherwise, I really like Rose. An otherwise mundane person among superpowers, who has the god of gods himself trying to kill her (the GM), and she JUST WON'T DIE.
Also, I really, really like the dynamic with all of the Baron's sons. All of them.

[*]Who was your least favorite NPC character(s)? (Note this is characters you thought were weak, or nonsensical, or grating - not vile characters who you enjoyed watching die horribly).

Hmmm... not much to say here. For lack of a better answer I felt like most of the side characters in my own story were a little one dimensional, aside from Omnicron and Maurice, but at the same time I didn't even try to delve beyond that first dimension so that's reasonable. None of them particularly stand out in this manner. *shrug*

[*]Who did you enjoy seeing die the most? (Now you can talk about those characters you actually enjoyed to hate, if any)

Jumping on the Cheran bandwagon here.

[*]Is there anything you wish to see happen in Part Three?

I'd like to see The Spirit pursue her goals of furthering her knowledge of herself and her own capabilities, as well as rescuing Maurice from whatever hellish grasp she may be in of course. Focusing on herself, and her personal development. Of course, then the following will occur:
The Spirit: "But I don't wanna fight (big bad guy). Can't we just run off into the woods and be hermits for a while?"
Maurice: "But thou must!"
The Spirit: "*sigh*... fine. Let's get this over with." *proceed to climax*
And she'll be dragged, kicking and screaming, every step of the way.

[*]Do you have any general suggestions for Part Three?

Just keep on doing your DM thing.

[*]Any predictions for Part Three?

I think it'll be... unpredictable.

[*]Not necessarily a question you need to answer, but something you definitely need to think about. The central theme of Return to Ironheart is "Death is a transformation, not a conclusion". How will your character change in Return, either in reaction to their own death or whoever has died that was close to them (and how *they* change).

Huh... well, The Spirit kinda died in the explosion? And now she has all those other Archdemon spirits in her? So that might be a transformation? But at the same time, she's kinda saying f*ck that, I have more pressing matters to deal with right now. And I guess Maurice might've "died" and gone to the hells? To which her "death" being a conclusion, The Spirit will most definitely be saying f*ck that.

[*]Plus anything else you would like to talk about.

Mmm, maybe. I'll bring it up if I think of something.

[WhiteKnight777]

Barring escape from whatever unpleasant situations your characters currently are in, what are their future goals?

Revelation. Metamorphasis. Apotheosis.

What sort of situations would you like to see your character put in? Fighting, socializing, figuring out puzzles, taking a moral stand? What sort of things do you as a player most enjoy doing in a game?

I'd like to see some socializing, perhaps a little "combat" (of a metaphysical or metaphorical sort.) I'd like opportunities for Umber to evolve a bit, and have time to figure out what he wants from life/existence.

As a player, I most enjoy finding ways to test my characters limits, learn about them more as people. I also enjoy opportunities for flashy and over-the-top badassery. So basically, some navel-gazing and snark followed by tearing my way out of Death's own domain and riding a screaming hellbeast down the throat of an apocalypse, then seizing a godhead and attaining UNLIMITED POWER.... only to give it all up for love.

What did you like about this thread? What were your favorite parts?

Consistently astronomical writing quality, especially from you. Well-managed plotlines and interesting characters. Epic scope, and a real sense that our decisions and backstories matter - This may be more applicable to me than some others, because I've been around since the beginning and my personal backstory has been integrated into the world more than some others have had the opportunity for.

What did you think about the finale of Flight? (other than the fact that it was very slow )

Awesome! I kind of wish Umber had been given a chance to confront the Baron and be there when he died, but he had his own demons to fight. I did miss the "superhero teamup" bit from the first thread, though.

What did you like least about this thread?

I wish there was a way to get people to post more frequently. Keeping track of all the plot-lines is also tricky, but that's just the nature of the beast.

We need a graphic novel for this. Or an HBO series.

Who was your favorite NPC character(s)? (I thought we should stick to NPCs to avoid a popularity contest amongst players).

Hrmmm... Tough choice. Probably Marialta/Mellita, just because of the SURPRISE TWEEST!

Who was your least favorite NPC character(s)? (Note this is characters you thought were weak, or nonsensical, or grating - not vile characters who you enjoyed watching die horribly).

I think the interlude at the Inn didn't really work all that well. It felt like filler, and the NPC's within were kind of bland and same-y. Also, Bran was a bad decision on my part. Too much of a plot device.

Who did you enjoy seeing die the most? (Now you can talk about those characters you actually enjoyed to hate, if any)

Cheran and the Baron. Both of them were/are contemptible creatures. I'm only sad Umber didn't get the chance to deliver the killing blow.

But actually, I'm going to be a bit narcissistic here and say that Umber's was my favorite death. It's a grand opportunity for interesting developments.

Is there anything you wish to see happen in Part Three?

I'd like Umber to continue on his current trend of character development. He's died - literally and metaphysically casting away large parts of his old self. Parts of him will remain, but he's going to be someone - or something - much different by the end of all this.

I'd like a chance for him to earn his happy ending - or at least a bittersweet one. Doesn't need to be certain, but if he stands true at the end of the day, he should have a chance to reclaim his destiny, the destiny of the fool - walking the line on the edge of the world, with the gift and the curse of shaping weft and weave.

Most of all, I want to spit in the eyes of fate and say "Not now. Not ever." I want to wrest the reins of power from uncaring and impersonal forces and show them that mortals are the ones who matter.

Do you have any general suggestions for Part Three?

I wouldn't mind more chances to interact with other PC's. Then again, given Umber's current predicament, I don't see too many opportunities for that.

Any predictions for Part Three?

"Ashes, ashes... we all fall down."

I predict death, blood, and pain for all and sundry. I expect a thoroughly enjoyable apocalypse. I predict that the world will end, one way or another - and not with a whimper, but a bang.

Not necessarily a question you need to answer, but something you definitely need to think about. The central theme of Return to Ironheart is "Death is a transformation, not a conclusion". How will your character change in Return, either in reaction to their own death or whoever has died that was close to them (and how *they* change).

"Death is a doorway and time is a window. I'll be back."

Seriously though, you and I are on the same wavelength here. Death is a central component of Umber's character, as I've alluded to before. Rather, Umber's reaction to (and fear of) his own inevitable mortality has always driven him. And now he's walking the sunless lands, having already faced his worst fears. The experience is going to change him completely, whatever lies on the other side of the desert.


Plus anything else you would like to talk about.

Nothing I can think of... yet.

[OverWilliam]

First off, I am literally struggling to come up with words for how amazing that conclusion was. I can't even imagine a better way to cap off the insane three-year ride that Flight turned out to be-- HUGE props to you on that one!

Also, Long feedback post is Long. Sorry 'bout that.

Barring escape from whatever unpleasant situations your characters currently are in, what are their future goals?

Tare's whole world just got ripped apart. In some cases literally. Most of his goals, both internal and external, have been rendered largely obsolete by everything that just happened-- in a few words, rocks just fell, everybody died.

That said, the kid is starting to rack up quite the list of promises for himself to try and keep. Let's see if we can count them all:

• Find some way to reverse the unjust damnings that he bore witness to while there. Tare's has little-to-no respect for mortal law (he is a thief, after all), but his sense of Right and Wrong on the cosmic scale rivals Umber's ego in intensity, if not size. There are things that just Should Not Be-- and if it's possible to undo them, he's going to try and find it just because it's Right that someone should. This is probably the longest-term of his goals, since it's not likely that he's going to find the means or the opportunity to do so any time soon.
  ~
• Find Melcara.
  ~
• Put a stop to Vylethar. His death-threat at the end of Flight was over-the-top (it fit the moment), but even if he doesn't go as far as all that, something must be done. Tare's not a sadist, he's not the type to gain pleasure from carrying out something like the torture he promised Vylethar. Really, Tare doesn't care about Vylethar so much as the people that Vylethar is going to hurt if he's left alone. Even if Vylethar himself was to get a "Happy Ending," Tare doesn't give a crap so long as his influence on humanity (and Angel-ity) is ended.
  ~
• If it is still within his power, make sure that Karami (and by extension Jonas and Hanna-- they're part of the same unit in Tare's mind at this point) gets a happy ending. Really, at this point that means figuring out what the crap is up with the screwed-up Afterlife system in this reality and find out what can be done to fix it. So what if they are able to live the rest of their natural lives in peace, if they get thrown into the maelstrom of nonsense as soon as they die, what's the point?

Beyond promises, Tare is now going to be intensely interested in seeking out the past he'd been running from, and specifically finding out about his family. Tare has finally clued in on the fact that his origins are not within the realm of "normality" and he needs to know the Truth about where he came from and why.

What sort of situations would you like to see your character put in? Fighting, socializing, figuring out puzzles, taking a moral stand? What sort of things do you as a player most enjoy doing in a game?

I think I was most excited in Flight by making Discoveries. Figuring things out, putting things together, finding things that were supposed to stay hidden. For that reason I've really enjoyed the Soulsearch ability that you revealed that he has-- but that's not without issues (I'll mention that again below).

Also, Fighting is always fun-- I had a blast writing up Tare's Last Dance, but that was less interactive and more cinematic. Because of time crunches (my own fault) we had to skim over a lot of the combat that Tare had to participate in, so that was a necessary, but lasting disappointment.

What did you like about this thread? What were your favorite parts?

As others have said, this is a tricky question just because of how much ground we've covered!

I really enjoyed Tare's first meeting with Melcara. The bond that was forged almost instantly there at the beginning is a large part of what propelled Tare through the rest of the thread, and the relationship that grew from that point has been one of the most satisfying character interactions I've had in any game ever.

I really felt like a badass when Tare arrived at the Wedding dressed up in new clothes. I know this is kinda silly since we can't actually see him, and I'm quite certain that no one paid as much attention to my descriptions of his duds as I put into writing them, but even in comparison with all the lightning-flinging and immortal-being-bad-mouthing this little squirt has gotten himself into over the course of the game, that scene (as brief as it was) was a serious highlight.

What did you think about the finale of Flight? (other than the fact that it was very slow )

I thought... hrm...

From my perspective at least, mostly because I havn't been able to keep up with all the individual pieces in play, it really felt like things just started coming out of nowhere as soon as the Finale started. One prime example of this, Miriam just kinda came right-the-hell out of the blue, and I'm all like

That said, you did a frankly unbelievable job of tying just about everything together in the most suitably epic manner possible. Huge props on the whole thing-- though if we ever get a chance, I think I'd like you to draw me a picture of exactly what happened. You might need three dimensions to draw in to keep everything from getting tangled, though.

What did you like least about this thread?

As usual, my biggest complaint is just the volumes of story going on that I just couldn't keep up with all at once. There really isn't anything you could do about it-- I mean, that's just what Ironheart is, and Lord knows I've contributed more than one wall of text. I feel so guilty that my fellow players are writing their hearts out and I don't even read their work, while I myself write as though everybody in the thread is going to read what I wrote.

I am seriously going to go back and re-read the whole thing at some point. I have no idea when I will get the chance to do this, but it's going to happen, I promise.

Who was your favorite NPC character(s)? (I thought we should stick to NPCs to avoid a popularity contest amongst players).

Obviously I liked Melcara.

Really, the NPC that stood out the most to me was Shiakti, the Shapeshifting Assassin-y type. I'd love the chance to actually interact with her on equal footing, instead of getting royally schooled again (though even that was good fun! ).

Who was your least favorite NPC character(s)? (Note this is characters you thought were weak, or nonsensical, or grating - not vile characters who you enjoyed watching die horribly).

I don't have a particular least favorite, but I do have a few notes on how several of those involved in Tare's own plotline ended up playing out. Again, I freely acknowledge that I bear more than half of the responsibility for most of these, since condensing had to happen to account for my inconsistency.

• Brock. I liked him much better when we first saw him in the Meanwhile DM a while back. He was threatening, he was two-faced, he was edging in on the most precious person in Tare's whole world, he was the leader of a ruthless gang of thieves (think about what kind of thieves they'd have to be, given Ironheart's reputation to weed out the sissies) and he really came across as an obstacle to be contended with for Tare's continued progress.
  ~
  Then we meet him in person and he's passive, he's mild, he's helpful, he's straight-talking, overwhelmed, swept up in events beyond his control, and ultimately rather forgettable.
  ~
  With Brock I was really looking forward to having someone who plays Tare's game to contend with. Of course Tare is going to be outclassed by a super-powerful shapeshifting assassin chick from Jamaica, because Tare has never encountered one before and has no way to answer that type of threat. Brock, though, Tare could have beaten at his own game, because they play by the same rules. This didn't really end up working out (totally my own fault, but there it is).
  ~
• Silverton. Again, when we first met him he was intimidating, he was cold, calculating, fiercely perceptive, he represented powers greater than a single Thief and fallen angel team could really answer, and he had every intent to bring all those resources crashing down on Tare's head. He ended up doing exactly that, separating Tare from Melcara and Karami from Jonas and Hanna, so as a plot device he served his purpose; but characterization-wise, he lost a lot of the unique aspects that made him really interesting at first take.
  ~
• Karami. I don't have a whole lot of complaint here, because she ended up playing out more-or-less exactly how I needed, but while we're spitballing I may as well make the point. Karami ended up coming off a lot younger than she is meant to be-- we've had a conversation or two about this exact thing, I think. Anyway, Karami at this point is really supposed to be 15-16 while Tare is 25-26. A ten year age difference would've made Tare 18 when Karami was 8, at which point the whole thing with their backstory took place. In play, Karami has come off a lot more like 11-12. It's a small thing, but anyway.

Who did you enjoy seeing die the most? (Now you can talk about those characters you actually enjoyed to hate, if any)

I'll jump on the Cheran bandwagon as well. I didn't even have a personal beef with the guy, he was just a douche.

To twist the question a bit, a death scene that I really appreciated was Limier's. While we're talking about Moral quandaries, that was a brilliant position to put Tare in, and I'm hoping for some real concequences of his choice to accept reality rather than persisting in blind idealism in that situation. That was a huge moment for Tare characterization-wise, and I really hope that moment there doesn't just get swept under the rug without bearing on his future decisions.

Is there anything you wish to see happen in Part Three?

Please, oh please, let me meet another Player Character.

But seriously, I really need to have some clarification of the Afterlife system that's going on here. It's a bit of a tangle at the moment, which is fine for a while, but these things need explanation. Who, or what exactly decides if a Soul goes to "Heaven" or "Hell"? Where did that Judgement come from (as in, who wrote those rules when Reality was being created? We know that Miriam and Athelon rule heaven while Azguloth-- or rather, his creations-- rule the Hells, but who ever decided that Humans would go to either one? Why is Miriam so concerned with judging Humanity while it's still alive if they're going to be judged when they die anyway? etc.) And what the hells is up with Jim? Is it typically possible to just waltz right out of the hells like that, or was that some combination of Tare's nature and the Baron's angel-blood enchantment-y thingies that Tare took advantage of?

There's a lot of foreshadowing we've got going on for Tare-- like, a LOT of foreshadowing. I really want to see all of this come to fruition. So far we've got his "found a portal" thing, the Soulsearch ability that came out of seeming nowhere, then Shiakti's mistaking him for Zariel (that last one is particularly fascinating)... I really like where all this seems to be going, and I really want to see us get there instead of getting these forebodings get lost in the weeds. I really want to see Tare's inherent Nature take a central role in his story for Return.

We keep calling them the "Hells" plural, but so far all I've gotten to see is one realm of the hells, and only a single neighborhood at that. It would be kinda cool to explore the Hells a bit in first-person, even if only in Meanwhiles, instead of just hearing about them in third-person all the time.

Do you have any general suggestions for Part Three?

The suggestion above for a summary of events thusfar is a fantastic one, and it would benefit both the new recruits we're trying to rope in and the old heads that have just gotten lost. Please, please, please see if we can get some form of this put together.

Wouldn't it be cool if Jonas and Hanna are former Paladins and survivors/veterans of the original wars on the Hells?

Any predictions for Part Three?

We've seen plenty of Miriam and some of Titiana, time for the Boys to get some spotlight. As hinted in your preview already, I've been expecting for some time that both Azguloth and Athelon are going to become more visible in Return.

Miriam is going to Lose. Hardcore. We've always said that Ironheart is supposed to be a "Really really dark, but not pitch-black" sort of game-- we're all hoping against hope that Return will conclude end on a positive note (possibly the first positive note in the whole game thusfar), but I predict that Miriam is, by the end, going to be broken and entirely pitful, if not dead entirely.

Not necessarily a question you need to answer, but something you definitely need to think about. The central theme of Return to Ironheart is "Death is a transformation, not a conclusion". How will your character change in Return, either in reaction to their own death or whoever has died that was close to them (and how *they* change).

I have an odd request to make here, as a matter of fact. Something that has gone past "recurring theme" and moved into "bane of my existence" for Tare is the constant, constant, constant recurrance of Fatigue as a factor on Tare's actions. Tare is still one of the most "Human" characters in the game yet, so it's only right that he can't run the marathons that many other characters can, but it is becoming really tiresome (pun acknowledged) to keep writing weariness into Tare's actions and thought processes. One of my favorite book series', Jim Butcher's The Dresden Files, starts off with the first three books of just Harry walking around falling-down tired. And it's really, really boring. In more recent books Mr. Butcher has of course not abandoned this factor as a part of Harry's humanity, but the books are so much easier to read now that Harry is not walking around in a constant haze of sleep-deprivation.

In effect, I intend to abandon this aspect of Tare's struggles for more interesting ones. Even just replacing one burden, sleep, with another, pain, would make for a hugely refreshed writing experience for me. But really, I'm getting sick and tired of having Tare not react the way he would "normally" because he's tired. Now that he's dead, is Tare even "Mortal" anymore? Anyway, it would be nice to make this shift a plot point in some way-- perhaps the being that he is now doesn't get tired, or something of the kind. But even if that isn't the case, keep in mind that I'm going to be trying something new with Tare's stamina (or constant lack thereof).

More toward the point of the question, I'm really excited to use this shift in Tare's story to peel off some of the outer layers of Tare's character and get a good look at what's lying underneath. I'm not 100% sure how I mean to do this just yet, but for one thing the deaths of so many people he'd known and had been trying to protect at some point or other (Ulrich, Brock, Limier, Melcara) is going to make him a little more jaded than he has been. One can't save everyone, and by trying to do so without sufficient power or skill will only get more people killed. I absolutely do not want to go through an emo-angsty phase with Tare, but Tare really took an arrow to the idealism over the last page or two of Flight.

Plus anything else you would like to talk about.

I'm going to leave this one temporarilly open as a placeholder, because I'm sure there's something else I wanted to mention, I just can't bring it to mind at the moment. Look for edits.

[Inspectre]

Flight from Ironheart: The Comic!

Part #1

Spoiler

Show

Part #2

Spoiler

Show

[Kasanip]

Sorry, it is a long post.

Barring escape from whatever unpleasantness your character is currently in, what are their future goals?

I am changing characters, so don't think this question can be answered. But I will of course talk about character goal at profile submission time.

What sort of situations would you like to be involved in? Socializing, figuring out puzzles, fighting, taking a moral stand? What sort of things do you as a player most enjoy doing in a game?

Fighting, Taking a Moral Stand, Helping, Socializing. I like these kinds of things. (I like puzzles, but it is too hard for me because of language and culture I don't know).

What did you like about this thread? What were your favorite parts?

I liked the climax for players. It was very interesting to see how all stories come together after a long time.
Also it was very interesting to see how much changed from beginning of story to end of story. It seems almost every character could make a change.

I was very impressed by detail and many stories to be told together. Actually, it was too much, because often I forgot or didn't know about a character or setting or organization. But it was impressive by the GM to have such an ability. To see so many characters in [Credits], it is admirable.

I learned a lot of useful English expression and cultures from this experience. For me too, it is a good feeling to see my improvement from beginning of game to end of game in English ability.

What did you think about the finale of Flight? (other than it was very slow)

I think that it was very exciting. I am happy it was slow, because I could read everything with enough time to understand and ask questions. (Still, some wasn't understood, but I think situation was understood by me). I am happy that Miriam survived, but I am unhappy so many characters didn't survive. The most interesting story to read was climax of the Baron and Miriam and heroes who could fight in this battle.

What did you like least about this thread?

Spoiler

Show

It was very hard to understand so many stories! Some characters like Korram and Umber and Ander seem very important, but their stories aren't known very well by me. But, because Flight from Ironheart is Part II, and I wasn't a player of Part I, of course such a problem can happen.

It was the feeling of enjoy to read other character's stories, but not to enjoy so much my character's story. I never felt involved. I never found what kind of role or position I had in the story or roleplay. What kind of role should I have played instead? For the entire I game I never met an important PC or NPC, I think. In this way, it seemed sometimes like some characters had much more center and important roles than other characters.

I never felt like I had a real effect or purpose. Sometimes I had to painfully and sadly think, it would be better if I had not been involved at all. That is a very lonely feeling. It was decide to change characters so I can try to be more involved and make a more interesting play, and it was agreed upon to wait until end of Flight from Ironheart to change characters.

Since such a plan was agreed upon June 16, 2011, it became the situation of [wait one year].

There were some good times to play Isera, but I had a lot more fun to read other characters than to play my character. (I don't want Inspectre to feel more guilty about this, because of course I chose the plan should be to finish Flight from Ironheart before to change character). I want to become a better player so I can avoid this kind of feeling. But I don't know what I should do differently. I want to know, so that when I make new characters, I can avoid this problem again too.

To think also, sometimes it felt like it is more a [story] about NPC characters than [roleplay] with players.

It was very hard to know "What can I do?" "Is it ok if I do~~?" "How much control of character or action can I have?". This is problem of sometimes [freeform] game I have seen. For Ironheart because it is style of GM post, Player post (1 + 1) there has to be many guess about what will happen. If an action happens, next GM post maybe changes scene too after event, so it can be hard to write a reaction to another part, I feel. It's a little stressful. But during the time of playing this game, I have played other [freeform] games, and so became more used to this kind of play after some time.

Who was your favorite NPC character(s)?

I liked Miriam and Ysora the best, I think. I didn't know so many NPCs in other player's stories. But I could read [Meanwhile] posts and understand mostly. Maybe because I have played in some [God Game] style games, to become easily attached to god characters? Maybe because I played a goddess character named Mir? I am not sure. Of course because villains like Baron is to oppose them, to be against the villain, I became allied with Miriam easily. Because at such a time, it wasn't sure which PC characters would help against Baron. Ysora seemed very interesting, but I think I missed a lot of her story. I don't know when she was captured and such. I was disappointed by her choice at the end. But she has chance for reappear in Part III, so maybe it is ok.

Of Isera's story, I liked Cerise. Somehow it felt especially lonely when she wasn't there.

Who was your least favorite NPC character(s)? (Note this is characters you thought were weak, or nonsensical, or grating - not vile characters who you enjoyed to watch die horribly)

I didn't like Theresea. I thought she was to exist to help me to understand some of mythology or setting, but I don't know the purpose of this character. She gave a little information, and helped Isera a little. But it was a feeling like she was supposed to become more important, but disappeared. I wonder if because decision of Isera to help Canticles ruined a plot? Was she from another player who disappeared? I don't know. But most of the time she was involved it was very awkward.

I also didn't like the Elf King. I don't know the story about why elves to fight a war. To arrive at the end seemed [suddenly] to become involved, and then to run away.

I don't know about Mermen too. What was their reason? It seemed suddenly to become involved. And then completely destroyed. I felt "poor mermen!" for them and the [crab tanks]. Will they be in the Hells? Do crabs go to hells in western mythology? I don't know. It was strange for me.

Who did you enjoy seeing die the most?

Of course to see the Baron lose.
It was a relief. But probably to still be a problem in Part III? I hope not. It seems other players chose Cheran, but I don't remember this character.

Is there anything you wish to see happen in Part Three?

I hope for a happy ending for all of the hero characters.
I hope there is more chance for characters and players to work together, but maybe post style of Ironheart game can make that difficult.
I wish to see Mar to become happy.
I wish to see problem of [Soul Gem] to be solved.
I wish to see Gods and angels and mortals to have a happy ending. I want Miriam to be happy.

Do you have any general suggestions for Part Three?

It seems some problems that are had are [Player Absence] and [Slow Post]. But I don't know how such a problem can be solved.
It would be nice to see player characters to meet each other more. I hope everyone can feel valuable too.

Any predictions for Part Three?

The Chosen King will be revealed as a character from Ironheart Part I.
Pyrene and Mar will have [heroine roles] and to show great power.
Dragons will return. Because only race that has been called [dead], but with Theme of Part 3, that doesn't have meaning.
Hells and Heaven and Phaedra will be main stages, not Earth.

Actually when it was said the theme of Return to Ironheart in PM to me by Inspectre, I had a good feeling about theme.
But now I don't know if I will like this theme very much. It seems very ominous and dangerous now instead of encouraging.

Plus anything else you would like to talk about

Spoiler

Show

To learn about playing characters and western story style, I learned a lot from this game. Thank you very much! Some comments are in answers to other questions too.

I learned a lot about [myself the player]. I learned that I don't like to be alone. I like to play with other players. I learned that I like to play good characters to be heroes and fight evil. I learned that I always enjoy characters who have [supernatural relationship]. I learned I worry very much and easily. I learned I become attached to characters quickly and become frustrated quickly when I feel helpless or lost. Ironheart made me very frustrated many times. Is it supposed to be [frustration]->[relief] = [worry]-> [happy]? What can I do with so many learnings, I don't know. But maybe I can become a better player somehow.

For such a long game, it can be seen how much thing changes over time. In such a story, many players disappeared, and some came again. Some tragedies and pains were had for players. I know my life experience was to be changed strongly by Tidal Wave in 2011 spring, and lose father in April 2012. So it is for me too, to change and grow at same time to see a story go. If a book is read this way, I wonder if it is the same feeling? Or if it is just the feeling to try to feel [connection] with other players. By the way, the theme of this year is [Bonds], so I think it is a good thought.

Of questions about [Soul Gem], some questions were posted before. But some strange things to be seen too, so I had more questions. I still don't understand it so well.

The Baron had a soul gem, and also Istomilo has a soul gem of own soul. When Miriam tried to kill Baron, it seemed he was [killed], but because soul gem is in body, he can still be alive. It seems same case of Istomilo too. To be like a zombie with soul gem. Maybe it is case of Mar also? But why did Sara die, if Sara has soul gem in body? When Miriam leaves, shouldn't Sara still be alive? Because soul gem is in the body.

[Iethloc]

Barring escape from whatever unpleasant situations your characters currently are in, what are their future goals?

To gather the resources to rebuild his lab where all these pesky world-threatening menaces can't bother him.

What sort of situations would you like to see your character put in? Fighting, socializing, figuring out puzzles, taking a moral stand? What sort of things do you as a player most enjoy doing in a game?

I usually enjoy nearly every aspect of a game, but moral stands are always fun. Sohssal's an ideal role model.

What did you like about this thread? What were your favorite parts?

Having to make do with so few actual resources and even fewer trustworthy "allies" was very fun. I suspect the latter trend will continue.

What did you think about the finale of Flight? (other than the fact that it was very slow )

I got to drop an airship on a long-time enemy, and was then mistaken for someone very, very important. Maybe I should plunge myself into Hell more often.

What did you like least about this thread?

The game itself was really excellent, so all I can complain about is the slow pace. Even that isn't so bad for me, though, since I always take my time writing my posts.

Who was your favorite NPC character(s)? (I thought we should stick to NPCs to avoid a popularity contest amongst players).

How could my favorite be anyone but Shanks?

Who was your least favorite NPC character(s)? (Note this is characters you thought were weak, or nonsensical, or grating - not vile characters who you enjoyed watching die horribly).

If I had to pick someone, I guess it'd be Xeric, if only because there wasn't much interaction with him aside from that final battle.

Who did you enjoy seeing die the most? (Now you can talk about those characters you actually enjoyed to hate, if any)

Definitely the Baron.

Is there anything you wish to see happen in Part Three?

Meeting another PC could be interesting, but I definitely want Sohssal to meet Seymour again.

Do you have any general suggestions for Part Three?

Work faster! *cracks the whip*

Any predictions for Part Three?

I suspect Sohssal will get out of Hell only to find that the normal world is no longer an improvement over it (at least for him).

Not necessarily a question you need to answer, but something you definitely need to think about. The central theme of Return to Ironheart is "Death is a transformation, not a conclusion". How will your character change in Return, either in reaction to their own death or whoever has died that was close to them (and how *they* change).

It definitely looks like Sohssal's in for some transformation.

Plus anything else you would like to talk about.

I haven't been very chatty during all of this. I should try to post in the OOC more often.

[Inspectre]

Here are the critiques that I've collected from the surveys, along with answers as to what I'm going to do to correct them, and perhaps a few questions of my own. I'll be adding more to this list as I go along.

Locked out of Canon/Critical Background Failure

To continue dancing on the dead PC’s corpse, I agree that preparing a primer on the world of Ironheart as it is now is a most excellent idea. I also agree this could be useful in helping to refresh current players’ memories and provide newcomers with a clear view of what exactly they’re getting into. I will even take it one step further in suggesting that perhaps *during* Return, we should maintain said primer so that everyone can immediately go check the “Codex”, as it were, should they come across an unfamiliar name/term/location. This still won’t necessarily be nearly as good as reading everything yourself, but it might help with that feeling of “woah, where did that guy come from!?” that several people mentioned feeling.

Bad Characters

Purifier – In a way, Purifier did and didn’t come out of nowhere. He was previously referenced in several other characters’ stories, and was the source of Karth the Purifier’s literal fire power. Unlike Korram however, Karth already was a monster before the merger with Purifier. Purifier’s presence presumably just made Karth even worse.

Purifier showing up to make his deal with Korram stemmed from the thought of - well crap, how the hell can I believably have Korram beat a superstrong, well-guarded, regenerating jackass who’d jump at the chance to “stomp his wrinkly old ass into the ground”? Calcifer was currently happily back in the Elemental Plane, and I rather doubt Korram or Infernas would want to play together. So I came up with the idea of having Purifier offer Korram some tasty “schmuck bait”, and if Korram didn’t go for it come up with some other way for him to beat Cheran.

Fortunately, Korram did go for it, and he got an . . . interesting . . . experience out of it. It also gave Purifier more exposure, and set things up for my additional plan for him in Return. So hopefully at some point in Return, Purifier’s motivations will be made a bit more clear.

Adamus Crane – One could certainly argue that Crane was completely insane. (yay rhymes ) However, one could also argue that he was a ruthless political climber, who wanted power at any cost and was willing to destroy anyone and anything in order to get it. Also, one might suspect that he had a very “better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven” outlook on life, and being directly responsible for the release of every Fiend Lord in existence might give him a (comparatively) cushy afterlife. But yes, like Kartul, he was very much a “For the Evulz!” type of villain.

The Inn Filler Ghost Guys – Guess what, they totally, unabashedly, *were* indeed filler. I needed to give you something to do while Pyrene finished escaping from the Gastly Truth, and I recently had a dream with a similar plot (big guy starts bar fight on claims of cheating, really just an excuse to pound the new guy). So, there you go . . . they sucked, and I know they sucked, but they at least bought me enough time to come up with the idea of Fianna playing hide-and-seek with Umber. Followed by what I thought was a hilarious Benny Hill tribute.

Brock – I was going to mention this in the Deleted Scenes, but basically the original plan was for Brock to be one of, if not the, chief villains for Tare’s part of the story. His sole interest in Karami was that supposedly she was a long-lost descendant of Pierce, the man who created the Vainglory Cache – and only his descendants can open the vault according to legend. Cue him openly kidnapping Karami at some point, getting into the Cache, and him and Tare fighting to the death amongst the death traps and fabulous wealth (or if I felt like being mean and saying the Baron cleaned the whole place out over forty years, just the death traps ).

There were two problems with this plan – one, time constraints caused by you merrily fapping all of your time away immediately after Tare escaped the Hells. Two, the very first time you saw him, Tare went and ripped his head off. After a panicked consultation and a brief rewind, Tare merely publically humiliated him, but the point was still clear – no normal man, regardless of how clever or ruthless he was, could legitimately challenge Tare. So I made him a neutered sissy instead. I hope you’re happy.

Silverton – Again, your ceaseless dilly-dallying spared you from the majority of Silverton’s wrath (I think in Return I should do the opposite, and have horrible things befall everyone the longer you take to post, just to balance it all out. ). If we’d had enough time to play it all out, Silverton was going to be a PAIN IN THE ASS. He was going to be the relentless cop that just had a habit of popping up at exactly the wrong moment, every time Tare went out into the city.

Even so, he wasn’t meant to be that bad of a guy, just someone who knew something bad was going to happen, and became increasingly convinced that Tare/Melcara were at the heart of it. As such, he was going to become increasingly obsessed with them, and increasingly aggressive in his attempts to get answers out of them. As it was, you only really saw the very beginning, and end of that progression.

Karami – Ahem. And I quote, from a PM you sent me probably around two+ years ago:

Depending on how long we're saying Tare was in Ironheart before the game began, she may have changed some since he last saw her, but when he left;

Karami is a small girl, even for her age (around 12 or 13), standing a full head and more below Tare, who isn't overly tall himself. She has very smooth, straight black hair, and light hazel eyes that glow if the light hits them right. She has somewhat pale skin, more from heredity than from lack of exposure, and bruises easily. There are two Scarred bands around her wrists, wounds that have healed down to barely visible lines of slightly paler skin, but will never forget how they once bled. Her Left ear is pierced, and was once set with a small metal loop that signified her station as a Slave. She dislikes all forms of piercings now for that reason. Though she is still more a Girl than a Woman, she promises to be an absolutely beautiful one when Time has dealt its hand.

So, unless Tare was in Ironheart for several years (I would have to go back and check Escape to see how long we said he was in there, but I took it as no more than one year), I was spot-on. Even then, I was aiming for about 13-14 years old. So . . . it’s up to you, she can be older in Return if you wish. Although she might be sad Tare killed Grandmaster Vylethar then, instead of just really confused.

Limier – Oh, you have no idea how important Tare’s unusual pragmatism is going to be.

Theresea – Yeah, unfortunately she never really developed the way I had intended. Initially she was supposed to be secretive and mysterious, with neither Theresea or Isera really trusting the other. Managed that part, didn’t manage the rest, with the two of them gradually forging a bond of friendship that would result in Theresea spilling all of her secrets.

Theresea’s “secret”, as virtually every character in Ironheart has at least one (which I’m going to just spoil here as I dunno if I will use her again), was that she was actually an angel. In particular not just any angel but Marta, the angel that Umber and Friends summoned, bound, and tortured for components to their Elixir (and later for lolz). Traumatized by that experience, Marta refused to forget about it and went back down to the mortal realm with the intention of finding the Lords of Blood and wiping them out. She tattooed the story of her hunt onto her own body so she wouldn’t forget it, and learned human magic so she could beat them at their own game. Never did actually find a Lord of Blood to fight though, fortunately for her.

Chalk this one up to Cryptic Character Syndrome. I’ll try to avoid that in the future.

Can I Please Play With Someone Else?

A *lot* of people mentioned that they wanted to meet another PC. This seems like a reasonable request, and one I was sort of thinking about anyway as theoretically all roads lead to the same place – the grand finale versus the Certain King. So, yeah, I can probably try to see to it that PCs run into each other with greatly increased frequency, and maybe even have incentive for banding together beyond a one scene basis.

There are two drawbacks that I foresee with this instituting this as the standard going forward though. First, there’s the fact that once you’ve hitched your wagon up to another PC, you are then reliant on that other PC to progress. It takes two to hold a conversation, and if the other guy suddenly stops talking you’re kinda out of luck until they come back. This has happened a lot of times before in Ironheart, enough so that I have started to think PC groups of more than one are cursed.

But, our current group is fairly stable and reliable (except OverWilliam! ), so it seems unlikely anyone will be left completely stonewalled. Real life does happen, however, and there is always the danger of mashing a fast poster up against the tortoise that is The_Snark ( ). In which case, do I leave the posted player hanging until their partner does finally post, or do I just shrug and say the posted person drags their drooling, comatose comrade along?

Either way has the possibility of creating frustration and hard feelings – that’s why I went with the single player + DM structure. You go at your own rate, unless I need you to meet another PC in which case I throw filler at you until the other one is caught up ( ) – if you can’t post that week . . . *shrug*. We’ll just keep you moving along next week then. Of course, there is a negative side to that as well – player loneliness, and/or feeling excluded. Which brings me, in a roundabout way, to potential drawback number two.

I have tried to make each PC have their own unique and individual story, which run in parallel to each other. Each story is also supposed to have some sort of important piece to the puzzle, so to speak, such that everything is woven together and operates as a whole.

Unfortunately . . . I’m not so sure I did a great job with Flight, particularly with the newer characters. It is hard to weave new thread into an already existing mesh, and unfortunately I don’t think I succeeded with anyone save for Hondshioh (and he really just stole Ander’s fortuitously abandoned plot). Having such a big interwoven plot also means that it is easy to miss things, and if you don’t read other players plotlines (as very few people do ), things very well *can* come out of nowhere. (Although to be fair, if we’re going for verisimilitude and in-character knowledge only, having stuff jump out at you just as much as at your character is exactly what we want to happen.)

So, we’re getting off-track a little here, so I’m going to address this issue of players being isolated and feeling cut off from the main plot in another reply. My main point with this second drawback is that every player being off by themselves means that I have a lot of plotlines to play with, often in much different areas. Combining players together very well means cutting down those plotlines as well – you aren’t going to be in charge of what you want to do anymore, because you have to get the other guy to go along with it. And this will also mean that is likely less ground will be covered because instead of twelve different plots going on, I will have six (assuming I just pair everyone off). This could in return leaving the world feeling much smaller than it did – which might be a good thing, I don’t know.

What do you guys think? Am I making snow-covered peaks out of these two mole hills?

[Inspectre]

My Walls of Text Shall Block Out the Sun!

Some people have mentioned that there was a bit too much going on, things came out of nowhere, the whole thing was a gigantic mess of plot thread, etc.

First, this is probably going to sound like bragging (and it probably is, a little ), but it’s also I guess an attempt to get you all to appreciate me. Other than writing down theme songs for characters, and the names of various groups of characters I’ve yet to introduce (all the Lords of Blood, all the Church Exarches, etc), I wrote nothing down. *Everything* was kept filed up in my diseased brain, to roll around for years and years until eventually it came time to vomit it out. This admittedly resulted in my forgetting things here and there, but for the most part I was able to keep things surprisingly coherent, I think.

But I also had the advantage of always knowing the whole picture to everything, rather than whatever bits and pieces I scattered around all over the place to play prediction bait. I did this with the intent of rewarding people who paid attention and tried to get everyone thinking about what was really going on, and why. But on the flip side, this can also lead to things coming out of nowhere and seeming to be a confusing mess if you didn’t notice those little “hints”. So I dunno. I think if we end up with the world shrinking down a bit, it might be a little easier for everyone to know what’s going on. Doubly so if we keep a running “Codex” of information available in Return for everyone to check as needed. I can also try to stop it with the whole hinting games, but that’ll be a large part of my enjoyment gone.

Another point along a similar line is that this is supposed to be a game, not me writing a book while asking you for suggestions whenever I get stuck. Writing as I do is another point of enjoyment for me, but I do admit that it may be starting to endanger the “game” part.

What do you think? Should I back off the writing of a story, and focus instead on merely providing reactions to whatever you decide to do, such that everything explicitly revolves around your actions and choices? Essentially, changing hats from Storyteller to Referee and Adjudicator of PC Actions?

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Well, you clearly have a large and detailed campaign world, as well as a clear idea of where you want the story to go. I say keep up what you're doing.

[Inspectre]

I'm So Lonely . . .

So, first let's start tonight's round of survey answers with Player Isolation Part Two. So as I've said yesterday, while I've tried to make everyone have their own unique plotline that somehow fits into the larger puzzle of Ironheart, that's not always worked out to everyone's satisfaction. After all, even if you have your own special plot, it's understandably lonely if you're the only one involved with it.

It's also occured to me as a result of these survey results that maybe, instead of trying to make players feel special and connected by making their unique plotline "central" to the so-called main plot, maybe I should just have them join up to people who are already connected to the main plot. It seems pretty obvious, but there are a few drawbacks to this, seperate from what I've already mentioned.

First and foremost, is the simple fact that some characters are not compatible with each other. Either there's a significant power gap between various characters (which I've been working on addressing, albeit slowly - see Tare's growth from Escape to the end of Flight), or they're simply not compatible in terms of personality. For example, I can't pair Mar up with Korram, because Korram will just punch Istomilo in the face until he leaves!

That's kind of a waste of a good plotline (and a good way to spoil all of the delicious The_Snark suffering!). So I need to be careful who I pair up together (or trio up, or whatever). Now, as WhiteKnight777 mentioned, I may do more "superhero teamups", similar to the end of Escape (and vaguely Flight, although Flight was more about absolute battlefield chaos) - so don't assume I just plan on pairing everyone off. Anyway, as a few other people mentioned, there's nothing stopping me from splitting people up again as well.

Anyway, I guess the main point here is that I do indeed plan on getting more hot PC on PC action in here, it's just a matter of careful consideration who I want to put alone in a room together. And hopefully doing so will eliminate or greatly reduce both player isolation, *and* anyone from feeling excluded from what's going on with the "main plot".

Why is this game so damn slow!?

Okay, now we come to the BIG ONE. Making Ironheart go faster . . . yeah, this is a tough one, with multiple obstacles in the way. I'm just going to run down through possible solutions in a rambling fashion. Buckle your seat belts!

At the heart of making Ironheart go faster and more smoothly is making more updates, more frequently. There's a couple ways to do this, most of them not pleasant.

More Time

Right now, I haven't figured out what Flight's average DM time was, but I'd guess an average of around two weeks. If I bust my ass every week, I could probably get that down closer to one week for each update. But that's pretty much the maximum limit here. I spend about thirteen hours of my day working, traveling to work, and other various work-related activities. About seven on sleeping. Throw in another hour for eating, rounding errors, etc. and I basically have an average of about two "free" hours on the average weekday. I takes me hours and hours to write up a single round of DMs - I generally assume about an hour or so per person. So, right there, I could potentially get up to around one update/week - but that's it. I literally can't go any higher without other changes. Let's look at some other options.

More Chefs - Cooking up DOOM!

I'm going to start with my least favorite idea - finding an assistant DM. Now, even assuming I could abdicate my writing responsibilities like that, I would either need to 1) select someone out of our current group of players who I trust, which leaves someone's PC in the lurch, or 2) find some random ******* off the street who is willing to do hours and hours of writing. Quite frankly, I wouldn't trust a new person as far as I could throw them, which isn't very far at all as people are heavy and I am a weakling. So unless someone has some sort of brilliant plan, like kidnapping GRRM, I'm just outright throwing this idea out.

PC Plotline Fusion Punch!

Obviously, combining people together is going to reduce the workload because there will be less DMs needed. Now, if this was some sort of D&D game and everyone was cramped into one party together whether they liked it or not, this *might* work. But most likely, while dovetailing plotlines will help, it's not going to reduce hours and hours of writing into something that can be wrote out in an hour-ish.

Cut down on the word count there, bucko!

Obviously if I cut down on the word count, that could really help. Theoretically I can maintain the quality of the game by simply posting more often - so the word count stays the same, it's just more spread out. This could theoretically work, but it does cause a new problem - not every player might be able to post at the increased rate. And that doesn't seem fair to me to leave these players behind if they're simply too busy to manage more than one post per week. I'm also not convinced that even if I drop everyone's replies down to like three sentences per person, I can get sixteen of them done in one night (or six, or whatever).

Of course, if people don't spend so much time writing these huge posts themselves, maybe they can post more often as well. I definitely agree that we have a viscious cycle going on here, that we should probably do something about. As it stands now, every post tries to cram every little bit of action and forward movement as can fit. If we spread things out a little, it might cut down on the feeling that things are moving too fast to follow. And players can actually hold a conversation with an NPC without feeling like they're wasting valuable DMs they could instead spend on getting things done.

But yeah, I don't quite know how to solve this problem. One last thought I had.

How Often would you like to post?

I could try to split our roster of players up - people sign up to post "once per week", "twice per week", whatever rate they're comfortable with. If they don't manage it, it's no worry just like missing one update doesn't completely screw you now.

As a result of your choice, I try to split up your progress over the number of posts/week you want to have, such that you get roughly the same word count per week. So if you only want to post once per week, that's fine, but with that comes the intent that we'll be moving things along at the in-game's current rapid clip, where your PC doesn't really have time to stop and smell the roses. On the other hand, if you want to post everyday - well, one, I will hate you, but two, you will get short replies that move you along slowly, one step at a time, so that by the end of the week you get to the same point you would if we had just done one massive post for the entire week.

I dunno if I like this plan, as it seems like it would be difficult to manage - but I can't really think of any good way to balance different posting rates that everyone is comfortable with, while at the same time embracing reality with the time I have to write updates.

(Incidentally, one other option that I didn't put up here for serious consideration is if you all want to pool money to pay me to work on Ironheart full time. I don't think it's quite *that* good, though. Also, incidentally, I'm not exactly cheap. )

So, does anyone else have some other solution to suggest here that I didn't cover above? What do you think about trying to have a sort of "posting rate sign-up"?

FRUSTRATION!

I saw a few comments about this, so I just wanted to talk about this as well. Generally I do tend to set things up so that a PC has a problem, they try to fix it, complications appear to continue making things difficult, until eventually the PC fixes the problem entirely or an outside force gets the PC and/or problem out of contact with each other. When the problem is out of the picture one way or the other, there is meant to be a sense of relief and accomplishment. Of course, this being Ironheart, this success is usually tainted in some way by fear of what's coming next, or what the consequences of this success will be. Sometimes, I decide to just out-and-out screw somebody by making all of the solutions horrible, or the whole thing just ends in outright failure, period (have I mentioned that I'm a rat bastard DM lately)?

That's kinda of how Ironheart has always worked, although things took a particularly depressing turn with the Flight finale. This was intentional, as I wanted the Flight from Ironheart to be absoultely brutal. I intend on things lightening up a little going forward into Return - the central theme is meant to be vaguely reassuring/inspiring. *However*, as seen from the previews, Return is dealing with the literal End of the World. That's going to get ugly at some point, on some level - and not all change is necessarily good. But I want to state for the record that I do not intend for the final word in Ironheart to be a Downer Ending (like Flight basically was). If it works out Return ends that way, then I *guess* I'll just have to have a (surprise!) fourth thread. I don't expect it to be necessary, but y'know. I pinky-swear I won't let the Ironheart Saga have a depressing ending!

In the meantime, I'll try to ease up a little on my favorite chewtoys in Flight. Those new players need to be clearly shown how things work around here! (except The_Snark. THE_SNARK MUST SUFFER!!!! )


The Nature of the Soul (Crystal)

So, basically how this all works. No one decides who goes to the Hells, and who goes to the Heavens, except the person in question. Through their actions during their mortal life, a person either aligns themselves with the Heavens', or they don't. If they don't, then they go to the Hells - there is no middle ground. The Heavens is the exclusive club, and the Hells is everywhere else basically.

There are a couple exceptions to this.

If a person dies on one plane or the other, then they are stuck there. But, while the fiends love to have new guests, the angels will make damn sure that only people who belong in the Heavens stay there. Generally speaking they haven't needed to actually throw people out, but if you're some jackass mage thinking of guaranteeing yourself a happy afterlife, you're going to be sorely disappointed.

Obviously, beings native to one plane or another return to their home one when they die - unless they're somewhere they shouldn't be, in which case they get trapped there instead, just like mortals. Again, the fiends are only too happy to have new guests, while the angels don't like party crashers of any sort (pity there's so few of them left).

It's also important to note that even on the afterlife planes, the soul gathers material around itself to fashion a new body. This is one of the big reasons why the soul returns to a given home plane - their current body is essentially *made* of that plane. This can have potentially body-altering effects - humans gradually turning into fiends, angels turning into twisted hell angels, etc. etc. Also, since you technically have a body even in the afterlife, all you have to do is find a way back onto the mortal plane to live again. This is quite strongly frowned upon by both fiends and angels, unless you are specifically sent back. And good luck finding a portal on your own, or convincing one of the plane's inhabitants who can into opening a portal for you.

Soul crystals interfere in this process by tricking the soul into thinking it still has a body to inhabit - the soul crystal itself. So instead of going on to the afterlife, the soul enters the crystal, and becomes trapped there. Essentially, the soul takes the material of the crystal to form it's new "body", merging the soul to the crystal and the crystal to the soul until its impossible to seperate the two anymore.

Generally speaking, the soul itself falls into a nightmarish sort of "sleep", wandering alone through the deserted wasteland of the soul crystal's interior, and whatever distorted reflections the soul can throw up onto the crystalline surroundings. However, particularly strong and experienced souls - such as Istomilo, the Baron, and Marisiel - can push their consciousness through the boundries of the crystal if they realize they still have a body to inhabit. Without a physical shell to take control over (essentially the zombie part), the crystal is still completley inert, with the possibility of the inhabitant able to telepathically communicate with whoever picks it up. Put such a crystal into a body that can sustain some sort of life - even if "life" in this question is a magically-enhanced corpse that can still move even with its heart cut out, and the soul can take over the body. It's still trapped in the crystal, but at least now it can interact and is aware of the outside world.

In the specific cases of the Baron and Sara, both of their bodies were utterly destroyed. The Baron's body got obliterated - there might be a few scraps of flesh and some bloodstains somewhere down underneath the wreckage of the Gastly Truth, but pretty much all that was left was his soul crystal and say enough flesh to keep his crystal from shattering. Because he was the BBEG and thus bad-ass, he managed to accomplish what a normal soul being condemned to the Hells is able to do - he formed a new body for his soul out of the material of the Hells. Unfortunately for him, this just meant that the best he could do was the body of an imp - barely an improvement for him over being an inert crystal sitting down safely beneath all the wreckage. Sara's body, while fitting a certain definition of intact, was so badly shredded and poisoned by her condition (her body gets ill upon contact with divine energy - and Miriam is basically the pinnacle of that) that it's not suitable, period. She has also withdrawn into the confines of her crystal, and thus far has shown no signs of being willing or able to "wake up" and come out. Whether that might change remains to be seen in Return.

It should also be noted that even while the soul is "alseep" within the crystal, it can still be used as a power source. The Baron was quite happy to take advantage of this to use countless angel souls, trapped in crystals, to power his airship and GHASTs.

Finally, because the soul and crystal are now so tightly bound together, destroying the crystal doesn't free the soul, it shatters the soul into however many pieces you have of crystal. While this is theoretically survivable (Istomilo had his crystal shattered by Marisiel, and while he's not happy and clearly a few shards short of a full set, he's still up and about), generally this is as close to destroying a soul as you can get without feeding it to the Herald of Azguloth.

Does that explain everything? Or do y'all still have questions about this?