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Warhammer Fantasy: Thirteen Tolls - An Apocalypse Quest

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[X] How can we put the most souls of this city to rest, saving them from damnation of this city and it's gods?

I have caught up, but I don't think I really caught up. The prose is increasingly occult and difficult to follow.

Yeah it's hard to really follow from the eyes of a prophet/madman, but I really wish the vote results are given in spoilers if possible so I can at least have some clue as to what is happening.
 
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    • Scheduled vote count started by Graf Tzarogy on May 8, 2024 at 5:59 PM, finished with 10 posts and 10 votes.
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    Turn Four Results (Part 6) - Fate
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    • [x] How can we put the most souls of this city to rest, saving them from damnation of this city and it's gods?


    ♫​

    AN: Bad stuff here, more than normal. TW for murders, suicide, torture.

    You've got to kill them all.

    You cut the neck of a heaving bull, watch animal panic drain from its eyes as blood soaks into your socks. Myrmidia goes down screaming, half nude, her body riddled with arrows as she lies broken on a shattered barricade. You smash a scorpion beneath your foot, and strangle a cat until it stops smiling. Lady Tophania giggles, as she drinks a cup of wine. Suddenly, she seizes, eyes rolling, mouth foaming, her fallen drink dyes the floor black. Skavor explodes in an eruption of warpstone, his body reduced to rubble, which you take a sledgehammer and crush into dust. You shoot the golden eagle down with a crossbow, and twist off a dove's head. You hang Her-Ben in his cell and leave his body to rot. You throw your sword into a furnace, and hear it scream as it turns into slag. Ambrose jumps off the top of the Roost. You toss ice water onto the burning sun and watch night fall forever.

    You are the Raven.

    You are the Last.

    You are Death.

    You are trapped at the top of the Tower, beneath a guillotine. Above you, a screeching teeming mass, tearing at its bindings and itself, contorting in pain as with every movement a thousand cuts open and then a thousand more but bleeding, bleeding, bleeding – there is always more to lose.

    There are two others with you, beneath the great black-green bell that hangs above.

    In a grey cloak dotted with bolts of metal like stars, a single, bulbous eye stares at you. It has no pupil nor iris but is a pure black mirror in which you can see but the ruin of your own bloodied face.

    Beside the Stranger is the Princeps, no longer so bright. He too is covered in viscera, his perfect face destroyed by a great rotting wound, his left eye but a drip-drop of pus, his nose gone, his mouth forever a scream of agony.

    They both look at you with more than hate. Disgust. You are worse than a worm, you sniveling shit. All things you touch have come to ruin, killer, end-bringer, demon. You will be ended, and the world will be made better, not by any act more that your destruction. To know of you was a tragedy. To be with you was a blight. To forget you is a blessing, and may it be, for all mankind.

    Ding-dong.

    The altar begins to shake.

    Ding-dong.

    You feel sick.

    Ding-dong.

    You're feeling worse, your whole body pin-pricks of awful pain, everything swelling, swelling, you barfing and shitting to get it out, get it out, and as you seize in your own filth no relief, no relief.

    Ding-dong.

    You feel your very soul begin to fray as something deep within begins to be pulled out against your will and all the world. But

    Ding-dong.

    You burst. Your guts flay as a hurricane gale force presses itself from an impossibility within, your spine snapping, your heart ripped in twain, your brain turned into a slurry. But you live – oh, you live – as the altar groans and glows red hot you feel each and every nerve stabbed and burnt and hurt and killed over and over and over.

    Ding-dong.

    Slicing through your soul from the other side, what could not be severed. The Stranger and Princeps are knocked to the ground, as the last breaths of everyone who has ever died smash into the room like a hurricane gale.

    Ding-dong.

    Through the portal of his favored cleric, a God is bared to the world.

    Ding-dong

    The guillotine falls.

    Ding-dong.

    Death falls unto you, and two become one.

    Ding-dong.

    You are still alive. Your body is being gnawed by thousands of rats, and you can feel every bite every bleeding every pollutant and evil and ruin they bring as they lap at your shredded veins. You cannot see, you cannot hear. But you are still alive.

    Ding-dong.

    The swing of a sword. A great betrayal. A Stranger dies, and a Prince follows.

    Ding-dong.

    In a place beyond places, two screaming corpses join you in eternal digestion, them too eaten and eaten and eaten. They scream and claw at you, demanding you kneel, demanding you obey, demanding you give to them, feed them, save them.

    But all the Gods are far away.

    You made sure of that.

    There is only you.

    Who says "No."

    And you will never die.

    Ding-dong.

    AN: To be continued.
     
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    • So I feel like this is Morr being pretty explicit that there are no good endings here.

    Maybe Morr is wrong, but if we are to completely avert the coming if the Horned Rat we must drive everything away from the city, both mortal and divine. We'll damn ourselves, but in the process stop the formation of the Horned Rat forever. Which, considering how much awfulness will come about from the Rat and the Skaven, it's hard to argue it wouldn't be a net good.

    Of course, there are two questions to ask, do we have faith that Morr is correct, and if so, could we bring ourselves to do it?
     
    You know, bad ending or not I can respect it.

    It takes a special kind of man to hold a grudge beyond death, beyond digestion, beyond a forced apotheosis.

    That's a hate that'd put the dwarves to shame.
     
    Will the last god in Tylos-Kavzar, get the lights?

    We couldn't have truly killed most of the gods, not without the kind of conspiracy preparation that the princeps has going- they're too big- but driving them out? Driving them away from the danger they can't see? Doable.

    And when we're the biggest game left in town, and the growing throat of the great fascist empire to come tries to swallow us for that, we manage to stick in it's craw so hard that the foetal godhead is never truly born, condemning us, the princeps, and The Third Guy to an eternity of suffering.

    Dudes Rock.
     
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    Either Morr is trying to tell us a key idea we've been operating under isn't going to work out as good as we think it will, or the only way to stop the Skaven is to embrace entropy.
    MiskWisk said:
    Maybe Morr is wrong, but if we are to completely avert the coming if the Horned Rat we must drive everything away from the city, both mortal and divine. We'll damn ourselves, but in the process stop the formation of the Horned Rat forever. Which, considering how much awfulness will come about from the Rat and the Skaven, it's hard to argue it wouldn't be a net good.
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    That, this bit right here? That's what I think Morr's addressing. We already saw that killing a minor river goddess some long way away made the entire community die. When your soul is claimed, bound, and sacrificed, distance may not matter. So long as the ritual has something to grab onto, you're screwed.

    The crux of how applicable that is comes down tl othe first part of the question: Put them to rest. Give them an afterlife where they won't be disturbed or devoured. Anyone who dies before the ritual kicks off, any gods who we have completely moved all artifacts of out of range, and especially if we kill many of the key members of the Princeps plan, is going to avoid being eaten because there isn't enough divine energy to juice the reaction to make the Horned Rat. I think the crux of 'kill everyone' is especially clear with Mydmidia manifesting during the Red uprising and being shot by the guards.

    Maybe all the people we evacuate will explode into meat chunks to be gnawed into rats. Maybe we'll be able to move certain just enough of the temples for the Myrmidian pantheon to survive in a reduced form. Maybe we'll just be delaying their final resting place in a god-rat's belly.

    I still think evacuation is the way to go. But we've gotten confirmation it's not gonna be a Noah's Ark. The more people we give a chance to live a little longer, the more likley The Horned Rat gets to survive. Which makes it all the more important that we get all the other temples, priests, divine artifacts, anything that can make a connection to a god, out of here. Which means talking with the other priests.
     
    the question now, is did we lock ourselves into this plan (which i am now thinking of as The Firebreak Maneuver) or is it going to be left to us to start doing it in another few turn
     
    Always Late said:
    We already saw that killing a minor river goddess some long way away made the entire community die.
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    Point of order, that's probably because the river in question was feeding that community- knock out the metaphysical backing of "The River's Bounty" and the river is no longer bountiful. Still bad for the community, but at a degree of separation. The people didn't just kick the bucket when the goddess did, they starved when the fish stopped biting or what have you. Knock on effects.
     
    The way I see it, we kinda worded the question wrongly.

    Yes, we can save (in a manner of speaking) the maximum amount of people by killing everyone and putting them under Morr's domain and thus beyond the Princeps' reach.

    But that is akin to forcing an end to world wars by glassing the world and putting it back into the stone age.

    Not quite what is desired.
     
    It's also wildly unfeasible. Exorcising a willing Ahalt is one thing, executing an unwilling Myrmidia is another which would probably lead to our swift impalement via spear. Xenophon isn't going to be throwing hands with the clergy of any war God and coming out on top.
     
    I think some people here kinda trying to get a golden ending a sort of "what if we save everyone and stop the hornet rat" or even more "what if tylos-kvar is save and the bad part stripped out"

    a this point, I dont think that is posible and we have to acept that.
     
    Turn Four Results (Part 7) - Findings
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    • ♫
    ​
    It is rather disconcerting to see someone hale and whole when a moment before their corpse was writhing before you, being eternally consumed by vermin. Regardless, you shake (or try, at least) the horrors from your head to engage in what you assume will be a duel of wits and wiles, of half-truths and near-deceptions, a great debate for and against the apocalypse. So, it is particularly curious when you and the Princeps have seated yourself in a secluded grove, facing another on cast-iron garden seats decorated with skulls, between the solemn cypresses waving farewells into the wind, he asks, of all things:

    "Do you think I'm doing a good job?"

    You take a moment to gather your thoughts.

    "As a man, or as a Prince?"

    He does not meet your eyes, but looks up, at the clear azure above.

    "Neither? Both? I mean, you are new to the Cities, you do not know me – as an image, as an idol – what is that you'd say I was?"

    You think you see where this is going, so you dare a little.

    "You mean, if you happened to be a God, what your domains might be?"

    He grins blindingly at you. His soul seems to shiver in delight.

    "Why, you read my mind exact. A good augur you are, Raven."

    There are a great many things you want to say. Hubris, perhaps, catastrophe, strife. Morr knows what he'd want to hear. Heroism? Too narrow. Civilization? Too heretical for now, Myrmidia already had that sphere. Ah – you got it, splitting the difference between insult and praise.

    "Ambition" you offer.

    He raises a perfectly coiffed eyebrow. "Explain?"

    "What else are you, Princeps, but the paragon of what man may rise to? If life, as said by the sages, is the struggle for command, who has more than you? Who and direct the seas and lands, men and machines, light and dark? By your will, the world kneels, and all who see your radiance know it." You didn't mean to be that praiseful – at all. But now you've started, you can't seem to stop.

    "You are the lodestar of our people, the lantern along the way. Where the Elder Races fall into strife and ruin, you show there is a path to meet and to beyond them. What child is not inspired by these great works? Who cannot look upon your Tower and say, there, man reaches for the heavens and can be sure to- agh!" Your sword is boiling hot. Only the pain of an accidental touch brought you out of your lauding.

    "Are you alright, Xenophon?"

    "No worry, my lord".

    He looks perturbed but moves on. "You were saying, then? My Tower?"

    "A work of ambition never before seen."

    He laughs.

    "Why, I would agree. And my thanks for your honest opinion."

    You Look, then, really, at his soul. You want to know what netted you. And then you catch it, just there, orthogonal to the real. His soul is labelled. An inelegant phrasing, but that it what it is – "PRINCEPS SUTTAR" written there, in letters of gold and dream-stuff. A NAME, half here, half in that other realm. And what did you start your praises with but – "Princeps". You grip your hand on your sword-hilt, and though you can feel your palm burning, you try again.

    "Princeps Suttar" you say. And into your mind comes unbidden – your majesty graces us, your beauty unbecomes us, let us serve you, that would be the greatest privil- you squeeze the sword, and the pain forces it to stop. You feel a headache coming on – the name is flashing, flashing, flashing, like the flame of a lighthouse, and something beyond is trying to force you to exalt Him. As if his name itself was gaining force; that all who spoke of him direct were forced into implicit worship. Gods save you, Arkhan. There's your missing piece. But how?

    You can't dwell on that any longer, as you've been silent too long. "Raven" the Princeps says "Are you absolutely sure you're feeling well?"

    You offer a weak smile, hiding your singed fingers in your robe. "No, I'm not feeling ill, thank you," No direct references and no direct lies. What a minefield this conversation was after all.

    "Well then, mayhaps we might move on to the direct point of this meeting?"

    "What happened that evening?"

    "Exactly. I will lay out what I know, and you will fill the gaps?"

    "Sure."

    "There was a plot against my life, that is obvious. There was a magical working as a part of that assassination, that is clear. The play and my death would have an obvious resonance. Clearly, the assassin held my death, as per the girl, a necessary sacrifice for a greater good."

    But that's wrong. That's ass-backwards, in fact. His death was the opposite of the play – he was the villain, the one willing to sacrifice, not the maiden daughter. But that was only natural for him to think, you suppose. The idea that someone might be personally opposed to him was comprehensible, but to his Cities, the whole project of Tylos-Kavzar? Why, most citizens would spit at you for even suggesting it! The greatest works of mankind, after all. Ha! But the Princeps Suttar HE is moving on.

    "But as you so elegantly put yourself, I am, if I may have some pride, popular. Neither the Reds nor Whites have campaigned on my ouster, there is no opponent who would come into office at my loss. I can only see riot and ruin stemming from my demise, so I cannot understand why? Unless they were sponsored by some foreign state, neither Elf nor Dwarf was involved. I have considered, Chaos, too, and found it wanting. None of the Cleansing Flame could find anything of the Four in the theatre. So, I put it to you, Raven, three questions. Who, why, and what next?"

    What do you say? You cannot lie but you can omit, and you can speculate.

    WHO

    [] A lone actor.

    You actually have no proof that anyone else was directly involved. Melissa herself didn't know. So, you can put it all on Junius, though it seems implausible one man could do such a work.

    [] Myrmidia.

    Something great had to be behind the magic, and you had that dream of the weeping eagle. And you think of what Junius said – "she changed it on me". You have no idea how the Princeps would react.

    [] A great conspiracy.

    Sell the League of Salvation out; they knew the vague outline, if not the specifics. Would probably result in most of them dead if that's your aim.

    [] Write-in.

    Subject to veto.

    WHY

    [] To kill Mistress Marvos.

    It was all a distraction. You'll equivocate on the details.

    [] To kill Mistress Marvos as a cover-up.

    Tell him about the smuggling from the Spring. You've got no direct links here, sure, but there's a motive, at least.

    [] To kill you as a work of worship.

    Myrmidia and Junius together. But it doesn't explain the divine diversion.

    [] To scare you into worship.

    Myrmidia asks Junius to make a play, and then sacrifices him to send a message? But what could be so important?

    [] To destroy the cities.

    Fearmongering, but if you're talking about the League, sort of correct.

    [] For madness.

    A lot of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

    [] Write-in.

    Subject to veto.

    WHAT NEXT

    [] To arrest the priests of Myrmidia.

    One god out.

    [] To allow you access to Myrmidia's Spring.

    Time for you to visit the Tower?

    [] To lay an ambush for the smugglers.

    Spoil Ambrose's fun.

    [] To smash this conspiracy.

    Salvation denied.

    [] To enable further investigation.

    Hedge your claims and ask for more resources and more time.

    [] Nothing.

    Totally random, to be ignored.

    [] Write-in.

    Subject to veto.

    AN: Vote by plan, please. The combination is important in how the Princeps will receive Xenophon's report.
     
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    • Graf Tzarogy said:
    You Look, then, really, at his soul. You want to know what netted you. And then you catch it, just there, orthogonal to the real. His soul is labelled. An inelegant phrasing, but that it what it is – "PRINCEPS SUTTAR" written there, in letters of gold and dream-stuff. A NAME, half here, half in that other realm. And what did you start your praises with but – "Princeps". You grip your hand on your sword-hilt, and though you can feel your palm burning, you try again.

    "Princeps Suttar" you say. And into your mind comes unbidden – your majesty graces us, your beauty unbecomes us, let us serve you, that would be the greatest privil- you squeeze the sword, and the pain forces it to stop. You feel a headache coming on – the name is flashing, flashing, flashing, like the flame of a lighthouse, and something beyond is trying to force you to exalt Him. As if his name itself was gaining force; that all who spoke of him direct were forced into implicit worship. Gods save you, Arkhan. There's your missing piece. But how?
    Click to expand...
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    Simple: For all some entities may clam to be "Gods of Order", the fact that their true title of "Chaos Gods of Order" belies their antithesis to the concept and their allegiance to different measures of oblivion. The true inheritors of Order, befittingly, use a mechanism inverted.

    If our protagonist were to find himself whisked away to the dread, painful final days of this world to meet with the last of mankind's defenders, he may see a figure with a similar NAME upon his very soul. VALTEN. The last biological heir of the God-King. And if he watched the leader of what would be humanity's greatest capital die, he would see a name overwrite the name of an Emperor. SIGMAR.

    We were told of in the prophesy of what Myrmidia would find around her son who she entrusted with a sacred, special place of nature. Now, her latest genetic recipient has used his inheritance of a flicker of divine energy as the cornerstone of more and more temporal power to chase the spiritual supremacy he lacks...

    Which makes Princeps Suttar a giant fucking nepo-baby.
     
    Of course he is a nepo-baby. His stupidly powerful use of magic, Power of Truth, devouring of souls that would rival Shang "Your soul is mine" Tsung and his long existence used to selfish ends all say it.

    Meanwhile I have just realized the best soundtrack for one of the last chapters.
    AC DC's Hell's Bells :cool:

    What to do?
    Possibility 1:
    [] Myrmidia.
    [] To scare you into worship.
    [] To enable further investigation. / [] To allow you access to Myrmidia's Spring.

    Possible objective: snatch Myrmidia's divinity from under the Princeps' nose.
    Risk: The Hungry Hyperambitious Princeps, radiant with his budding divinity, eats part of Myrmidia.

    Possibility 2:
    [] Myrmidia. / [] A lone actor.
    [] To kill Mistress Marvos as a cover-up.
    [] To lay an ambush for the smugglers.

    What does it mean "to lay an ambush for the Smugglers"? That we allow the Princeps to intercept the Warpy-Warpstone that is being smuggled out to Nagash?
    Possible objective (if I understand it correctly): Take that warpstone from Nagash's route
    Risk: the Princeps has MOAR FUEL.

    Possibility 3:
    [] A great conspiracy.
    [] To kill Mistress Marvos. / [] To scare you into worship. / [] To destroy the cities.
    [] To allow you access to Myrmidia's Spring.
    Reasoning: we sell out the existence of the League of Salvation. Their aim is irrelevant. It may put more or less pressure on them. What matters for us is to get access to the Tower, and Myrmidia's spring.
    Risk: The League of Salvation dies screaming, and also sells us out in the process. This could backfire on us.
    Benefit: we get at least a moment where the Princeps unapologetically trusts us, and grants us access to the Tower and Myrmidia's spring. We believe that this access is best obtained by selling out the conspirators rather than involving Myrmidia too directly and allowing the Princeps to devour her. High risk, high reward. No pain, no gain XD
     
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