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Warhammer Fantasy: Thirteen Tolls - An Apocalypse Quest

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Turn Five Results (Part 5) - Cashout
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    • ♫​

    A knight tries to slay a dragon while a pretty maiden cowers. A tale twice-told. The story of the founding of the Cities; of Tyleus and Chaos and Myrmidia. It replays again before your very eyes. But this is not Aoife telling a fairy tale. You're not a boy anymore, and you can see it now, what's always lain behind Tylos and Kavzar's legend.

    Blood and ruin; death unto death; to kill the tyrant dragon only to take its place.

    You will play no part in this play. You are sick of this, this – stupidity, this abdication of duty. You fight for the garden, but – as you look at the bodies scattered around, the cracked ceiling above, almost in collapse, the skull of Sonia under your arm, who nobody seems to care to even mention – no one tends the crops.

    Yet. You stand – and who bears the scythe but Morr?

    Ambrose is bloodied, golden ichor leaking out his mouth, gashes on his chest and shins. Nivet is mostly translucent now, more smog that real, a choking gas that makes you want to gag.

    No more magic. No more story. An ending to this – not "happily ever after", but something true, something final.

    You think back to something Aoife told you a thousand years ago.

    "Why do men die?" you asked, scared of the dark.

    "How can new things grow," she said, "if not for the ending of the old?"

    A knight fights a dragon, a game they've played a thousand times before.

    You draw your sword.

    And Death comes charging in.

    …

    CLANG!

    Your first strike is just parried at the last moment by Ambrose, who was not so fast to stop the tip of your blade opening a pretty wound on his chin.

    His golden eyes are wide with shock. "Are you insane!" he says. "I'm with you!"

    Nivet takes the opportunity to rake towards both of you with a great claw. Ambrose ducks, but you just stand, and raise your key with your off-hand, and watch Nivet pull back with a scream, the anti-light of the dark steel of your relic burning away the fog that made up his form.

    "You are on the side of Tyleus" you say, "And that is wrong enough".

    You stab forward, and with another resounding BLANG! you dent his armour, enough to leave more than a nasty bruise.

    He staggers back. "You are Tylosi!" he cries. "We are all on my side!"

    Nivet, rearing back, laughs. "Weak, weak, weak, little godling. That's why we need to replace you. Your own city – and no believers."

    Ambrose's golden eyes narrow; and you see his whole-body flicker like a grand illusion. Beneath, there is just gold and light; something of Warp just held here in some physical form. The whole image judders, like a ship crashing onto shore, and you see a thousand golden filaments criss-crossing his form, just containing what's inside. There is something Divine there, bound within the Material. An incarnation, like the Elves spoke of their deities doing in the Greatest War. Impossible to See, and, not banished by your key, for they were and are of the mundane world – but guided by an intelligence that very much was not.

    But while you theorize, Nivet exhales, and a ghostly, gigantic pendulum swings from above. You jump to get out of the way, and feel, again, the Key pulse – and watch as your own end is diverted, as the blade is knocked but an inch askew, as if the spellwork maintaining it was just loosened before it struck. But as that inch saves you, it dooms another, as Morgannis, lying on the floor, is split exactly in twain. You hear the awful CRACK! as his spine is bisected, the SCHLORP as organs and blood spill, and then an awful keening scream as a soul is torn to shreds. You watch as golden motes somehow still stained with blood and gore rise to go beyond. But the Gate is Shut; and you see them gutter and fade to nothing, as Morgannis is destroyed forever.

    But you have no time to consider if that was a violation of your priestly oaths – surely not, when it was Morr's will? – that Ambrose is swinging at you himself, eyes wild.

    "Tylos-Kavzar will stand, father! It has stood. It will, for a thousand, thousand years! Damn you and damn your daughters. This is my city, and my glory, and my will!"

    He's a better fighter than you. The strikes come down fast and hard, and you can only parry twice before he gets past your guard and strikes – but not your sword arm?

    You watch Ambrose's blade enter your bicep, but even as you do, you take the inexplicable opportunity, and jab him in the stomach. But as he doubles over, you final cognize the pain in your arm as it spasms – and you realize.

    You drop the Key.

    Light explodes.

    …



    You are not dead. You open your eyes, which are caked in blood and dust. You can't feel your right arm, and your whole body aches. You see Ambrose, floating in the air, his body burning away as Tyleus the True reveals himself.

    He is handsome, as the Cities are. A beauty of wealth and boundlessness; clean, bright armour, bedecked in jewels, a cape of sky-blue (like the one Ambrose had bought); eyes that contain stars, suns, galaxies.

    He hurts to look upon. A God in truth; not bedecked in prophecy or tale or illusion.

    And like the Cities, in his beauty, he is terrible.

    An imperious look, and Nivet, reduced to a nigh-transparent worm, batting at the rubble-ruin of the doors is nothing. A shadow before the dawn. The Lady Tophiania, screaming in the corner – a gesture, and from darkness, chains wrap around her, and drag her away into the deeps, to the sound of a mournful harp.

    He looks at you.

    You struggle, and stand.

    You are Xenophon, and Priest of Morr, and you will face your end – if this might it be – with dignity.

    There is the sound of shouting, and marching feet. Someone has realized the hell that's broken loose, and you won't be alone soon.

    You look at the edges of Tyleus, and see his glow is fading; he is but here for moments. His form was to intervene; weak as he was, beyond the firmament – if what Nivet said was true, with no believers, he was weaker still. Forced to return to himself to live – why he only had moments left.

    Tyleus and Ambrose have the same smile. Bright teeth, with a hint of something deeper – something desperate and mournful.

    A God Looks at you, and – his face breaks, and he weeps.

    "Xenophon" he says through tears. "I love you. I love all my people. I love my Cities. Why do you forsake me? Why must this-we- I end?"

    And you think of the slaves in the City and the skull of Sonia and the captured clouds of Thunderdome, and the screaming in Summerland, and the burnings of the Flame, and the warpstone below, and the screaming rat-beast, and the death of the flower-man, and all the people fighting and dying every day. All the Cities kill, all the blood they spill– this beautiful, shining world that stands before you – all the endings that must be for Tyleus and Tylos to not.

    You think of your own life; what it could have been. What Aoife could have done, had she not been enslaved. What you could have done, not born into this, not bound to these horrifying, endless machine for ruin and ruin and ruin.

    And you look at Tyleus, who wanted – what? A home.

    But nothing can last forever.

    "For the new" you say to Ambrose, and kiss him – not on the lips, but on the forehead; good night, godspeed.

    And the God of the Cities fades away.

    For a better world.

    …

    There is something, though, left in the ashes, as the morning dawn breaks through the cracks in the Casino roof.

    Below, between the bodies, you see it shine – Ambrose's sword.

    It glitters with some fragment of Divinity; engraved in the hilt are lengths of chain, each link broken.

    The doors behind you crash open, and Lorelei with a horde of the freedman comes rushing it., cursing, shouting, running to you. You realize, with a start, that you're grasping the sword, but lying on the floor – you can't feel your am. You didn't even realize you fell.

    You think of Tyleus the Liberator, that sign that barred the door – and think, that even if there might not be enough believers to make a God – a dream still holds power.

    The hope of liberty. The duty of good. The desire for a home.

    The Cities don't deserve to survive. But perhaps some things do.

    And you pass out.

    …

    You awaken, a day later, to Pelops fretting over you. You're in your bedroom in the Roost; your left arm is bound in a sling. On the desk beside you are your sword, and a familiar Key, and Ambrose's sword, still thrumming with an inner golden light, a shine like a pretty smile.

    "My Raven!" Pelops says. "My apologies – I will resign forthwith for my failure-"

    But before you can protest, Maban pushes in "Stop, stop! Save the fellow! He deserves rest!" he cries, and shoves in your face a gigantic tureen of soup. Rosamunde brings flowers, and the Melodus twins perfume a "sound cure" involving too many gongs and Iefyr singing in Eltharin and Franka and Santo read you the news – apparently the whole debacle at the Casino was blamed on Morgannis, solved by "divine intervention from Tyleus and Morr!" which is, you suppose, technically correct, and Mervin gives you a whole plate of honey biscuits; and Pelops doesn't leave your side, not once, and you have to shove him off from staying in the water closet with you.

    There are things worth saving indeed.

    …

    You have lost the follower AMBROSE.

    What do you do next? (vote for subject of next update, no mechanical effect, just what you want to read first)

    [] The Best Defense (Hire Security)

    [] Who's your Mummy? (Explore a District – Little Khemri)

    [] Red-Baiting (Protest a Trial)
     
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    • Graf Tzarogy said:
    You think back to something Aoife told you a thousand years ago.

    "Why do men die?" you asked, scared of the dark.

    "How can new things grow," she said, "if not for the ending of the old?"

    A knight fights a dragon, a game they've played a thousand times before.

    You draw your sword.

    And Death comes charging in.
    Click to expand...
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    Well, I didn't understand the question for what it was, as many of us did... but I think we chose what had to be done.
    Graf Tzarogy said:
    His golden eyes are wide with shock. "Are you insane!" he says. "I'm with you!"

    Nivet takes the opportunity to rake towards both of you with a great claw. Ambrose ducks, but you just stand, and raise your key with your off-hand, and watch Nivet pull back with a scream, the anti-light of the dark steel of your relic burning away the fog that made up his form.

    "You are on the side of Tyleus" you say, "And that is wrong enough".

    You stab forward, and with another resounding BLANG! you dent his armour, enough to leave more than a nasty bruise.

    He staggers back. "You are Tylosi!" he cries. "We are all on my side!"

    Nivet, rearing back, laughs. "Weak, weak, weak, little godling. That's why we need to replace you. Your own city – and no believers."
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    You, false, bound, serpent. You would replace a man with a rat? Feed this symbol of your people to a Chaos God of your own development? No, you shall be cast into nothingness. But that does not change what Tyleus, ultimately, represents. There are more claimants than thrones for the Gods in the Realms of Magic.

    And it's time we found a better heir than you.
    Graf Tzarogy said:
    Ambrose's golden eyes narrow; and you see his whole-body flicker like a grand illusion. Beneath, there is just gold and light; something of Warp just held here in some physical form. The whole image judders, like a ship crashing onto shore, and you see a thousand golden filaments criss-crossing his form, just containing what's inside. There is something Divine there, bound within the Material. An incarnation, like the Elves spoke of their deities doing in the Greatest War. Impossible to See, and, not banished by your key, for they were and are of the mundane world – but guided by an intelligence that very much was not.
    Click to expand...
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    ... so that is what makes this romance so tragic. A god.
    Graf Tzarogy said:
    But as that inch saves you, it dooms another, as Morgannis, lying on the floor, is split exactly in twain. You hear the awful CRACK! as his spine is bisected, the SCHLORP as organs and blood spill, and then an awful keening scream as a soul is torn to shreds. You watch as golden motes somehow still stained with blood and gore rise to go beyond. But the Gate is Shut; and you see them gutter and fade to nothing, as Morgannis is destroyed forever.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Slaanesh is denied their prize. Good.
    Graf Tzarogy said:
    But you have no time to consider if that was a violation of your priestly oaths – surely not, when it was Morr's will?
    Click to expand...
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    Well, we didn't exactly push Morgannis into the dragon's path, so we're probably fine?
    Graf Tzarogy said:
    "Tylos-Kavzar will stand, father! It has stood. It will, for a thousand, thousand years! Damn you and damn your daughters. This is my city, and my glory, and my will!"
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Truth be told, there's something about Morr's dreams that have disconcerted me, a cruelty that is misplaced. First when Morr bashed his grandson's brains out. Then when he said that the only way to save the city was to betray everyone and let no man, dwarf, or god survive this place. But maybe that is... the edge to an impatient boss' lecture. Deserved impatience with a disciple who started chasing a Chaos God in the name of defying all Gods.

    The essence of the message is, ultimately, there: That this place and all that made and upholds it, must die for a thing free of its sins to be born. In a way, Morr understood what the Pricepts and Ambrose sought better than themselves. The old pass on, the young inherit. Even Gods are not above this, so Morr decrees.
    Graf Tzarogy said:
    You watch Ambrose's blade enter your bicep, but even as you do, you take the inexplicable opportunity, and jab him in the stomach. But as he doubles over, you final cognize the pain in your arm as it spasms – and you realize.

    You drop the Key.

    Light explodes.

    …



    You are not dead.
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    Oh good, I thought we almost lost the key.
    Graf Tzarogy said:
    He hurts to look upon. A God in truth; not bedecked in prophecy or tale or illusion.

    And like the Cities, in his beauty, he is terrible.

    An imperious look, and Nivet, reduced to a nigh-transparent worm, batting at the rubble-ruin of the doors is nothing. A shadow before the dawn. The Lady Tophiania, screaming in the corner – a gesture, and from darkness, chains wrap around her, and drag her away into the deeps, to the sound of a mournful harp.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Aaaaand that's the elvish role in the plotline/prophesy 95% resolved. Now we just need to find the Khaine connection.
    Graf Tzarogy said:
    Tyleus and Ambrose have the same smile. Bright teeth, with a hint of something deeper – something desperate and mournful.

    A God Looks at you, and – his face breaks, and he weeps.

    "Xenophon" he says through tears. "I love you. I love all my people. I love my Cities. Why do you forsake me? Why must this-we- I end?"
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Your love is for an idea of Xenophon! A dream, an identity, a grand deception of nationalism and machismo! You claim to love the people, but you never once see the thousands of individuals that make them, only a faceless mass! You claim to love the cities, but you love them like a Reaganite measured success: In GDP numbers going up, in bigger skyscrapers, in record corporate profits and executive salaries. It never once entered your mind that success and greatness will come on the backs of those who pay for it in misery, suffering, and death.
    Graf Tzarogy said:
    And you think of the slaves in the City and the skull of Sonia and the captured clouds of Thunderdome, and the screaming in Summerland, and the burnings of the Flame, and the warpstone below, and the screaming rat-beast, and the death of the flower-man, and all the people fighting and dying every day. All the Cities kill, all the blood they spill– this beautiful, shining world that stands before you – all the endings that must be for Tyleus and Tylos to not.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Rural life, especially in Warhammer with its perpetually hostile Warp-addled forests, is hard, brutal, and consumes life voraciously. But urban life? This grand empire? It's built on humans exploiting other humans. Whatever point of fixing this has been passed. We're just doing End Of Life care.
    Graf Tzarogy said:
    "For the new" you say to Ambrose, and kiss him – not on the lips, but on the forehead; good night, godspeed.

    And the God of the Cities fades away.

    For a better world.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    We will honor what you aspired to do. We will remember what you failed to do.
    Graf Tzarogy said:
    The doors behind you crash open, and Lorelei with a horde of the freedman comes rushing it., cursing, shouting, running to you. You realize, with a start, that you're grasping the sword, but lying on the floor – you can't feel your am. You didn't even realize you fell.

    You think of Tyleus the Liberator, that sign that barred the door – and think, that even if there might not be enough believers to make a God – a dream still holds power.

    The hope of liberty. The duty of good. The desire for a home.

    The Cities don't deserve to survive. But perhaps some things do.

    And you pass out.
    Click to expand...
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    Yeah, that definitely sounds doable. When we bring our evacuees to the new land, let's found a temple to a diety of Liberty and Democracy.

    I think we'll call it... Columbia?;)
     
    That was oddly beautiful. Here's to good intentions, eh? You'll probably choke on them, but they taste alright.

    [X] Who's your Mummy? (Explore a District – Little Khemri)
     
    And down falls a God. Wonder if this will have any negative repercussion on the Twin Cities?

    [X] Who's your Mummy? (Explore a District – Little Khemri)
     
    [X] Who's your Mummy? (Explore a District – Little Khemri)

    Feel hard losing ambrose after all that happen, he was so close to us....but it is what it is.

    What happen to the dragon?
     
    Loved this update. Everything I wanted without even realizing I wanted it.

    [X] The Best Defense (Hire Security)

    This feels like what would be the first thing on Xenophon's mind after all this.
     
    Wonder if Nivet was related to that warpfire dragon that lived in the area.
     
    Last edited:
    [X] The Best Defense (Hire Security)
    Makes the most sense thematically. We lost a follower, we gain a follower.
     
    [X] Who's your Mummy? (Explore a District – Little Khemri)

    Since mechanically it makes no difference, I'd rather just go for something a little more distanced from the personal stabbings and disintegrations.
     
    Last edited:
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