I have to wonder what Mottom thinks she is doing. She claims Alison is “hers” and that she wants to find her, but I can’t help thinking that basically turning the place into a huge conflagration is perhaps not the most effective method of conducting a search for a small piece of rather fragile property.
It’s kinda like “Ok, I need to find me a needle in this here haystack, so the obvious way to start is by nuking the haystack. This will make it easy to find the needle. D’oh.”
And people are saying that Mammon is senile. Old Motton doesn’t seem too bright herself.
That’s what landing paratroopers and standing orders are for. If you divide the haystack on thousand people and burn it in a piecewise fashion, the chances of needlefinding go up even when the roaches and mice of the haystack attack!
Whoever has been Me, it was so long ago... I can not remember Myselves
> And people are saying that Mammon is senile. Old Motton doesn’t seem too bright herself.
Methinks that you have expressed a deep insight into the Seven. They’re all way too old, they are fading and, though still powerful beyond easy comprehension, are — as said — fading.
The bird of the bottomless pit, worm of clear skies
Lowballing the number of worlds in an universe would give us something on the order of 1 quadrillion inhabited worlds. If the average population for each of these is about a billion people, that would work out at 777.777 sextillion people in Creation.
Which, of course, is worth a lot less than a cat, or Oscar’s wondrous pants.
I can only hope that there is a giant monster swimming through the coins like Scrooge McDuck about to jump out and swallow a ship. Or would that be asking for too much?
One wonders where those children are right now.
One hopes they got away safely.
One doubts in such an assault the children would be safe.
One wonders if escape/injury/death of any of those children will be shown on panel.
It is war. Though it rankles us to the very core, this fact is clear. Children are rarely spared for the carnage, if for nothing but incidental destruction. Artillery shells care nothing for the age of the bodies they blast to atoms, and in the thick of gunsmoke even a child’s frame can seem like a lurking foe, in dire need for a bullet.
there are always contingencies. know that the wretches will be delivered. whether their guardians escape with them, it is not known- but there is always a child displaced by war and ready to continue the cycle.
At a time like this the most risky and most expedited course of action would be to grab one of those ships in the chaos of battle and sail out the hole in the side of the building.
Then there exists the opportunity to start a fleet.
And low, Brother Maxwell, deep in the far corners of the Infinite Vault of YRE, whose Count numbers 99999, cleans in exasperation. For he is the newest and lowest of the Priests, yet, in the past hour alone, his Count has jumped o’er a hundred paces, and seems to be, ever so perceptively, increasing ever rapidly. He knows not whether he should continue cleaning, or join his fellow Priests. But he is very, very deep, and thinks the falling Count most likely is the result of someone leaving the door open to the Mimic Forge.
You know when you think about it, it’s times like this when one cannot help but bode on what has transpired enough for one to arrive to this fated outcome……But also what this will all accomplish the grand scheme of it all, if anything, all the fighting, all the bloodshed, all the pain and loss, all for one’s own desire, as infinite and unknownable as they might be. But now all this for simple drive; one last, great stand, a fervent rage against one’s own fading of the light as it were. Because that is what is this all for of course. For no matter who really wins, if you could call it that, one way or another, the old way must always give way for the new. For even the great wheel must always trade in its old, torn spokes, for something newer. But, who knows for we are all trapped in these inescapable cycle of disparities; light and dark, order and chaos, and what have you. And I as ever, just as we are all, are along just to see where this wild ride of ours will take us in the end; for better and for worse.
But don’t mind me, I’m just your humble lookie-lou, engaging in a little self meta philosophical pondering for mine own sake. Also, especially for those, curious enough to lend little old me and ear. But, for You decide, not Me.
I must say this as turned into quite the showing if I do say so myself, very entertaining. But one cannot help but ponder on all that has accumulated ever since this venture began. All the fighting, all the bloodshed, all the pain and loss, and for what. One’s own desire of course, as infinitely vague and unknownable they might be. Although, when get down to it, all this really is is just a last, great stand, a fervent rage against own’s fading of the light as it were. As it should be, the old way must always die at the hand of the new. For even the great wheel must trade in the old, rusted spokes for something newer, greater. For those timeless legends before us and those for their ilk are forever trapped in an inescapable cycle of disparity; light and dark, good and evil, order and chaos, etcetera, etcetera. However those such as unbound by such linear viewpoint are merely just along for the ride, to see just where all this excited madness will lead to in the end, for better and for worse.
But, don’t mind me, I myself am just your omniverse-friendly lookie-lou with a weakness for marvelous epics such as this, indulging in a little metaphilosophical pondering for mine own sake. And hopefully, those kind enough and curious enough to lend me ear. But, that is for You, not Me.
Yeah.
Three “had” to die. Including the one that tried to backstab her and the one you backstabbed for no reason.
But I appreciate those priorities.
Thou hast portryed inferno wellwise.
I have to wonder what Mottom thinks she is doing. She claims Alison is “hers” and that she wants to find her, but I can’t help thinking that basically turning the place into a huge conflagration is perhaps not the most effective method of conducting a search for a small piece of rather fragile property.
It’s kinda like “Ok, I need to find me a needle in this here haystack, so the obvious way to start is by nuking the haystack. This will make it easy to find the needle. D’oh.”
And people are saying that Mammon is senile. Old Motton doesn’t seem too bright herself.
That’s what landing paratroopers and standing orders are for. If you divide the haystack on thousand people and burn it in a piecewise fashion, the chances of needlefinding go up even when the roaches and mice of the haystack attack!
> And people are saying that Mammon is senile. Old Motton doesn’t seem too bright herself.
Methinks that you have expressed a deep insight into the Seven. They’re all way too old, they are fading and, though still powerful beyond easy comprehension, are — as said — fading.
Hey, starting a war to find something that’s hidden worked for Bush, didn’t it.
Hrmm… The power of Prayer, brothers. The power of Prayer.
*very loud ride of the valkyries*
Wait…are those infrared goggles?
PHEW. The cat is still safe, y’all.
War has broken out that will almost certainly consume the whole of creation. Worlds will burn, again.
But still, the cat lives. So I am content.
Lowballing the number of worlds in an universe would give us something on the order of 1 quadrillion inhabited worlds. If the average population for each of these is about a billion people, that would work out at 777.777 sextillion people in Creation.
Which, of course, is worth a lot less than a cat, or Oscar’s wondrous pants.
A world at end, aye, a world that’s ending nigh.
I can only hope that there is a giant monster swimming through the coins like Scrooge McDuck about to jump out and swallow a ship. Or would that be asking for too much?
“What are they doing?” Asked the Pauper
“Playing” Answered the Priest
“Who’s winning?” Asked the Mason
“I am.” Answered the Least
Yes, Oscar. It is quite a mess.
One wonders where those children are right now.
One hopes they got away safely.
One doubts in such an assault the children would be safe.
One wonders if escape/injury/death of any of those children will be shown on panel.
It is war. Though it rankles us to the very core, this fact is clear. Children are rarely spared for the carnage, if for nothing but incidental destruction. Artillery shells care nothing for the age of the bodies they blast to atoms, and in the thick of gunsmoke even a child’s frame can seem like a lurking foe, in dire need for a bullet.
War is hell. Period.
there are always contingencies. know that the wretches will be delivered. whether their guardians escape with them, it is not known- but there is always a child displaced by war and ready to continue the cycle.
I love this?
Even if they filled their pockets with gold, that still wouldn’t be very much money. Plus that one guy is naked.
One of them is bound to have an iteration of a Bag of Holding. It might be cat, for all we know.
At a time like this the most risky and most expedited course of action would be to grab one of those ships in the chaos of battle and sail out the hole in the side of the building.
Then there exists the opportunity to start a fleet.
Intriguing, no?
And low, Brother Maxwell, deep in the far corners of the Infinite Vault of YRE, whose Count numbers 99999, cleans in exasperation. For he is the newest and lowest of the Priests, yet, in the past hour alone, his Count has jumped o’er a hundred paces, and seems to be, ever so perceptively, increasing ever rapidly. He knows not whether he should continue cleaning, or join his fellow Priests. But he is very, very deep, and thinks the falling Count most likely is the result of someone leaving the door open to the Mimic Forge.
You know when you think about it, it’s times like this when one cannot help but bode on what has transpired enough for one to arrive to this fated outcome……But also what this will all accomplish the grand scheme of it all, if anything, all the fighting, all the bloodshed, all the pain and loss, all for one’s own desire, as infinite and unknownable as they might be. But now all this for simple drive; one last, great stand, a fervent rage against one’s own fading of the light as it were. Because that is what is this all for of course. For no matter who really wins, if you could call it that, one way or another, the old way must always give way for the new. For even the great wheel must always trade in its old, torn spokes, for something newer. But, who knows for we are all trapped in these inescapable cycle of disparities; light and dark, order and chaos, and what have you. And I as ever, just as we are all, are along just to see where this wild ride of ours will take us in the end; for better and for worse.
But don’t mind me, I’m just your humble lookie-lou, engaging in a little self meta philosophical pondering for mine own sake. Also, especially for those, curious enough to lend little old me and ear. But, for You decide, not Me.
I must say this as turned into quite the showing if I do say so myself, very entertaining. But one cannot help but ponder on all that has accumulated ever since this venture began. All the fighting, all the bloodshed, all the pain and loss, and for what. One’s own desire of course, as infinitely vague and unknownable they might be. Although, when get down to it, all this really is is just a last, great stand, a fervent rage against own’s fading of the light as it were. As it should be, the old way must always die at the hand of the new. For even the great wheel must trade in the old, rusted spokes for something newer, greater. For those timeless legends before us and those for their ilk are forever trapped in an inescapable cycle of disparity; light and dark, good and evil, order and chaos, etcetera, etcetera. However those such as unbound by such linear viewpoint are merely just along for the ride, to see just where all this excited madness will lead to in the end, for better and for worse.
But, don’t mind me, I myself am just your omniverse-friendly lookie-lou with a weakness for marvelous epics such as this, indulging in a little metaphilosophical pondering for mine own sake. And hopefully, those kind enough and curious enough to lend me ear. But, that is for You, not Me.
This is incredibly badass. What a wonderful and terrible world this is.
Would love to see more of what warfare looks like in throne.
Is that the first male priest of the count we’ve seen, or is it just me?
It is just you. There were hundreds of them in the fight inside the invisible maze.
CON-FLA-GRA-TION !
With Black Speech Rhyming,
And Feckless Timing,
This Reckless Band
can Scarper from the Land
of Yre – now fallen to Fire and Sword.
Sure – pillage the Horde !
Fill your Pockets
– Mind the Blizzard of Rockets !
Yon false Prince be held by another Lord,
What perils must you now ford ?
Throw Ali-Sun into a Sack,
Trek ye Back.
Now – Dash under Goddess Gaze ?
Or Across Perilous Maze ?
Can you find yet Other ways ?
It seems like he doesnt bother to include poor felicia in the death count
Felicia was brought with the explicit purpose of being killed. She was never considered an actual team member
Maybe she was Lucky?
I really want to see what Mammon, Motton and #1 are up to
Yabalchoath’s pose in the first panel totally echo’s Allison’s pose on the first chapter cover, doesn’t it?
Since when do they use magic?