Monday, September 15, 2008
With a sweep of his hand Harold directed his rag-tag band of fallen angels to attack the last stand of the Heavenly Host; a church in a village in Gloucestershire. It was fitting that the last battle be on England’s Green and Pleasant Land, although it was neither green nor pleasant any more. What God hadn’t destroyed with his rain of fire and brimstone had fallen prey to the locust-wasps when Big John had opened the Second Seal.
He looked away for a moment as Belphegor fell prey to the Archangel Michael’s Bow of Burning Gold, fired from a bell tower that collapsed a moment later from the sweep of He Who Is Dragon’s tail. Another motion and hordes of Nazgul…
“Wait a minute.” Jasfoup paused the game. “We don’t have Nazgul. You’ve imported those from another game, haven’t you?”
“There’re no rules to say I can’t,” said Harold.
“Yes there are.” Jasfoup glowered. “And while we’re at it, why do I always have to play Heaven?”
Labels: Harold and Jasfoup