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Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 21 ----
We were overtaken by a messenger about a mile outside of the warrior-women's village. (It is known as the Sinking Land, though whether in reference to the ankle-deep mud everywhere or to the sinking feeling one gets in one's stomach on realizing that one will be spending time here, I do not know.) The lad, perhaps a dozen years old, had clearly run a long way through these swamps, which is no mean feat. I offered to let him ride the rest of the way into town on one of our horses, but he refused. "There's been a battle, a glorious victory, and I must tell the Lady Amshula." Lady? I thought. "But wait.. what battle?" Outside of the small island we had been ordered to conquer (before we were ordered not to conquer it), there wasn't a hostile province for many leagues, and the kid, though tired, was no Phaedippas. "It was magnificent," he said, brightening. I have observed a strong correlation between how broadly a local smiles, and how outrageous the next words out of his mouth are, and this trait is evidently acquired quite young. "I was laying down logs for our cows, so that they would track less of the precious mud into the house, when I heard a sound, like a dozen fish flying through the autumn leaves," he began, reciting the story he had probably spent hours crafting into incoherence. "So I tied an onion to my belt, and I ran into the village, and saw the one of the color of sloe, as if on the backs of two pigeons, and he was smiting our oppressors, and my people sang out with joy, and we ran for our swords and churning sticks to join in. The important thing is that I was wearing an onion on my belt..." Seeing as how there was no hope of getting a Version without pigeons and flying fish, I told him that perhaps he should just wait until he was in town, and therefore only have to tell his whole story once, at which point he immediately ran off again. "I wonder if he saw Hermes?" said Andromache, excitedly. "He has wings on his feet." "What makes you think he saw a god?" I asked, though the locals seem to see gods everywhere. "Because," she explained, "blue is a divine color." I laid aside a few questions that sprang to mind, such as Why would Hermes be blue?, and decided to stop asking questions for fear that I would receive yet more nonsensical answers. There was only one blue-tinted village liberator in these parts, and he was, mercifully, dead. I'd heard there had been a large funeral pyre after they had finally conquered Skeldmarsh, which some of the soldiers I was traveling with had even been at. And even if those reports were completely false (always a strong possibility), there was still no earthly way anyone could have travelled through the vast tracts of swamp more quickly than Balachandra and the troops he led, and they had seen nothing in the way of blue pigeon-footed individuals. This is what comes of settling swamps, I thought. Hallucinations and madness... When I got into the village, I noticed that Amshula had decided a proper fortification requires twenty spindly little towers for every arm's span of wall. Since this quickly used up all of the available stone, there were large gaps in the walls, and no one paid any heed to which were supposed to have gates on them. I was searching for something suitably caustic to say when Divikar rushed up. "I have just had word that we must leave tomorrow, to fight in the east," he said. "They say that skeletons ride there, and nobody will live in their land." Skeletons. Thmybre. For some reason I turned to The Collected Sayings of Pandokos the Prophet: And Lo, Pandokos, who had wandered many moons in the southern marshes, met death in the east, but was unafraid. He recalled the words of banishment uttered by Navnit at the mountain pass, and vowed to study them well, and memorize this incantation so that he should not join the dead, but rather continue to protect this valuable book, and provide witty sayings for it to print... I don't know why I bother reading this book. It's clearly more a work of fiction than an accurate account of my "sayings", and I've never met anyone called Navnit. There are men to organize into formations for battle. --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Thanks for the dramatis personae, Puffyn, it's a nice touch. Keep up the good work!
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Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Turn 21, R'lyeh
I do appreciate my peoples' love. It's touching to see hordes of young people picking up sticks and kitchen knives, worshiping the darkness, and skipping to join my army. Unfortunately, in the part of my kingdom where this has been prevalent of late I rely on human generals to forward my cause, and they ignore my requests to stop feeding the punks—which costs a lot of money. I have two options. The first is to find the mythical "World's Largest Turnip" and make turnip soup for everyone. The second is to send them to fight Folke, the vampire count. It's the strangest thing. My human commanders have no problem sending young persons-of-militia to certain blood-sucking awful death, but they refuse to withhold food from them. I'm not sure I like this. Perhaps I'll order all the commanders to lead from the front of the battle lines. That way I'll be rid of them too. My fort in the Lake (I think of it as my summer cottage) is finished. I'll just clear the shoreline of some more pesky human villages and then I'll have a cozy little spot with gorgeous panoramas. If only I had a Mrs. soul-sucking-dreaming-mad-elder-god-bent-on-destroying-the-world. Winter really is the time for love. I pressed a young maiden into research duty to keep Sammy company, but apparently she's the sort of magical researcher who keeps skulls and dead animals in her desk, and Sammy was scared of her. So I got him another (human lives are cheap change to order and dispose of at my will), but this one's too fiery for poor, timid, contemplative Sammy. Ah well, third time's the charm I suppose. Eventually, I'm sure Sammy will appreciate his harem in aggregate, even if he doesn't like any of them in particular. This is important, since Farol is going off to <strike>die</strike> fight against Folke, and who else will gently guide Sammy back to his desk and mysteriously melted chains which keep him safe from the monsters in his closet? The center of the world is an interesting place these days. My scouts, wandering on secret paths beneath the waves, report that great empires are moving and may struggle soon. Altantians of course, but also the men who love nature and fire, the sickening death, and strange winged creatures. The world is so full of marvelous things. I think I should be happy as king. If I am to descend into the seas again, I would do well to acquire some immunity to poison. There are a great number of tritons down there, and although I love their taste, their nasty spears make me sick. For now I will rely on the garrison which recently finished the fort to rid the waves of their kind. But soon, soon... I've been above the water for nearly two full years now, and I long to return to the darkness, the depths. |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Machaka: Turn 21
Spirits were high as the army marched into battle. There was the feeling that as long as the King was with them, the warriors were invincible. Karo even managed to put his worries about the high priests out of his mind as he once again left the King without an escort to fight the battle. Cetewayo prepared for battle. He was anxious. He had to continue winning, increasing the size of the nation. Winning battles also won him adulation and heart felt approval from his soldiers. The soldiers' approval would spread to their friends and families and thus throughout the country. The high priests would have to learn that HE was the god in this equation and that they served him. It would not be an easy transition. The priests enjoyed the power they wielded. They would not give it up easily. Of course, he didn't want all of the priesthood to be out of power. Indeed, he would need most of the priesthood to convey his wishes to the populace. However, the high priests of each of the priestly orders would have to sacrifice a bit of power... hmmm... interesting word, "sacrifice". The battle began. This battle promised to be more difficult than the Last. Instead of lightly armored footmen the enemy here was heavily armored infantry and even more heavily armored knights. There was another of the foolish priests who served no god. The archers fired great flights of arrows into the enemy infantry and scored quite a few hits. Meanwhile the knights engaged the Machakan hoplites. The battle grew quite bloody and some hoplites fell. Just as things began to look grim Cetewayo joined the battle. He began slicing into the knights' flank. After a great deal of butchery and blood the enemy turned and fled. The men were in a frenzy and chased the fleeing army down and slaughtered them to a man. Cetewayo was happy. His plans were beginning to bear fruit. However, the army had suffered significant losses in this battle. Could he risk fighting another so soon? |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 22 ----
The sun rose this morning. I sit in my tent, long after the sun has set. My candle will soon burn out, and still I am trying to write sense. Still trying to figure it out. Still trying to find the words that might forestall the death of all my veteran men and the locals who employ us. The sun rose this morning, and my butter was missing again. We had made camp outside of a tiny village in Vorgunmarsh (the entire region has only a few hundred inhabitants), and stayed up too late listening to their ghost stories about the dead riders who come to steal the souls of men so that they are never reborn in the eternal cycle these folks believe in. A year ago I would not have credited these tall tales, but since then I have come to understand that every tale has some grain of truth. The sun rose this morning, and the village was gone. In its place was a silent horde of undead on skeleton horses. We rushed to battle formations: silver shields and hoplites in the center, horses on the flank. Long we stood in the chill morning air, and stared at death. Without a warning, without a sound, they charged and I saw it all again: the charge, the faltering of our men, the sudden death of my world. Something snapped. I cried to Apollo, god of the sun, god of light. I cursed Hades and the underworld for taking my love and demanded vengeance for his fallen servant. The sun rose this morning, like it does every morning, but then it did something it had never done before. The sky grew dark, except for a single ray of sun light, which burnt one skeleton until oblivion. I had no time to wonder at this, for Andromache was shouting some words I heard Thymbre use, once, at that other battle. And suddenly... though I cannot recall them now, I knew them, and shouted them as well. And at each cry we saw some of them disappear, vanish. Only a few reached our lines. A lucky thrust skewered Divikar, and then our cavalry was at their rear, and out line held in the front. Normal sounds returned to the world, and all sign of battle was gone from the field, save for a few dead of our men. The sun rose this morning, but as if cursing us now in this hour, it disappeared behind a thousand arrows. Knowing that death had not yet despaired of taking us that day, we turned toward the archers and charged again. It was then that my day got really strange. I saw amongst the archers a blue giant. He kicked, and archer bits flew everywhere, and bombardment of my troops stopped as they turned to focus on him. I urged our men onwards. I saw the giant fall with a thousand arrows sticking in him just before the first troops reached his side. I realized with a sickening feeling that the indomitable phalanx was plowing into lightly armored men not undead, or lizards, or even bandits, but upstanding men with fair faces and bright uniforms, who stood valiantly and unafraid, although they wore no armor for close fighting. Many of them, keeping together and helping their wounded, escaped to the safety of the nearby woods. The sun rose this morning, and now its rays shown upon a ground littered with bodies. As we searched for the wounded to try to help those who we could, and speed the hopeless on their way with a coin for the boat-man, Andromache and I uncovered some odd objects. I picked up a short sword which weighed almost nothing, but she uncovered a dagger with a snake (a real, live snake) coiled around it's blade, and a pair of boots, which were clearly designed to be imitations of the boots of Hermes. But when she put them on, she flew above the battlefield, shouting like a giddy school girl, "Whee! Hey, everyone look at me, I'm flying! I'm flying!" Then her snake dagger got caught in her impractical priestess robes and she tumbled to the ground in a heap. The sun rose this morning, and that is now the only thing in the world I am really sure of. The locals claim that the giant, blue-armed thing was actually Limmy, brought back from the dead (though I feel I am missing some nuances of their strange beliefs about death). There was no body, and we had all been under much stress, so a hallucination seems more likely, but then I cannot explain the odd items we found. We tried to heal a few of the archers, but all passed away before nightfall. One spoke the local language a little, and through multiple translations I realized that they were troops in the employ of the empire of Man, which distant scout reports agree is the largest power in this part of the world. I must write to their leaders as soon as possible. My villagers cannot afford to have a war started with so mighty a people because of such a silly accident. The sun rose this morning. I hope that it will again tomorrow, and that it will look with more favor upon me, and my small band, so far from home, in a land so mad. --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Turn 22, R'lyeh
God, it's been really dull lately. I never thought I'd get bored of sucking the brains out of terrified, lightly armed peasantry, but the thrill just isn't there, y'know? A deity's got to eat, but they don't say variety is the spice of death for nothing. Is it too much to ask that the light infantry hereabouts slather themselves in tasty sauces before heading out to battle? Once in the Orion sector I devoured the inhabitants of a small moon whose war paint tasted of horseradish and onions - that's the sort of initiative and creative thinking I wish more people on this world would come up with. (Though perhaps it also explains why none of the soul-sucking-dreaming-mad-elder-goddesses-bent-on-destroying-the-world would have anything to do with me...) My minions have been so boring. What do I care that they crushed another bunch of weak fish without losing a slave? Sammy keeps whining at me that this third girl I encouraged to take up the life schoLastic dresses all in black and writes depressive poetry all the time. The most exciting thing to happen was when Cthugul impressed some formless spawn he found floating his bathtub into my service. One of my star children wrote to me all excited about seeing a big rock and getting lost in a maze, and it just made me feel depressed. I seem to recall crushing everyone who stood in my path to be a bit more exciting than this... There is one bright spot in my drab existence, which is this forum that I joined recently, the Illustrious Lords and Ladies Waging Incredibly Nasty Total Extermination of Races. I don't go to the dinner parties much, since there's more "I say, old sport, jolly good fight you put up there, better luck next incarnation" than I can put up with, and it is impolite to suck the brains out of fellow Illustrians. But they put out a good newsletter, and some of my fellow powers-that-be write the most amusing accounts of the travails of godhood. None of them are as awesomely incredible as me, but who can pass up a good incompetent-minion-who-nearly-ruined-everything story? And sometimes you can pick up useful tips on ways to strip subordinates of their will to oppose you. ("Wizard W"... pure genius...) It's also a good way to curry favor with other would-be gods, so that they don't attack you before you're ready to fully annihilate them. I was thinking about this the other day, and my mind kept returning to this delicious yellow-curry that my palace chef came up with, with fresh basil and butter-drenched clams. (Mmm-mmm. I have got to get back to a place with proper kitchen facilities...) And I thought, just because I will one day crush them all is no reason not to share this wonderful recipe with some of my new friends who amuse me ever so with their little tales. At least with the weak ones who are unlikely to be able to turn on me anytime soon. This one fellow keeps going on about butter, I'm sure he'd appreciate some culinary tips. And that other chap has been after me for my steak sauce ever since we Last talked... |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Turn 23, R'lyeh
My northern army has run into a spot of trouble. They had been kicking around this shallow, brackish bay. Scouts reported that the next province over was a beautifully deep, cold, sound, held by some more wimpy tritons. When they arrived, the shoals were choked with the dead bodies of Triton warriors, males, females, and spawn. Searching in the deep canyons turned up piles of Icyhtyid steaks. Such aggression against peaceful dwellers of the deep is my right alone, and we soon found the culprits, a horde of those annoying coral guards Atlantis normally has. We slew them from a distance, mind-bLasting them into the abyss. There were such high-spirits amongst my killers after the battle. But I told them, no, I said, don't go attack Atlantis. Go north against the Ichtyids there, and bring me back some sashimi. I don't know if my prophet will listen though. He has a mind of his own. Unlike most of my sturdy slave troopers. Count Folke died. That's a good thing — but the dratted militias didn't! My anger shall surely split the world! Oh, sure, one or two of them will probably rise again, and another few fell to the pitchfork rabble, but many of them turned tail and fled at the first sign of battle. Even the ones who were able to overcome their fear of death by thinking about their fear of me are annoyingly still getting paid. I'll send the whole lot north toward some pesky mountain provinces which have eluded my rule thus far. I hope they will stick around long enough to die. If not, I shall have to laboriously lead them under the sea and then abandon them there to drown. I have returned to beneath the waves and, in preparation for the fresh fish my troops promise me, have begun construction of a new kitchen with granite countertops, a professional range, and a walk in freezer. It is a true steal at 200 gold after I ate the contractor's first- through third- born. I'll stock the shelves well with magic ingredients too, in case any of my magic Users get hungry in the middle of the night and want a nice eye-of-newt sandwich. |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Machaka:Turn 22
The battle had gone well. However, the aftermath was less impressive. The territory was a wealthy one, crowned by it's name sake city. As the Spider Army entered to take what was rightly theirs arrows came from hidden locations. There were still those resisting the might of Machaka. Karo led the unit dispatched to deal with them. He found the site from which the arrows had been fired, but the perpetrator was long gone. Luckily he had skilled trackers. There were some who were as skilled at tracking in this urban environment as others were at tracking in the jungle. The locals found the sight of an odd looking little man with his "little pets" crawling over his body and in his hair disturbing at best and horrifyingly nightmarish at worst. Of course, they were not Machakan. They did not hold these little brothers in quite the same regard as one of the true people. In time the locals would see that eight legs could be quite valuable. The little brothers performed well. They led Karo's unit to the resistance safe house. Unfortunately the resistance had plenty of warning. They prepared an ambush from the surrounding building and some booby traps that caught Karo and his men by surprise. The Machakans had won the battle, but Karo had been badly wounded. Two of his men had been killed outright. Karo berated himself. He should have anticipated such tactics and been ready. The healer had given him mixed news. Karo would live, however he might never regain use of his right arm. Without his arm, he would be retired from the army. How would he survive? How would he support his family? His life had been soldiering. He knew that he had the combination of physical ability, intelligence and savvy that could take him far in the army. He also thought that he had gained the notice of the King. Now it might all be gone. What would he do? |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 23 ----
Tense negotiations with the kingdom of Man have left us in control of Vorgunmarsh. They sent a small task force to check out the place and came to the sensible conclusion that it is probably the worst province in the entire world, and if we wanted to rule over the handful of scrawny inhabitants and scores of mosquitos, more power to us. The inhabitants provide us with pretty minimal resources (belts for our hoplites), but surprisingly it makes a difference. We have also had first contact with a bizarre power known as R'lyeh. Apparently they live under water— like Plato's story of Atlantis— but also claim to be from another star. I presume they are just crazy. They provided us with a clam; perhaps it is a token of friendship? It must be a fish thing. I guess I'll carry it around in my saddle bags just in case an ambassador shows up and it turns out that the slimy gastropod was actually the leader's one true love. It better not stink up my butter. Amshula's castle actually came together rather well. A bit drafty though. She's recruited a few of the local warrior women to help her ("To do what?" you may ask. You may indeed). I'm not sure how I feel about that. These are, after all, the same bloodthirsty old women who felt that it was appropriate to use innocent young girls in their twisted rituals. Still, Amshula promises that they are loyal to us now and will obey our rules about appropriate things to do with virgins. Perhaps they have just been corrupted by our neighbors to the north. Everyday we get more refugees swelling our little encampment here. Mostly they are girls who have escaped from the vile priests (all men, who would have guessed?) who live on human blood. One of the priests from the temple of Apollo has raised a new temple here in honor of Athena; that should provide the refugees with a strong role model. Hopefully, if word can spread that some of the most powerful gods are female, the slaughter will abate. In my heart though, I know that we will probably be forced to go to war in order to bring justice to that land. Am I turning into Alexander? One battle after another, each following of necessity from the Last? Will I end my days delusional, believing I am a god? Will I eventually lead my men into strange and terrible lands and abandon them there? Or, perhaps, if the world is round (as some of our philosophers back home believe), my never-ending conquests will eventually bring me back, Odysseus-like, to Pagasae, my home. --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Machaka Turn 23:
The men had enjoyed the respite from battle. A month on the sun drenched beaches of Dash Kaz'maal could brighten anyone's outlook. The peaceful sound of the waves, the baking heat of the sun and sand, and the cool refreshing wetness of the wind coming off of the water together cast a relaxing and renewing spell over the entire army. Of course, the entire month hadn't been spent basking in the sun. Some of the time had been spent tracking down the deluded trouble makers who were resisting their city joining the Machakan Empire. The units assigned to patrol were careful not to create too much collateral damage. The goal was to integrate these people into the greater empire, not to oppress and abuse them. Cetewayo was pleased that he had managed to kill two birds with one stone. The army had recovered from their battle weariness and the populace had been somewhat subdued. The natives had also begun to become accustomed to the presence of the Machakan empire. A small garrison would remain behind to continue the Machakan military presence along with the Machakan bureaucracy which would continue to integrate this wealthy new city into the empire. Now, however, it was time to get moving. It would not do for the men to become too comfortable. There were many lands that had yet to be claimed, the army would soon find more fighting. As Cetewayo prepared to give the orders to break camp there was a sudden commotion among the men who were sporting in the water's edge. They were charging out of the water. Behind them strode a nightmarish figure. It walked out of the water. Some of the men had retrieved weapons and began to approach it menacingly. It looked up and found Cetewayo in the crowd. As he looked into the creature's eyes, Cetewayo recognized it. This was the trusted messenger of the Master of R'lyeh. Cetewayo quickly called the men back and allowed the creature to approach. It genuflected and grasped an amulet at it's throat making odd noises. "Hail the Great King Cetewayo!" a voice said in their heads. The surrounding crowd was beginning to get very uneasy. Cetewayo exerted the force of his personality to calm them. He knew that, for the time being at least, they had nothing to fear from the forces of R'lyeh. The creature continued, "A small token of esteem from my Master." Cetewayo was impressed with the medallion that was allowing for the conversation. He would have to order his magical researchers to produce something similar. The messenger held out his hand and in it was a beautiful shell. It was some sort of shell fish. Cetewayo would have assumed that it was some sort of ritual gift from the underwater folk. However, he noticed that the beautiful shell had an otherworld glow to his preternatural senses. Could this be a mythical Clam of Pearls? Indeed, Cetewayo was sure that it was. He conveyed his great appreciation to the messenger. With that, the messenger turned and strode directly into the waves. Later Cetewayo bemusedly watched the men break the camp and prepare to move out. The little episode with the R'lyeh messenger was exactly what he needed to reestablish his position with the men. When word of the encounter got back to the high priests they would have to take at least a moment's pause. |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Turn 24, R'lyeh
I really want to write about my plans to backstab Atlantis, but I'm afraid his spies might be reading this diary. Eh. You only die once, right? If you're an Atlantian agent please stop reading here. I mean it! C'mon, please? Okay, now that we're alone... I've convinced Abysia to join me in this attack. They say you can't buy love, but you can certainly buy friendship with enough astral gems. Abysia will take the land Atlantian provinces in a whirling firestorm, and I'll cover the underwater lands in death. Our biggest concern is the ancient squid, Abysos. He is, by all accounts a potent warrior, and worthy of respect. I respect squid-balls. If you eat them right after they come out of the deep-fryer they'll burn your mouth something fierce. It's the kind of burnt roof of the mouth that sticks with you for a few days too. I've taken some of my precious brains off research duty to forge me up some magical stuff. So far I've been eating humans in the buff, but I'm pretty sure I'll want some cool toys to keep me entertained as I conquer Atlantis. So now my star children are spread throughout their land, ready to assassinate their leaders at my merest command. My conventional armies are assembling on their borders, and my mages have been brushing up on their nastiest distance-attack spells. Ah... I'm practically giddy with glee. A real battle at Last. From all accounts, this will be the first clash between major powers in this world. In my heart of heart (the one in my 3rd left aorta), I hope this little war may spur other parties into the fray. I'm not aware of any Atlantian allies, but everyone loves to use a good war as a convenient excuse to take over their weak neighbors. My generals do think I'm mad. I gently remind them that I'm not mad— I'm CRAZY!!!! Like a fox. |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 24 ----
We held Divikar's funeral Last night, as his older sister Sadhana had only just arrived from the capital. (And how many siblings does this clan have? I wondered, as she murmured words to Amshula and Balachandra from the others who could not make the journey.) As the eldest member of the family, she presided over the ceremony, which was held by the mouth of the river, some two hours' march from our fortress. I was not expecting a large crowd -- Divikar tended to keep to himself, and we were far from the lands where he grew up -- but villagers kept streaming in all day from throughout the province. I asked a village chieftess from up north why she had travelled so far to bid farewell to a gangly teenager who had helped drive her sistren from power. She said, "We have known for a while that our time as a free nation was ending. At least you have been fair and demanded no more from us than is any conqueror's right to demand from his subjects." It was only later that I realized she was not talking about our forces in general, but me. It was not a pleasant thought. As with all local ceremonies, much of the funeral was quite inexplicable, especially the part where they rounded up all of the butter churned that week and burned it in a giant pyre. (I contributed my rations; Divikar was my friend. It is still a senseless custom.) After dark, for according to Balachandra all funerals must be held under a clear night's sky, the body was placed in a boat with two large candles and a shallow bowl of water, and pushed out into the lake, while the siblings chanted dirges. Amshula had a look in her eyes that chilled me to the bone. It put me in mind of another funeral Last year, a terrible affair of ice and stone, and I silently implored whichever gods might listen to not forget about Thymbre, though she has passed forever from my reach. For a while I stood there staring at the cold, distant stars, who alone do not die. When the funeral boat finally drifted out of view, it was glowing faintly; probably one of the candles had fallen down. This morning, I awoke to the sound of clanging and shouts coming from the mystic's tower, where no one else is allowed to enter. They have been in there for many hours now, working furiously, though toward what end I cannot guess. --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Machaka Turn 24:
The army was beginning to move out. Karo stared out at the sea from the lonely, rocky promontory that he had found. He was slowly regaining the use of his arm, but it would be some time before he could swing a sword or set a pike to fight. Again the news was mixed. He was going home and would get to see his family after these long months of war, but he had no idea what he was going to do when he got there. The army had been his life since he was a boy. He had moved up quickly because of his physical prowess, intelligence and charisma. Now though, his future was dim indeed. If he was diligent, he might recover most of his skills, but that would take time and was not guaranteed. How could he support his wife and two young children? As Karo was torn between hope and despair he was shocked to realize that his King had silently appeared next to him. By the absence of the King's guard Karo was sure that Cetewayo had pulled his disappearing act again. His instinctive grimace quickly slid into a sardonic grin. The disappearing acts were no longer his problem. Before Karo could do anything else, Cetawayo said, "Karo, you are to travel back to Balakavo with the other wounded, correct?" Karo was surprised that the King remembered his name. He put his surprise aside and answered, "Yes, my Lord, I am to leave your service now that I can no longer fight." "Well, that is one possibility. However, I had a different fate in mind." Cetewayo remarked. "My Lord?" Cetewayo smiled. He had judged correctly. Karo's quick, shocked and hopeful response confirmed his Cetewayo's hopes. "You will travel back to the capital as planned. You will see your family and spend some time there, hopefully completely recovering from your injuries. However, during this time you will be my agent in the capital, if you choose." "Of course, I will do whatever you wish my Lord." Karo replied. "This must be completely voluntary." "Voluntary, my Lord?" "You are going to be my personal agent. I will not deceive you, this could be more dangerous than what you have been doing for the Last year. In order to help protect you, I will place a seal over your mind." Karo realized what the King was leaving unsaid. There would be danger aplenty. He would have to steer a careful course between serving the King and obeying the priests. Regardless, this was a dream come true. He quickly accepted the offer. Cetewayo stretched his hand out and it seemed to go into Karo's forehead. Karo gave himself completely to the experience. Cetewayo smiled once more at what he found there in Karo's mind. This was final confirmation of his plans. As Karo was recovering from the magic that had been used on his mind, Cetewayo brought forth a small package. "This is your first assignment. You must convey this magical clam to my magicians in the capital. Of course, the High Priests are not to know of it. I will contact you with further instructions." With that Cetewayo faded from sight. |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 25 ----
(From The Collected Sayings of Pandokos the Prophet: In his first incarnation) Sing, goddess, the anger of Pandokos of Pagasae and its devastations, which put pains thousandfold upon the Mictlanians, hurled in their multitudes to the house of Hades strong souls of heroes, but gave their bodies to be the delicate feasting of dogs, of all birds, and the will of Zeus was accomplished. Everywhere I go in this land I become a little more sick. The empire of Mictlan, which festers to our north, uses the blood of the innocents to call devils up from the house of Hades. They employ massive armies of slaves, having decided that an entire clan of people are unworthy of freedom, and sacrifice them callously in their battle lines. I have this Last information on direct authority of a scout, many leagues to the north, who saw Mictlan's forces in battle some months ago. Meanwhile, as I go among the people, spreading the news that we do not worship the same foul, wretched god, I have to endure looks of fear and hate. The locals associate all military men with the patrols which used to come in the night, breaking into homes and tearing families apart as they took young girls off to die on the tops of their red-stained temples. Sometimes in our travels we cross the borders into Tolk, or Horslund Forest. In these lands, still under the shadow, it is as if the sun itself has no power to bring light and cheer. Even Andromache, who is normally very happy (if silly), becomes a cloud of grief. No doubt she remembers her own captivity and near escape from death. We never see any young women on these trips. I hope that the locals have simply learnt to keep them well-hidden. The alternative, the madness, defies belief. In the dark of night though, I fear I understand. It is hard to keep a string of petty, hostile, provinces united. And fear is a useful tool in a tyrant's box. The Golanarians are revolting and it makes me mad. Villans now roam the highways of this province, cutting off our route back home. And yet I am not willing to drag my army through the mud for months on end to quell this problem. I am needed here. This close to the shadow, my men need me to keep from going mad, and soon, very soon, my skill in battle will be needed. I will write to the village elders telling them that the Golana problem is in their hands. I'm sure they can find some local hero willing to do a spot of police work. --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Turn 25, R'lyeh
It's beginning to look a lot like fishmen Everywhere I go... This time of year just makes me want to sing. So it's just wonderful that my people have been relearning some of the old, old carols about me that used to inspire such delicious fear 'round solstice times. I even got my minions to join me in a little sing-a-long as we travel out to the front to carry out our... uh... secret plans. If you've never heard a hundred shambler thralls singing "Oh come, all ye Olde Ones," you haven't lived. Granted, if you live in the places we're coming to, you'll probably wish you'd never lived once we actually get there, but still. "Oh come, let us abhor them / Oh come let us abhor them /Oh come let us abhor them / Scream, run and hide..." Just magnificent. Ah... I bet my old friend Cthugul has been circulating some sheet music. There was the most touching show put on by the local schoolfish Last week, wherein the adorable little tots rang little bells and sang for me: "Cthulu lives, Cthulu lives, deep down in the sea In the city of R'lyeh, waiting to be free, hey" A little out of date -- I've been free to have my way with the world for some time now, thank you very much -- but I do appreciate the sentiment. In gratitude I only ate the children who couldn't carry the tune very well. Oh, and all the clown fish. I love clown fish. |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Machaka Turn 25:
Cetewayo was pleased with recent events. His army was winning battles with minimal losses, his own fame was growing, and he had initiated an offensive against the traitorous High Priests. Well, 'offensive' might be a strong word for slipping a loyal operative back into the capital. It also remained to be seen if the High Priests could detect his touch on Karo. Cetewayo was almost positive that they would not be able to do so, however that almost left too much room for remote possibility. If he had never experienced it, he would have said that it was almost impossible for any force still existent in the world to have rendered him unmoving for months... but that had happened. Regardless, Cetewayo would gain valuable knowledge from the gambit. Meanwhile, Karo and the other wounded had reached Balakavo. He reported to the high priests as they had directed. He was interviewed personally by The Voice of the Lord. Some might see this as a mark of honor. Previously, Karo might have seen it so. However, now it made him very nervous. He knew that there was friction between the King, the demi-god and god to be, and the High Priests who were supposed to be his chief representatives. He was clever enough to have figured out that he and the other guard leaders had been told to give the King a constant bodyguard. They had been given very explicit instructions never to leave him without this supposed protection. After the first battle that Cetewayo fought it became quite apparent that he required no bodyguard. That left one obvious motivation for the order. The High Priests wanted information about the King's movements, actions, and abilities. Now Karo found himself in a rather uncomfortable position. He had always desired to advance in the army. He knew that such advancement would not be without some subterfuge and political intrigue. However, in the Machakan Theocracy most such machinations were primarily the domain of the various priestly orders. Thus, Karo was not prepared for the position in which he had found himself. He was not only a secret agent for one of these political powers, he seemed to have become something of a double agent. The High Priests were confident that he was their pawn. The King was equally certain of Karo's loyalty. It only remained for Karo to decide where his ultimate loyalties lie. |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Turn 26, R'lyeh
I open my mind and see... High in ice-covered mountains a ragged band waits in the night, guarding the pass. In the first attack, a month ago, their line was shattered by the charge of nightmares, but most of those skeletons were splintered in turn. Now the crossbowmen check their firing mechanisms, the militias keep a wary distance from the hybrid soldiers, and the lone meteorite guard— limp, and with only one good eye left, licks pitifully at his wounds and wishes he had never left the waves. In that strange otherplace that is the Void I see Cthugul. Abandoned by his bodyguard, which had been given the wrong orders, and bereft of the astral pearls necessary to whisk him home (thanks to over-zealous pearl collection orders), he prepares to face down a Dweller. His protection spells are powerful... In the sound, tritons wander like wraiths. The seasonal schools of fish failed to arrive. The seaweed crops have mysteriously turned rancid. The dead float everywhere. The Dweller paralyzes, Cthugul burns its mind and advances. For long hours they struggle in the swirling madness, as Cthugul advances, step by painfully slow step. At Last he reaches the dread being and reaches out to drain its life-force for his own. The amazons attack in the deepest part of the night, their dark clothes allowing them to sneak within a hundred paces of the flickering campfires before they are seen. With ear-rending shrieks they throw themselves against the militiamen and slice through them in a wall of little red splotches. The hybrids run at the sight and are cut down as they stumble on their robes. The crossbows keep up a steady fire, and, just when the meteorite guard, one claw pathetically dragging his lacerated body to cover, is about to be butchered, a volley of bolts scares the amazons away. I look into the future of this troubled sphere... The meteorite guard will die next month at the caves, as he alone provides the crossbowmen with cover from a horde of barbarians. Their great swords will leave no piece of him large enough to be worth eating. |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Back at Last. Sorry about the delay - four shocking weeks at work finally finished. I also have a new video card, which works (many thanks to PowerColor). So of course I've been distracted by Freelancer for the past week (wha'd'ya mean it's a 2003 game? I've only just started Baldur's Gate I!). I've now finished FL though (not much replay value!) and remembered to catch up here.
It's pretty obviously a three-horse race, at least in the writing stakes (I don't see the score graphs so I can't comment on those ...): turn 19: Arco 2, Machaka 2, R'lyeh 2 turn 20: Arco 2, Machaka 2 turn 21: Arco 3, Machaka 2, R'lyeh 2 turn 22: Arco 2, Machaka 2, R'lyeh 2 turn 23: Arco 2, Machaka 2, R'lyeh 2 turn 24: Arco 2, Machaka 2, R'lyeh 2 Totals after turn 24: Abysia 14 Arco 51 Atlantis 2 Caelum 6 Ermor 20 Machaka 42 Man 17 Mictlan 6 R'lyeh 37 Vanheim 4 Merry Xmas and Happy New Year to you all, CC |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 26 ----
Another spring is passing by, though the marshes are much the same. The marshes are always the same. The other day, I found a patch of marsh that was very much not the same, and it felt almost unnatural, so accustomed have I become. I was walking toward the east of the village, down a path I'd only travelled once before, when I came across a small grove of tall hardwoods. At more than double the height of a man, these trees dwarf everything in the area, save only Amshula's spindly little turrets. You would expect there to be crowds of people here, gaping at the sight of something living reaching such an unusual height, yet I saw no one. Come to think of it, you would think that if these trees had been there when I marched with our armies to the east, I or one one of my men would surely have noticed them. For the grove looked old, and the trees were very densely packed, like soldiers in formation, and it was almost pleasant to stand in their shade. They were, of course, covered in vines, and home to many proper swamp denizens, like snakes, whose constant crawling made it seem as if the trees were moving their vines in a most malevolent way. I also imagined I heard the sound of footsteps more than once, but there was never anything there. I finally decided the novelty of seeing an actual tree was not worth the malice in the air, and headed back. On my way, I passed one of the sorceresses, heading out that way. "You should not go out this way," she said. "It is not safe to wander the groves of the T'lyearugh without proper training." She hurried on before I could ask her what she meant. When I returned to the fortress, another caravan had arrived from the north. This is at least the third one in recent days to arrive, bearing another dark-cowled sibling or cousin or other relation of the mystic clan. (I spent most of the evening listening to a young man, who bore a strong resemblance to Amshula, explain why the matrilineal descendants of the third wife of the cousin of someone, whose name escapes me, were more knowledgeable in the ways of the earth, as opposed to those of the fifth wife, before I was able to make my escape.) The new arrivals are all quick to join their kind, who stay in their locked towers at all hours, making strange sounds and terrible smells. I solved one mystery, though: I was hearing footsteps. I caught Balachandra taking off a strange cloak as he greeted another third-cousin-on-his-mother's-side, or to be more precise, caught a patch of empty sky slowly put on a Balachandra shaped skin. It made me queasy to look at -- and then I realized that this was the same effect I had noticed in the battle to take this province. Somehow, they have devised a way to weave near-invisibility into cloth. Balachandra, for his part, merely winked at me when he saw me staring, a bit gape-mouthed. I felt a sudden flash of realization. So that's who's been stealing my butter... --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 27 ----
Life in the Sinking Land is mostly quiet with brief flashes of chaos. I spend my days training. Many young men have asked to join our forces. The forge billows blow without ceasing to produce new shields and armor. It takes many years of training to master the 12-foot spears that the full hoplites use, so I've been organizing a new regiment of hypaspists, with 8-footers and lighter armor. The lack of flanking cavalry in this land severely limits my tactical options, but I hope the hypaspists can partially replace them. We spend most of the morning running through the swamps in full battle armor. I've lost a few in the sucking mud, but the survivors are incredibly fast and unafraid of snake swamps. In the afternoons I work with my veterans. The long months fighting through the swamps left many of them with festering wounds. The priestesses of Apollo and Athena have been tending to them, though, and virtually all are now back to fighting trim. We practice the fundamentals: speed by charging in full armor, spinning the line and charging again for hours on end until the ground on the hillside has been churned into mud; precision by shredding a rope with just the points of a spear in mere seconds; strength by lining up six deep as we would in the phalanx and pushing over trees with our shoulders (somehow the old Spartan drill is less impressive when we use scrawny, half-dead tree-like bushes rather than mighty oaks). In the evenings we have aristeia, one-on-one contests of fighting prowess. I have always been a good warrior, but lately there is no escaping the fact that I have become abnormally quick. Balachandra gave me a finely-crafted spear which I adore. Its balance and lightness would make any man formidable in combat and, when, in my dreams, I am back at Godsgrave mountain, now I have this spear and it turns into a rod of light in my hands and burns the undead before they reach Thymbre. But it isn't just the spear, nor the long hours of training. Against the most skilled silver shield I draw the poorest weapons from the pool, and even then I must hold back or humiliate them utterly. They are so slow. When we go into aristeia it is suddenly as if time slows down to half-time. Dodging spear-points becomes, if not easy, at least possible, and I barely have to wait for openings— if I wanted to I could tap his armor with my spear in the first seconds of the fight. Of course I allow them some dignity in the battle, but of course I still win every time. I am undefeated now in the aristeia for three months, and every night it gets easier. I am grateful that my skills have developed to this point, but it is odd. But yesterday morning my peaceful training schedule was interrupted by Ialysos, a competent old hoplite who patrols the province with the light troops who will never (for one reason or another) join the full phalanax. His force surprised someone spying on them on the road to Vorgunmarsh, and though he tried to stop them, the cardaces chased the spy down and gutted him with their spears. Only afterward, from the dead man's markings, did they learn that this was no local rebel, but a scout from the kingdom of Machaka. I have heard strange things of this land, but for certain I wish them no ill. As a practical matter it would have been nice to interrogate the scout and find out what he was doing so far north of his own kingdom. I will send their ruler a message of condolence. And now this morning Balachandra and his second-half-brother-twice-removed-on-his-second-father's-side Nirmai are rounding up all the mystics from their various places of study, yelling something in the local dialect and gesturing wildly to the north. Ah well, I have written enough for today; I'd better go find out what the babble is all about. --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Machaka Turn 26:
Karo's loyalties were not really in question. He had fought beside his King. He had observed the King's prowess and strength. He had also quite grateful to the King for finding further use for him after his wounding. Karo pondered these issues as he waited for the audience with the Voice of the Lord. He had been summoned at first light. Karo had been torn about what to do with the Clam. He had to get it to the King's magicians. However, he had to get it to them in secrecy. Karo was afraid to leave the Clam unprotected since it was obviously of immense value. However, he was more afraid of bringing it with him to the interview with the Voice of the Lord. Who knows what sort of powers the man had? Of course he wasn't as powerful as the King, but Karo did not want to test the Voice's powers of perception by bringing a powerful magical item into his presence. Cetewayo could sense an echo of Karo's anxiety. He was fairly certain of its cause as well. He knew that it was about time for the wounded to have reached Balakavo. Karo was no doubt nervous about his upcoming encounter with the priesthood. Cetewayo was pleased with the past month's events. His forces had conquered another mountain province. The past few months had gone as well as could be expected, however the army had suffered small losses at every battle. Cetewayo decided that he must wait for reinforcements to arrive. The respite would give him time to search the rugged territory for magic sites. Before he began the ceremonies to sensitise himself to the magical emanations of such sites, he would attempt to strengthen his connection to his agent Karo. He had prepared Karo for the upcoming encounter with the priesthood, but perhaps there was more that he could do. Karo continued to get more nervous as he waited. He was almost certain he had made the right decision, leaving the Clam with his kit from the road. He was still concerned that the Voice of the Lord would ask him questions that could cause him problems. Finally, he was told that the Voice of the Lord was ready to see him. He was escorted into a large, luxuriously appointed office. The Voice of the Lord, the most powerful man in the kingdom was sitting at his desk. The Voice dismissed the young priest who had escorted Karo into the office. He then rose from his desk and locked the door. Karo felt that his heart was about to explode out of his chest. Why had he locked the door?!? Surely the high priest would not torture here in his office?! The Voice of the Lord walked over to the wall and did something that Karo did not see clearly. Suddenly a panel swung open and a dark figure stepped out. The High priest turned, smiled a cold self satisfied smile, and uttered the first words spoken since Karo had entered the room, "Now we can begin your 'interview'". |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 28 ----
(From The Collected Sayings of Pandokos the Prophet: In his first incarnation) "They came for our holy girls," said the woman of Tolk. "We wept, for their sacrifice would be in vain, but we hid a few away so that our priestesses would not face Ma'era empty handed." "They enslaved the spirits of warriors who perished defending our lands, a dozen tree-lives ago, and caused them to turn on us, and chase us out of our homes, until the land was populated only by ghosts," said the old man of Vorgun. "First they took all the girls, holy or not, and killed those who were not useful, except a few of us who hid," said the young maiden from Horslund. "Then they came back and took anyone who could work, leaving the old and sick to die because there is no-one left to till the fields or chop the wood or churn the butter." And Pandokos of the impressive range of facial colors grew very stern..." There is a holy marsh here, where the corpses of people killed in battles do not decay, but float beneath the surface, unable to leave the swamps even in death. The people light candles here, which burn for months, whenever there are new corpses. There are a lot of lit candles, and there would be many more if there were anyone left to light them. If I were in better humor, I would find it amusing that the first time I have left the marshes for a year and a half would find me returning again and again to this one patch of swamp, in what is otherwise a fine land of tall oaks and and evergreens. I am not amused. When Balachandra came to me Last week, with another ragged band of half-starved refugees, his eyes could have melted stone. These people, though they seemed more dead than alive to me, were from the north, where they had lived peaceably on the edge of the forest and the swamp before the raiding party wiped out their entire village of thousands. This is the third group this week, raged the inferno in the eyes of my oldest friend in these lands. This has gone too far, rumbled the avalanche. Balachandra is always such a mild, reasonable man. We must act now, roared the tempest. I wonder how Amshula would have implored me? I wondered, idly, before giving the orders to march. We left by nightfall. There are very few people here, at least who dare to show themselves, though I suspect there are many more hidden in dark, forgotten corners of the woods. Far too many villages are entirely empty, food left half-eaten on dinner plates, here and there a pool of dried blood, a charred corpse. In more than one burnt shell of a house, there are whole families clustered together around the fireplace, with no signs of violence, sometimes holding hands. In a low voice, Andromache explained that it is better to die quickly with the ones you love. She alone walks through the villages without a look of dazed horror on her face, as if she had seen this sort of thing many times before. She probably has. At Last we came to a village where the corpses were still warm to the touch, and found what we were looking for, scuttling down the road to the north. We quickly slew the band of slavers, and rescued half a dozen villagers, most of whom were too dazed to be able to give a coherent story. But one man told me that I should go see the old woman who never left the sacred grove. Outsiders are not permitted to enter, he said, especially not military men who lack respect for life. But she would talk to me. And indeed, though I had never seen her before, she greeted me as if picking up a conversation we had left off the Last evening. "I was waiting for you, Pandokos." --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Turn 27, R'lyeh
The hammer falls... After eating all the tender bits off the casualties, I was dozing behind a giant rock when I chanced to hear two of my generals: "So, didn't we offer the Atlantians friendship?" "Indeed we did. Just Last night we were working on plans to attack the coastal provinces in these parts, and then He showed up." "Oh, did he give any reason for the change in plans?" "None at all. He just ate the bodyguards, waved his tentacle 'round the conference room and then spoke into our heads, saying, 'South. Ugh'." "Huh, I hear he fancies himself a poet, or at least a writer of some repute." "Yeah, I'd heard that too, but in the flesh he's not very loquacious." "Ah.... I can't believe what we've started here today. Granted, the Atlantians are weak, but what if they have friends?" "I know, I know; it keeps me up at night. We have a huge long border with Abysia, Ermor is always capable of attacking our underwater provinces, and there are a number of other empires who could cause us a world of trouble, but did old tentacle face contact any of our neighbors about this attack? Even ask them what they would feel about turning the entire Atlantian race into fish sauce?" "I take it, from your rhetoric, that the answer is no." "It's his new magical items, that's what it is. He feels all powerful just because he has stuff to strap on prior to battle." "I knew it was a bad idea to let the spawns back in the lab make that stuff for him. Overnight he's gone from a useful asset, quickly expanding our empire on land, to a liability, dragging us into this foolishly under-prepared war." "There are others who feel the same way as us. Remember when he ordered that nutso Mr. Flibbles to attack that basically undefended Man province? And then acted all put-upon afterwards? Well, I was talking with X... (squelch)" I know, I know I should have listened just a little bit more to discover the names of these other traitors, but talking about Mr. Flibbles that way just made me so angry. Mmmm... and their brains were tasty. That's what comes of thinkin' so much an' plottin' agin me — ya get et. |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Turn 28, R'lyeh
And behold I saw under the stars that the race was not to the swift, nor the strong, but to me! And, actually, I am both swift and strong. Although not as strong as I could be, mutter mutter, stupid k-nig-it mutter. The straits and the angry sea are now mine. The kracken hides in his little cottage, afraid to come forth onto the sea floor and challenge me for supremacy — and thus I wipe out the provincial defense. While some keep an eye upon the forsaken grotto, the rest of my forces fan out to collect taxes from the Atlantians who have not made it into the castle. Some may die, but you can't make a fish taco without their dead bodies. My other force, executing the second piece of a classic pinchers attack, rolled through with nary a resistor (at least nary a one that mattered. Less than an ohm anyway...) I hear that my researchers are getting along quite well, working on the secrets of summoning magical creatures to swell my armies. I shall be glad of it. These meteorite guards are so weak and pitiful and slow. I could really go for adding a few of those coral guards to my army. Their poison-spikey armor is neat! But, they seem to all be pretty loyal, worse luck.) And the coral guards eat so much too. Not as much as the bloody useless tritons, but still... The rest of the world seems to remain quiet, undisturbed by my... kindness in putting these fishies to sleep. The empires of Man and Vanheim have being bragging about summoning the air to help them fight. Hah. Fat lotta good that'll do them under the waves. Under the sea... da di di dee. Hmmm... I thought war would be more interesting. More death and destruction. More world ending in a bang and skies torn apart and moon splattered red with the blood of mine enemies. Sieging couldn't be more dull, especially since my useless troops don't seem to be able to get their fishy fingers through the cracks in that kelp fortress. Maybe if I eat a few of their tasty fingers (lightly breaded, with a delicate tomato-vinaigrette sauce) the rest of them will be motivated to siege a little faster... |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 29 ----
(From The Collected Sayings of Pandokos the Prophet: In his first incarnation) And Navnit, while wandering, met the holy woman in the woods. This was early in the days of the Days of Blood when there were still many villages, but parents were beginning to weep for missing daughters. And Navnit, on seeing that nobody stood up for the villagers, spoke of Pandokos of the men with very long pointy sticks and the pleasantly affordable rates of hire. "I do not hold with deathbringers," said the old woman. "I know that there is no life without death," she continued, pouring a cup of warm fragrant herbal beverage for the wanderer. "But each death is still a loss." "Yes," said Navnit, idly staring through her cup as she swirled her warm fragrant herbal leaves. "But sometimes what is lost is even the certainty of death." The old woman nodded at me again. "I thought you would be here sooner," she said. "And now that you are here, I see that you are in a hurry to be gone. Good. I do not like deathbringers in my woods." As greetings go, this ranked highly among the oddest. I stated such, and discretely insinuated that the old woman should cut back on her herbal beverages. "Leave this place, oh favored-of-Hermes. Travel into the dying sun, and free the people there, for Navnit's sake." Oddly enough, the only portion of that sentence I really understood was Navnit, which I have learnt is the local word for butter. Well, that, and "Leave this place", which seemed like good advice, since the woods were exceedingly creepy. We journeyed to the open ground west of the wood, and by the side of the river there we encountered a large force of blood-hunters. Most of their army were shrivelled husks of men, clad in rags, and armed with little more than sticks. They were clearly unwilling conscripts, and I gave orders that any which attempted to surrender should be given quarter. None did. The battle was short and dramatic. The mystics clustered around Balachandra and his nephew and sort of joined hands. The two men in the center seemed to draw strength from those clustered around them, and conjured up many strange sights, the strangest of all was when large flaming rocks fell from the sky and crashed into the ranks of the enemy. The blood-hunters broke and ran almost before my men reached their lines, and so we suffered no casualties, although I did notice Amshula limping afterwards, and most of that family seemed more lethargic than normal after the battle. --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 30 ----
The locals call them the Steel Ovens. In the side of the mountains there are natural crevices where magna bubbles day in and day out. The hills have an abundance of iron ore nearby, and smiths there have outfitted the natural oven with all the tools necessary to make armor and weapons. Freed from the yoke of the blood-hunters, the smiths volunteered to work with us. One of Balachandra's kin wasted no time in immediately constructing a laboratory at the base of this mountain, so that the mystics and smiths could confer more easily about matters alchemical. I have spent the past month wandering this province, and the fair city which is perched on high cliffs overlooking a fast flowing river. It is sad to think that this clear stream from the mountains is destined to become a brackish, muddy mess in the swamps to our south. The people here have been less terrorized by the blood hunters, or rather, less willing to put up with random virgins being dragged into the night to satisfy the twisted logic of some dark god. While they were nominally loyal to the blood suckers, their city gate developed an annoying tendency to become badly stuck whenever the collection agents came around. My message of freedom and hope for a better future unburdened by such foul superstitions fell on welcome ears, although they have replaced it with some bizarre ritual in which they spread butter on themselves. As I was training a token local defense squadron in case the blood-fiends return after we have sallied forth, I came across Amshula, Sadhana, and some other mystic (whose name I do not know). They looked tired and dirty. Amshula in particular looked worse for wear. Her hair was singed and wind-blown, her limp more pronounced than ever, and her fancy purple clock was ripped in many locations. They confessed that their foray into the wild parts of this province in search of sites of magical power had been entirely unfruitful. I suppressed a smile, offered my insincere condolences, and escorted them back to the city. There we found Balachandra in the city arena showing off his muscles to a crowd of bored hypaspists and an almost-swooning Andromache. The young lad has become supremely strong lately, and was besting all comers in wrestling. I challenged him, and after some hesitation, he agreed. Perhaps he felt that I was too much like his mentor. Perhaps he felt I was too old. In the first round, he was clearly not trying his hardest, and I had him quickly on the ground before he knew what was happening. I heard Andromache's silver laughter at the sight of Balachandra lying on the ground. And the next round was very different. The lad was super-humanly strong. I could easily avoid his grasps, or twist out of his grip, but my own attempts to get him off balance came to little. I simply could not move him against his will. After several minutes of this, I feigned tiredness. I let him grab me, and as he shifted to throw me to the ground, I slipped out of his grip, gave a little shove, and allowed his own motion to carry him to the ground. Andromache approached, carrying Balanchandra's cloak, which she tossed him with a look of amusement in her eyes. I went off to a well-deserved meal of fresh river clams drenched in butter. --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Happy New Year folks! Hope you're all well. Still only three spinning yarns, but they're excellent. I'm on tenterhooks waiting for the outcome of Karo's interview ...
Turn 25: Arco 2, Machaka 2, R'lyeh 2 Turn 26: Arco 2, Machaka 2, R'lyeh 2 Turn 27: Arco 3, R'lyeh 2 Totals after turn 27: Abysia 14 Arco 58 Atlantis 2 Caelum 6 Ermor 20 Machaka 46 Man 17 Mictlan 6 R'lyeh 43 Vanheim 4 All the best, Chris P.S. I presume nobody has any problems with me awarding points once a week now ... |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Turn 29, R'lyeh
The siege continues. Word comes that there is to be a competition of heros in some distant arena. The prize is cursed, and injury is certain for anyone sent, but Farol has been moping around the northern provinces for too long. I'll confess that, honestly, I'm just a little tired of the guy. Olug and his band of thugs have begun their push down the southern fjord while the greater part of the southern force has come to join me at the siege. Food could become scarce for the besiegers. Those sharks eat a lot when there are no enemies to crunch. Up north, the Alvarik force has regrouped for another push against the barbarians. It's such a lot of both, but rumor has it that the caves contain great magical power, and the lives of humans are worthless to me. I got the cutest postcard the other day from the spawnlings at my coastal fortress. There are almost a full score of them now. Each unique and precious like a delicate snowflake. They've been keeping a close watch on Sammy, who grows more invaluable every day. Thanks to his tireless efforts to probe the arcane world for a way to escape my grasp (and lead to freedom some of the lady sages he's been... collecting), the mighty empire of R'lyeh is no longer picked on in school for being the stupidest kid in the class. My propaganda department has come up with the slogan "We're not quite as utterly pathetic as Mictlan" (tm), and I've ordered that the new fall wardrobe for all my troops bear this symbol. That should help with... that thing... you know... like good v. evil. Rocky and Bullwinkle. Morals! That's it. Moray eels? Whatever. When the revolution comes, they'll be first against the wall - those treacherous little- whoevers with their, whats-cha-me-callots. Shallots? |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Turn 30, R'lyeh
The siege continues. I am hungry every night now. My troops continue to be well fed. Well, sand and seaweed fills stomachs anyway and stops em from complaining for a while. The sharks don't seem to like it so much, and have definitely been eyeing up their riders. But I! I am the supreme ruler of this land. I need fresh blood! I need sacrifice and pain, or... The walls are everywhere. Stretching high and tall, impenetrable, impregnable, impervious. There is no where to hide. Just one victory before the thousand googly eyes. One fight on the blood stained sand, and he could be exalted, praise, lauded, treasured. When he died, preserved, not eaten. But the obsidian sword knocked aside his shield, and drew blood, and he knew fear. He gazed into the eyes of his foe, a young lad, for whom this contest would mean so much. While for him, returning to slavery, as a lower being in the new world order. And when the black sword came again he welcomed it. A motley force, a few brave arrows, and thundering over the plain, a score of madmen with blades as long as your leg. They threw themselves over the spear, over the tridents, and swords. They wrenched crossbow bolts from whence they lodged themselves in their limbs and hacked until the pieces were too small to get back up, covering the grass in slippery red. There once was a race of tall men, who built towers on the shores of the sea. And they dwelt in these towers, over the sea, and watched for the death that would come. But the men in their towers grew lazy and rich, and abandoned their watch on the sea. And the storm when it came, on little cats paws, buried their world 'neath the waves. |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Turn 31, R'lyeh
The siege continues. There is some good news though. For the first time, a foray by the tritons tore off a piece of the kelp wall large enough that the defenders inside cannot repair it without being exposed to attack. A first chink in their armor, into which I shall insert my tentacle and pull their world apart. Furthermore, the generals back home have sent up a magic item they believe will hasten the siege. This "Wall Shaker" is the result of some trade with the bird people to our south. My mind, which had been planning on a nice vacation somewhere southern–probably with palm trees and coral reefs and little brightly colored fishies–has apparently decided to postpone this trip in the hope that the battle at the castle will be interesting. Once I destroy the Atlantians I will allow the catfish to take over the ruins of the castle. Their spawn will play by seaweed hedges in the inner keep, while the old catfish will lounge in the outer courts, sunning and cleaning themselves. Olug has finished his march down the southern fjord, which is now clear of all Atlantian influence. Reconstruction will probably be a bear. He returns, ever so slowly. The slaves have seen the weekly defended shores of birds and men and long to tear their best-laid plans astray. But I tell them, "One war at a time." Also, "MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS SLAVE OR I WILL TAKE PLEASURE IN GUTTING YOU!!" Cthugul writes from the void: Attacked by Thing that Should not Be. Stop. Safely home thnx to pearls and returning spell. Stop. Send love to Sammy for that. Stop. Acashic Record found sites magic power. Stop. Mages take all clams. Stop. No Linguine. Stop. |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Heyda, i would be interresed to play with you, but i don´t see the game under mosehansen.
Can someone post the link and tell me where to upload my pretender - i would like to pick Vanheim :-) |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
I should have been clearer. Yarnspinners is a game that has already started, so you would sign up as a replacing player, and would not have to create a Pretender. We are around turn 33: the reason I recommend Vanheim is because they aren't on the brink of a war, unlike the other nations looking for another player.
The game is played via mail (Play By Email, or PBEM), so it is not available at Mosehansen (it used to be hosted there though). If you are interested in joining us, you should send me a mail, and I will forward the game file to you. The mail is in my profile, or here: alneyan[AT]fastmail[DOT]co.uk (replace [AT] and [DOT] by @ and .) |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
--- Caelum, turn 33 ---
I have been away from the capitol far too long. The empire of Caelum -- no one can deny that it is an empire now, of the mightiest in the world -- has grown large and prosperous. (Would it be better if we had stayed small? It is much too late for that now.) I have turned the wastelands to the north into peaceful, productive members of an empire that now spans all lands to the east of the Nidzh River, except for a colony in the far east that belongs to the spider people. The spider people. Perhaps that was my first clue. I had heard that they were ruled by someone not unlike myself, torn from the grave into a strange world of palatial intrigues and a powerful priestly caste. I pitied him a little, for in Caelum it is the researchers who hold power; and how much intrigue can they indulge in when they are constantly lost in the towers of old scrolls and manuscripts scattered across our kingdom? Since I have become the reluctant leader (I will not say "god", though everyone else does) of this land, I have urged the scholars to regain our long-ago position as the most powerful researchers in the world. Was I hoping to channel their ambitions to peaceful ends, to give them other things to contemplate than spreading word of my divinity? Strange how one so powerful as I could be so naive. So when the spider people first sent forays into empty lands across the wide river that divided our kingdoms, I sent them a message of friendship and peace. They were clinging to life wedged against the powerful empire of Man; if they were willing to pacify lands that our forces had no intentions of approaching anytime soon, I saw no need to fight. (For though they are small and somewhat weak, I suspect that they would fight dearly for their small homeland.) But I have heard no news of my messenger, though it has been many months. The way is long, even for my fast-winged scouts; but rumors began to reach me that perhaps the mountains crossings were the least treacherous of the problems facing my messenger. So far, there has been peace. But I fear the rising powers in this land will not let that Last. My own fateful error led these forces to power, though at the time it was acclaimed as a brilliant success. The high seraphs announced the discovery of a way to harness lightning, along with many spells to protect themselves, and begged leave to travel en masse to meet in battle Solaris, a knight of great renown who had long held sway on the borders of the capital. I gave reluctant permission, though I was concerned we would fall behind on our great research plans, with so many high seraphs gone. "We must all go," said Wizard (W). "We do not know if our plan would work, but it will surely fail if the Lord of the West Wind does not permit a sufficient number of us to try." Their plan, of course, was a resounding success; there were few casualties; and since then he and some of the other seraphs have been hailed as heroes throughout the land. But after the battle, only a few seraphs returned, carrying powerful items stripped from Solaris' corpse, while the others went forth to conquer the rich southlands. We have slipped from our position as the mightiest researchers, and the other empires will be quick to capitalize on this, I fear; but when I discussed this with Wizard (W) he merely smiled and extolled the large number of fortresses we have constructed, the growing number of troops, our ever-increasing borders and wealth. It was after he returned that I had a chilling moment that I wished I had paid more attention to: I was suddenly unsure if this was the same "Wizard (W)" who had asked leave to depart. Had his experience with death and power changed him that much? Or was he really a different person? It dawned on me that, with no less than five mages known as "Wizard (W)" in my lands, I have no way of knowing which one I am talking to. But I am used to sudden chills as if from the grave, and ignored this one as all others, and went back to the unifying the north. I learned two things today. The first is that we have launched a massive attack on Ermor. We used to be friendly with their lands; perhaps I was less cowed by the chill of death than other rulers might have been. From time to time we would receive Messages from their ruler, who always signed his Messages with the words "For I am Noth", and we had come to an understanding of peace, though I have not heard from Noth in many months. When I asked Wizard (A), another of the warmongers (and it is impossible to tell if any are against the war, when all look and talk and act the same), why we had attacked his lands, with whom we share such an enormously large border, he simply said, "Noth doesn't live there anymore." I walked away before he could regale me with news of the many glorious victories; there will be plenty of defeats to come. There is more: this same Wizard (A) has called forth one of the holiest creatures of the Caelumites, the Queen of Storms, and sent her forth in a berserker rage to wrack havoc on Ermor. The seraphine priestesses, meanwhile, have sharply increased in number, and are fanning out across the lands, seeking to banish the undead. I learned of the death of my storm general prophet, whose name I never even learned, only Last week; apparently he died a year ago or more, sent to fight a battle where he had no hope of winning. Now there is a Prophetess, Zabele, and I fear the rise of a powerful caste of priestesses to complement the wizard seraphs, who have seized power. The other thing I learned is that I am a prisoner. My return to the capitol, apparently, is unwanted by the high seraphs, and I am to stay in this remote library where I have been training young sages and crafting powerful artifacts during what I thought was a well-deserved respite from war. They could not stop me from leaving if I wanted to, of course, though I suspect the weapons being readied against the undead hordes of Ermor would quickly be turned on me if Wizards (A) and (W) felt I had outlived my usefulness as a religious rallying point. For I am the Ghost of the Wingless, at least to the armies being massed; it is in my name that they fight, and kill, and die. --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Turn 32, R'lyeh
If you really must know, the siege still continues. Need I say more? Eh, well, I'm bored, so I'll say more. Everyone is tearing down the kelp fortress, but I refuse to eat seaweed again, unless it is wrapped around fresh squid. Delicious wonderful squishy slimy chewy ancient kraken of the deeps... why won't Abysos come out and play? There is nothing on my god-o-vision these days: no sneak attacks, no deadly diseases, no lame troops to kill. Only the good people of South Hengewood giving me 500 gold. Exciting war, huh? All this success is leaving too few people dead Too few fishy corpses to pick through, too few, too few... Sammy sends word. Doesn't the kid have anything better to do? Like, say, research? "Oh great Cthulu," he starts. (He doesn't actually say that. I just like to pretend. My minions never grovel sufficiently.) "Excellent news here. Stop. Heard news about nearby den of necromancers. Stop. Obvious now why so many girls in this land are death-obsessed. Stop. Nearby town had the most wonderful little harvest festival that I went to with Stella and Sarah and..." Eyargh, I need to eat someone. N O W |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Turn 33, R'lyeh
So they starve, so they starve, what do I care: we have broken through the fortress! The only question now is: would I rather deep fry the squid? Turn it into ceviche? Lightly sauté it with butter and capers? Perhaps a delicate yellow curry. Squid soup for everyone. Just as soon as we rips 'im limb from limb from limb from limb... The only thing marring my joy is this nasty posse of Atlantians who refused to let themselves be eaten, but instead attacked me -- me -- in the province to the north. The nerve, oh, the nerve. I shall crush them just as soon as I am done with my fried ceviche butter curry soup of squid. Ooh, ooh, have you heard my latest witticism? "You can't make an omelet without kracken eggs." I just kracken myself up. Ha ha. To celebrate, I send more minions on the far side of the world out to death, theirs or others, what do I care? My spawnlings I send against tritons, my assorted rabble of a vaguely non-live nature I send against some dull little coastal province with archers. I used to love to eat archers, their long bows perfect for dislodging bits of limb caught in my tentacles. But land food just doesn't appeal right now when the sea is about to yield up such a bounteous feast. Atlantian really does taste just like chicken. |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Hi Griffin,
Welcome to the game. Feel free to post the occasional yarn if you get into the game - I know there's only a few of us posting most turns these days, but I like reading all of the reports I can get. (And not just for the vital insights into everyone else's strategies... http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/wink.gif ) -Puffyn |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 31 ----
We turn north again, working on fragmentary reports from scouts throughout Mictlan's empire. My plan is to avoid the large enemy army encamped just south of their capitol, skirt around, and hit their city from the west. The going will be slow, since it will be necessary to pacify the locals, clear out blood-hunters, and set up some sort of local defense at each town we come to. If all goes according to plan, we should be outside their bloody walls in two, maybe three months. Looking back over my previous entries, I see that I have neglected to mention the strange beings that now travel with us. Balachandra calls them vinoghers. I normally call them "stupid" or "mindless twit", since they have no conception of personal space or self preservation, and are happy to aimless wander into a campfire, scatter ash and plant bits into one's butter, and then plod off, completely oblivious to the flames now dancing around their legs. We've lost three of them and nearly a pound of butter that way, but more seem to arrive continually. But the vinoghers are quite sturdy in battle. Not as effective offensively as my hoplite, they do have a remarkable ability to keep wandering forward, randomly crushing things, despite missing an arm or two. In the most recent skirmish, the slave armies of Mictlan turned and fled at their mere approach. I guess the strange southern sorceresses (Ulde, or one of her triplets) are to thank or blame for these brutes. I don't need them to win battles, but they keep my real men healthy and I am grateful for that. I shall have to send the triplets a nice fruit basket from the Mictlan capitol when it falls. --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 32 ----
At times I feel a little redundant. We approached a large Mictlan army on the plains outside Oeversee. As usual, I had my slow troops in a protective square around the mystics, priests, wounded, and other useless bums. On the left flank, the now-elite hypastist phalanx; on the right, a barely distinguishable clump of vines and moss that typically breaks up into something like ten vinoghers. The blood-herders have some men who have mastered the art of flight, and these sometimes cause problems for the mystics, who have never held an honest spear in their life. In this case, one lone fanatic soared majestically into the air, raised his spear, gave a horrible cry, and ... promptly skewered himself upon the spears of the phalanx. The mystics were wasting their time on foolish chants, so I left Andromache to watch out for them, and marched forward with the phalanx. The slave army had nearly reached us, and though we were heavily outnumbered, I could see the fear in their eyes, for we have gained quite a fearsome reputation in these parts. There was a sound like a thousands swords being drawn, and a whistling that you felt, rather than heard. Instinctively, we all ducked behind shields, pulled our helmets down low, but the whirling blades came from behind us, flew safely over our heads, and scythed the slave army apart. The slaves of Mictlan rarely wear any armor or shields, and are generally slow also. The blades tore limbs clean off, chunked a few of them cleanly, and generally mangled a number more. Slipping on the blood and entrails, still more afraid of their masters behind them than of the death in front, the few remaining slaves got to their feet, and struggled forward. At that moment, a lightening bolt appeared out of the sky, and with a great clap of thunder, charred the earth directly in front of the slaves. On the way down, the lightening must have caught the trees branches on fire, for the next second, a veritable shower of fire fell amongst the poor conscripts, burning many, and lighting several of them on fire. The survivors fled as soon as we reached them and presented our spear points, and impenetrable wall of gleaming shields. The vinoghers tore a few apart as they ran, dropping their spears to escape more quickly. The few non-slave warriors melted easily under our advance, and the battlefield was ours. That night, I spoke with Tushar (Balachandra's second cousin, once removed). He confirmed my suspicion that there was nothing supernatural going on at the battle: the mystics had simply found a way to propel a large number of sharpened blades through the air. He refused to tell me the mechanism though: "Magic," he replied with a wink. Of course he also claimed credit for the lightning strike, but it was clear he was just trying to see how gullible I am. --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 33 ----
Tushar's invention (the troops nervously refer to it as The Blade Wind. As in, "Keep your head low in battle or the blade wind will send your head back home to Attica without your body", or, "If you touch my butter ration again I'll blade wind you back to the stone age") remains devastatingly effective against the forces of Mictlan. With its help, we cut a bloody swath through the patrolling army and are now camped outside the gates of Mictlan itself, gathering the materials for a siege. I do not know how long we will have to remain here. The walls around this city are strong ones, and there are many defenders inside. I have heard some odd reports from back home. Upper Skelde, just north of Oast Hills, has always been home to a proud and warlike people. Now, perhaps, they have been defeated in battle by forces under the control of the village elders. Or perhaps not — I have heard both. It almost seems as if a rabble of locals was soundly defeated there, and yet the province spontaneously decided to join their fate to ours anyway. And I keep hearing a name I have not heard in a long time... Limmy. It seems that the faith of some people never dies. The sorceress triplets (I think Vlde, actually, but I cannot keep them straight) have sent a messenger complaining that a large slaver force is marching south directly for them. The scum have already taken the sacred grove of the old woman, and the sorceresses fear that the fort in the sinking land will soon be under siege. I'll write them a witty response telling them to get their plant buddies to protect them. Bloody sorceresses— can't even handle a little counter-attack. The troops believe that they are not altogether dedicated to our cause, so I'm certainly not about to go rushing off to save them. I'm sure that once Mictlan's capitol falls, the god-empress (as she imagines herself) of this people, also known as Sethra, Lady of Fever, will surrender completely. Honestly though, I hope the so-called Harvester comes in person to try and break the siege. I would love to end her reign of terror on my spear-point. --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Turn 34, R'lyeh
Now THAT was a meal! The kelp walls rolled back at Last under our relentless attack and we stormed the heart of Atlantis, the deepest place of this world, where starlight never reaches to burn their fish-eyes. My shambler thrall and assorted otherworldly beings were at the maw first, while my shark knights and rabble of tritons prepared for their vertical attack. Behind them all, my Illithids waited in steely grey silent rows, clutching their tridents, and focusing their minds on the void. But Atlantis was not going to wait patiently for our attack. Diving down from the starless darkness above our heads came a cluster of tritons, and a handful of horrendously coiled sea serpents. The serpents dove upon the shamblers, breaking their necks between powerful jaws. The dumb brutes just stood there, trying helplessly to trample their foe. Sheer numbers carried the day. Even the tritons who landed amongst our weaker Illithids had their minds torn out by screams, and the serpents were surrounded on all sides my meteorite guards and formless things and vile spawn. And their bodies returned to the sea. Enemy mages drew down the water above our heads so that it struck our ranks, sending troops flying. Some cowards now fled under the storm, but my elite shark knights had swum, unhindered to the side of Abysos, the great kracken, pretend ruler of the seas. Their might teeth tore chunks from him, and the smell of blood now coursed through the veins of the sea. My own preparations complete, I surged forward, cutting a path through the gate not far behind the surviving thrall. There, in the narrow space, their coral guard engaged us, and many of my slaves poisoned trying to rend the armor apart, but I was protected by powerful magic, and the screams of the Illithids behind us froze ever more Atlantians, and they fled into the darkness prepared for them. Now Abysos issued forth, and his tentacles were everywhere, flinging my slaves into the walls of his fort, and into the deep chasms which littered the plain. His ink coiled around him, and caused every living thing near him to die. But I, protected, reached his side. With several tentacles paralyzed, and several more busy ripping a thrall into tiny pieces, I easily reached his side, and sank my own tentacle deep in his flesh. For long we stood in the deep, just the two of us, as our forces skirmished on the side. Ever he strove to dislodge me, and ever I sucked out his life force. At Last he grew weary, and I grew full. I discarded the dried up remains, and my star-children finished the job. For dessert, I ate three Initiates of the Deep and one Deep Seer. In the bloodied, turmoiled waters after the battle we found four magic clams, and one enormous cauldron of fish soup - leftovers. Now I am sure there is an empire to run, but I am full, and must nap. |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
R'lyeh, Turn 35
One: Sssh, don't wake him. Two: The fat one is asleep in his own food, you really think a little noise will disturb him? One: I... I don't know. But I do know that Zag'mi was the last one of our little group who decided it would be a good idea to make its thoughts available to the world, and we all know what happened to it. Two: Shudder I'm still picking bits of it out of my teeth. One: So keep it quiet. Now, what next? I hear that the Atlantians still have a fortress on the shore of this strait. Will we be ordered to leave behind the tritons, scramble up through the sunlit waves and die, gasping for air, as sharp metal pierces our bodies? Two: If I know the fat one he'll spend an eon or two sleeping off the octopus before doing anything useful. X has already been organizing all the recovery and repair operations; hopefully, we'll all be following its orders until fatty recovers. One: Hiss Will you stop calling him that? Two: Why should I? He's grotesquelly overweight after eating that much tentacled-matter. One: I know, but even for a mad elder god it's so disrespct... Quiet! What was that? Two: Your over-active imagination. One: Pauses Maybe. Now look, X doesn't like the daystar any more than we do. It's organizing expeditions up the rivers to take over the rest of this world's lakes. Two: Shudder Fresh water fish. It's so brackish and muddy and dull. One: It's better than dying in a hail of a thousand arrows in some high, forgotten, blighted... meadow. Who's that? Ten: Greetings One: Relief Greetings Ten: I bring a gift. Reveals Two: They look like ordinary pearls. Ten: But they're not. S claims they've been imbued with the light of Epsilon Eridani and that by placing them on Cthulu while he dreams he will be carried back to that system. One: Awe But will it work? Two: After all, S is a warm-blooded, air-breathing, toothed freak. Ten: I don't know. As always, it's your call One. But I do know that Cthugul has been successfully summoning again. It's can't be long before the great purple comes into the world. Two: And I hear that the northern air-breathers who are so loyal to fatso have built him several new temples and have finished consolidating his power up there. One: Musing Foolish mortals... it doesn't matter what happens here, they all just die eventually. Decision Let's do it, we've only our lives to lose. Two. Do the honors. Two: Okay-dokey. So I guess I just place them here... Nothing One: Hmmm... that's odd. Was Two supposed to vanish like that also? Ten: Uh, I don't think so. One: No great loss. Well, Ten, I guess you're the new Six, congratulations on your promotion Six: Submission It is a pleasure to serve. |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Turn 28: Arco 2, R'lyeh 2
Turn 29: Arco 2, R'lyeh 2 Turn 30: Arco 2, R'lyeh 2 Turn 31: Arco 2, R'lyeh 2 Turn 32: Arco 2, R'lyeh 2 Totals after turn 32: Abysia 14 Arco 68 Atlantis 2 Caelum 6 Ermor 20 Machaka 46 Man 17 Mictlan 6 R'lyeh 53 Vanheim 4 Very disappointed that we've stopped hearing from Machaka - what a cliffhanger! CC |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 34 ----
They attacked out of the fortress with another motley band, and we swatted them down. Many of their slaves died, though many more ran and fled. We suffered no casualties, save only for one of the priests of Apollo, who fell to a regrettably well-aimed large rock. Actually, our numbers increased, since for the first time a few Mictlanians came to their senses and begged us to accept their services in the fight against their cruel former masters. Balachandra was most pleased at this, and said that he and the rest of his clan had been working on a way to "project inner calm" at the enemy and "release their inner chi" in order to "free their minds". I'm just going to put it down to a sudden and unlooked-for case of common sense breaking out. There was a quarrel in the mystic camp after the battle, though I don't know what it was about. For the past several months, Amshula and Tushar have been in charge of marshaling the other mystics and directing their mystical incantations that (they claim) are the reason we have lost so few troops. Tushar's Blade Wind, in fact, has earned him a reputation far and wide as a powerful magician with lightning quick reflexes (the better to step out the way of stray blades), and he tends to accumulate a following of awestruck young lads and swooning maidens. (Except for Andromache; after battles I've noticed that though she tends diligently to the wounds of all the injured soldiers, she spends more time than is strictly necessary around Balachandra's tent, admiring his ever-more-impressive muscle tone.) But as I was walking past the camp in the early evening, I heard Amshula's voice raised passionately, and caught a few words. "... not fair, who cares about fair? ... risk our lives just so someone else can play the hero... " Several mystics spoke at once, drowning each other out. I heard elder sister Sadhana sharply rebuke Amshula for not being properly respectful, and several of Tushar's brothers arguing heatedly about something. The argument ended abruptly when Amshula shouted out, "You can all be seeyems for all I care, if you think I'm just in it for the glory." She then stormed out, which would have been more impressive if not for her limp. It seemed to be troubling her more than usual. As she hobbled past she caught my eye and said, furiously, "Their precious protocols and traditions are going to get us all killed, but do they care? It's just a big stupid game to them..." I couldn't think of anything to say to that, so I let her walk past and went to inspect the defectors. One of them, a bowman, claimed to be from an indigenous tribe in the province that had long been repressed, and whose members were forced to serve in the military because their skills with projectile weapons went beyond throwing rocks. He was more than willing to fight against the bloodfiends. The other defector, a common warrior, said that he had heard only the day before, from a cousin to the north, that the forces of "blue and butter" had liberated them, and that he had been confused about what to do with this information until, or so he claims, he saw me march out with the troops. As he was missing an arm and quite dazed from blood loss and hunger, I don't really know what to make of his claim, except that I have heard other rumors that the province to the north has revolted, in our favor. At present, we are digging in and preparing for a long siege, though it is hard to say how long that could be. News from the south is not good -- the triplets continue under siege, and Vorgunmarsh was seized -- but it is far more important for us to continue here. If we can break their stronghold, then the rest of their forces will crumble and fall. --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 35 ----
Yesterday's sortie from the castle walls came within a spear's thrust of defeating us. Nearly a third of my troops fell, and several bands were scattered into surrounding areas; there are only a handful of troops still camped around the city walls. If their next attack is as strong as this one, we will be in trouble. Fortunately, it seems as if many of their leaders came out and fought, and few returned to their blood-stained homes. I think they had finally realized what a threat we pose to them, because this time they attacked with far better troops than the masses of rag-tag slaves we have encountered before. A flock of giant poisonous bats flew directly toward the mystics, who were fortunately surrounded by many brave hoplites who sprang to their defense. That left the vinoghers to meet the bulk of their forces, which included several evil looking spiny monsters. All the while five priests stood at the back with dozens of young girls; by the time we reached them, not one was left alive. There was much bloody fighting before we finally prevailed. I did note with some curiosity that Sadhana and another mystic whose name escapes me led the mystics this time; yet the troops seem to have rallied around Amshula and Tushar, because they believe them responsible for the lightning strikes that helped drive off the bats. As the few remaining priests finally began to flee, three of their tribal kings suddenly "freed their minds" and joined our side, unfortunately without bringing their warriors also to our side. One of them said that the Prophet Huehueteotl had come himself to watch the fight, but was among the first to scurry back to the castle; it was the former king's opinion that there would be much blood-letting tonight in the wake of the devastating defeat, and he would rather be outside the castle while it was going on. Since we have so few troops assembled here, I have assigned all of the defectors guard duties. I do not suspect they will betray us, since they are unlikely to be greeted with anything other than open knives should they return to their city, but I have instructed my troops to remain cautious around them. I leave at dawn to collect wayward troops. Had they been veterans, seasoned warriors, who had fled, I would have left them to wander. The phalanx would have been strengthened by the removal of the weakest elements. But most of them are fresh recruits from the south -- more boys than men really, and we desperately need more hands to maintain the siege. It is unlikely that Mictlan will attack again in force before I can return, which is why I will risk it. Besides, tensions among the mystics have been high ever since the battle. I suspect there is another argument brewing, though at present Amshula is so exhausted that she has slept ever since the battle ended, nearly two days ago. I would like to be gone from the camp before she awakes. --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 36 ----
I have just received news that Huehueteotl was not content to wait until he had built up a stronger force, and instead he attacked out while I have been rebuilding my strength and my phalanx out in the northern forests (which are indeed completely loyal to our cause, though no one will give me a straight answer for what prompted this welcome rebellion). The attacking force was not large, mostly slaves and large poisonous snakes of the sort I have seen far too many times for one lifetime. As I hear it from the messenger who was sent to fetch me, our forces quickly routed theirs, though we again failed to catch Huehueteotl. But even after the forces had broken and were madly scrambling back toward the city, Sadhana and Nihar kept "raining down death from the heavens", as I am told, and otherwise calling upon the other mystics to put forth great efforts to pick off a few of the retreating foes. While Nihar was chanting an incantation to give all of our forces the strength of giants, the better to run down the stragglers, Amshula collapsed from the strain, and never woke up. Nobody else was hurt. I did not expect to take her death this hard. We fought constantly, and she was ever confounding my plans with her incessant searching and her inability to take commands (from me). But she did not deserve to die this way, ill-used by her fellow mystics. Too many have died senselessly in the last three years -- Amshula, Divikar... Thymbre. When will it end? The messenger is relating other news about the battle, such as how the Mictlan deserter who was missing an arm has been magically healed, and how Limmy himself was spotted in battle, flying like a bird, but I do not have time for such folly now. We are still two days' march from the encampment, and we must reach it before they are attacked again, or I fear there will be yet more evil. --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
R'lyeh, Turn 36
I dreamt I slept upon the empty folds of space, slid down potential wells, and danced amongst the twisting, coiling fields which wreath the elemental orbs. I dreamt of stepping through the stars, between dark portals of far years. I traipsed across the trackless wastes and watched the lights whirl overhead. I dreamt of kingdoms, raging wide, beyond the reach of mortal ken. O thousand souls in bondage lay, and thousand corpses floated free! And then I woke, and felt the old, familiar pull ... of gravity. And there before my tentacle lay many men in garb most strange. But as I sucked their weary brains, I learnt anew of wretchedness. Then knew I where my blind eyes fell, upon the face of this dust ball, and not amongst the friendly stars. I killed them all, and used their bones to pick my teeth. But now confusion reigns supreme, within my godlike frame. How came I to this weary place, where dull blue sky scrapes near the earth? Dared these fool peasants summon me, and pull me here to eat their brains? Or does the fulsome answer lie with other powers in the night? My enemies, my friends? Would they have hurled me thus? Back to my home, then down again, and why just here, and this? My only clue, a piece of fish which fell from dull blue sky, and splat upon the blood-stained rocks and covered them with goo. It was a Starspawn's robe no doubt, though what was once therein, was dashed to pieces far and wide, and had no form to tell. Yet tentacles are chewy things, and some survived the fall. I sat right down and sucked on it — it tasted like the Straits. I see bright lights toward the east, some hamlet there may lie. I'll eat their brains, and search to learn exactly where they die. |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
1 Attachment(s)
R'lyeh, Turn 37
Xlikloth must die. I ate the most interesting neurons the other day. For some reason, the villagers in this land, wherever it might be, had the notion that there was a new power in R'lyeh. "I thought the world had changed," an archer thought, as I split open his skull and feasted on the juicy, juicy goo inside. "I am never going to listen to a word my cousin in Abitopolis says again," ran through the mind of a militiaman. (At least he was being realistic about his ability to communicate with his loved ones after being et.) Really, I was quite puzzled as I ate my way through their ranks, because I kept sensing that they weren't expecting to be eaten! I mean, really. How long have I been taking over the world now, 3 years? 4? How many neighboring provinces must have sent out word of the terrible sucking death that awaits all in my path? I do try to pick off most of the stragglers when I eat a town, but I find letting a few get through releases a lot of adrenaline in the villagers in the next town over, which adds a nice complex undertaste. But these people... they were positively shocked to see me! It all made sense, though, terrible terrible sense, when I ate Turioc. As a commander, his neurons fired just a bit more quickly than his dullard troops, so I managed to get a more coherent brain-wave pattern out of him: "I thought Xlikloth was in charge under the waters, and that this fiend had been sent back to the hell he came from." Xlikloth? I thought. My loyal Xlikloth? Wherever could he have got that idea from? But no: his fellow officers had similar thoughts, as did their wives and children when I reached the village for a bit of dessert. They all seemed to think that I had been killed/deposed/sent far, far away, and that Xlikloth was now the ruler of the Benevolent People's Republic of R'lyeh. I tend not eat Starspawns, because they get touchy about it, but no one can deny that I am within my rights to take care of this disastrously failed business plan. I don't even care if I don't get to suck his brains out personally, that's how annoyed I am. (And Starspawn is so tasty with paprika and dill...) I am posting a description of the traitor, so that any of my loyal minions who love me enough (which should be all of them!) will know what to do with him. Some of them may die trying to take him down (he is distressingly powerful and admired), but what do I care? I just want him dead. Dead dead dead dead dead. Mit Torte. http://67.19.30.83/threads/uploads/327966-Wanted.jpg |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
---- Arcoscephale, Turn 37 ----
At night, the grounds around the walls of Mictlan are a depressing place, littered with a hundred broken things. Although it is late spring here, the air is as bitter cold as in the depths of winter. It is as if there is some presence to the land that sucks all of the life and warmth out of every living being. And yet, amid all this decay, I have never felt more at home, more at peace in this strange land, then standing by the side of Amshula's funeral pyre, singing songs with her family. The fire leapt and curled high into the sky, where the sky was brilliantly clear, and the stars close enough to touch. A playful breeze from the south brought sweet forest scents to cover up the battlefield stench, and little gusts fanned the flames to even more daring acrobatics as they carried that incomparable spirit across the final river. The next day, our force was attacked again by the rapidly dwindling, and very smelly, blood-hunters. We emerged from the battle only stronger, as we lost no one, and three more poor warriors joined our side, and brought with them two great horned serpents. These truly magnificent beasts are much used by Mictlan, but in battle one never gets a chance to examine them properly up close. In the hands of their trainers they are quite docile, indeed, almost friendly once you get over their evil-looking fangs. We will soon put them to good use, for after the battle it became clear that the defending forces no longer possess the wherewithal to keep us out; we will at last storm the gates of hell. I hope Balachandra is all right. I know he blames himself for Amshula's death. I think he sees in her death a deep failing within himself. I do not see it though. His sorrow for a fellow warrior's death is the mark of civilization, rare among these people. I am glad that he is now bedding Andromache (this gossip can no longer be denied), for she has a remarkably level head after her own troubles and will help him through his self-inflicted torment. And who does this leave in charge of the mystics? A newcomer, ... well, it seems strange to write it, but here it is... Odysseus. No, not just someone with the bad sense to take that unlucky man's name, but someone who actually claims to be that famous king of Ithaca. It is odd: apart from this fairly serious flaw in his mental state, Odysseus is an extremely intelligent man. His rhetoric has done much to bring Mictlan deserters to our cause, and he likewise gives no credit to the persistent rumor that Limmy magically appears to fight by our side on the battlefield. One thing is certain, this man is Greek, and knows Ithaca and its environs well. If he were not mad, perhaps we would become fast friends. But is madness even that much of a handicap in this place and time? Wlde, who has joined the siege, is very much not Greek. Impatient and bitter, she daily advocates abandoning the siege and marching south to relieve her sisters in the Sinking Land. The last we have heard from them, a local mystic had attempted a magic spell to repair the crumbling walls (it is not well to speak ill of the dead, so I shall refrain from pointing out that it was at Amshula's insistence that we build the walls from the local rock, which is little more than dried mud), but the spell, like most such things, had failed utterly. I do understand Wlde's desire to rescue her sisters, but the war's victory is nigh. Their last city vanquished, we have only to march a league south, where Sethra hides in the woods with a smattering of followers, and an end will be come to Mictlan. --- |
Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
How is this game going? Looks like you guys could knit some wicked nice sweaters for a Jotun army with all the yarn. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif
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Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
Yarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrn, there be stories in them thar giants.
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