Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

R'lyeh, Turn 55

My war against Caleum is underway: three legions rose from the depths, smashed through their defenses of Caelum and seized every one of the port cities on their main continent. If such a move had any real tactical significance it would have been pure genius. I've sent an abomination to pillage their back country, and unleashed a horde of undead against a gaggle of mages, who unfortunately mostly survived the encounter. The birds rely heavily on a spell which creates illusionary soldiers to defend their land. My spawn attempted to swat the enchantment away during our initial assault, but they failed. Yet the phantoms cannot hold back the tide...

Arco chose this moment to strike. Previously we had enjoyed only a few border skirmishes, but it is now quite clear that they intend to field powerful armies against me. If I were to attack Abysia and Machaka then I could be at war with all the major powers, which would be chaotically fun.

But for now I must continue my work here. Sammy reports on the following snippet found locked in the deepest vaults in Halls of Andvare. He believes it refers to the same prophecy about the Sleepers.


Sleepers on the isle of sea
Two wanderers far from home
On Beltane, one final fight
Seals the fate of the world


I don't know where Beltane is, and an isle of sea sounds like a lake to me, which is good news for R'lyeh (go big blue!).

Generally I distrust prophecies and eat prophets (I never had a chance to taste Xlikloth, although he had probably turned sour during his betrayal) but... I do kinda get this tingly sensation in my back knee which normally means there's an apocalypse a brewin'.

So the world is ending- what do you do? If you're a mad-elder-dreaming-god ya go with what worked well last time: raise taxes sky high on all your craven servants, send armies hopelessly to their deaths to distract your enemies from your true plans, launch new wars on those who you haven't yet had the pleasure of killing, and spend your days crawling around in the murky-dank forests, searching for some mystical powerhouse which will seal your supreme power. Stupid prophets and their blank verse! I so totally have the power to bring every corner of this world under my chaotic darkness- and then the world comes to an end. When I become truly omnipotent I'll make sure this kind of thing is outlawed.

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 55 ----

And it came to pass that the sleepy-ones marched forth in the aid of the butter-lover, and found a world much changed. Todd-of-the-extreme-height drew forth the blood-stained, tattered remains of "The Collected Sayings of Sokodnap (who was quick in battle but slow in his messy death)". "I inherited this scroll from my mother, Ddot, who woke with this world, and now I will see its setting," he explained to the reluctant prophet as the hypaspists rustled in their armor like a thousand leaves. "Now... which way is up on this stupid map?"

From The Collected Sayings of Pandokos the Prophet

Todd is leading us somewhere, and for some reason I keep following. I guess I'm morbidly curious about the end of the world prophecy, but I doubt that gore-encrusted scrap of parchment he carries really helps him very much. Todd seems... a bit out of touch. We marched into the Elder Hills last week, and he was so shocked to see knights that he just stood around gaping and let me do all the smiting. "Did these hills always used to be here? Where are the lush forest and average-sized lizards? We were supposed to turn right at the glacier..."

That night, Todd complained that the moon was smaller than it use to be in his day, and that the stars had "moved". I'm sure that the separation from his brother has driven the poor lad crazy, but most of the local recruits give a lot of credence to this mythology. Yesterday, when farmers arrived selling fresh produce, I overheard part of their conversation:

"I hear that them sleepers leave gold coins under young'uns' teeth"

"No, them's just crazy stories, why, C'tugul would choke on them when he ate their heads"

"D'ya reckon it's true what they say?"

"'Bout the world endin'?"

"Yep."

"Reckon so. My crops 'aint been growin' like they should. Figures this world here's about all used up and it's time for a new one."

"Huh. Maybe I'll come back as a bird. That'd be swell."

Like all locals these two were completely out of their mind, but at least they had fresh butter I could barter for. Back in Greece, if our world was ending, we wouldn't have any of this crazy talk about it coming back. It'd stay ended, the way worlds are meant to. It's times like these I'm reminded that I'm so far from home.

But enough musing. Todd has gotten us hopelessly lost in this hills and I have to search for a way out. A crazy man has wandered into camp shouting: "Sigh and Shudder the east-fold! Lightning and death will envelope the quiet lands and the fens will be stained with the ichor of the invaders!"

He seems at least as rational as anyone else here. Perhaps he'll be able to give cogent directions to the end of the world.

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

R'lyeh, Turn 56

It is possible that I have bitten off slightly more than I can comfortably swallow.

Arcoscephale continues to attack into my northern borders where Man still clings to life, avoiding my killer armies, and sneaking into my heartland and causing trouble. My war against Caelum generally goes well. We have made impressive gains along the eastern shore, and a battle was fought at the mighty fortress on the Isle of Locmar in which many birds armed with magic bows were vanquished, and their magic wonders fell into our hands. The ivy king who had been supporting that force lost his mind in the carnage, and that magical tree he carries now only serves as a club.

But then I had to attack Abysia too... just a few incursions into their border lands, but I'm sure they won't be forgiving. And then my master plan of taxing my people to death worked a little bit too quickly, and now my tax collectors are facing a devil of a time removing the slaves' gold teeth, and my beautiful piles of cash are vanishing (note to self: take over some lands which haven't been taxed heavily). And then Caelum launched their counter-attacks into my homeland. Ice devils amongst the forests of oak and kelp, and... in North Hengewood.

The purple. The purple.

It has come at last into this world to toy with us as a kitten idly bites wings off of flies. I had longed for, dreamed for, the day when I might first see it emerge in a shimmer of light through the void gate. And instead, I am awoken to a great disturbance and feel- see with my whole being as it flits halfway across the world, scatters defenses like chaff and destroys my beloved temple which so many slaves had died to raise unto me.

The foolish bird-folk do not, cannot know what they have brought into the world. Unleashed deep in my empire, they may think they are safe from the destructive urges. Yet as light creeps into even the dark places of the sea, so too its might will encompass and destroy the narrow confines of this earthly frame. Between it, and I, and the violence raging across the hinterlands, and the rising sea, and the storm... death comes as an end.

I am not worried. I am not overly concerned.

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 56 ----

Todd got us hopelessly lost, of course. We must have passed that particular circle of jagged rocks three times before he sat down, glummly, by the side of the river. He muttered unhappily about the opacity of prophet-blood and the disagreeable tendancy for sheepskin to decay after only a few thousand years. He had not been moping for more than an hour when our scout ran into camp, breathless at the news that a large army was approaching. I had my sword out and was mustering the troops when a second scout arrived with the happy news that the army was ours. And sure enough, there was an excessively tall man leading the way, talking amiably with Tushar

I was relieved: so Tushar had prevailed upon Rod and his army to head south. ("But there is still our ancestral time-share by the lake to free," Rod had protested feebly, before Tushar hit upon the magic word "apocalypse" to lure him here.) The brothers firbolg had a joyous reunion: the only ones who can find any happiness in the grim succession of ever-bloodier battles. I asked Tushar what news he had heard while in the north.

"It's not good, Pandokos," he said. "R'lyeh had only recently overrun the lands on the other side of the great river, and there were many refugees in miserable hovels on this side. They all wanted another mountain range or two between them and the terror they had left."

I told him what I had learned of the battles far to the east, where Maude was fighting back huge R'lyehan armies, how Man was surely going to fall soon, and then the full force would be brought to bear on us. There were reports of attacks throughout Arcoscephale -- crazed soldiers of R'lyeh rising from nowhere and attacking, though the local patrols easily killed them all. And we knew there were large armies just south of us.

"Oh, I ran into someone who knew you," said Tushar. "Name of Seleucus, sound familiar?" How could it not? He had been with Alexandros' main force, when we were left behind. By rights he should be back in Sparta now, with his wife and daughters... what was he still doing here? "Same as you, Pandokos: hiring himself out to the best-paying good cause." He had marched his hoplites the other way, toward the heart of R'lyeh land. It occurred to me that perhaps my troops and I hadn't been left behind: that not a single one of the brave lads who marched with Alexandros had left this land alive. I certainly won't...

Tushar's army camped by the river with us, and the next day we were joined by Balachandra, Andromache and the rest of the mystics we had left at the Jervellan Wall. "Well, we're all here now," said Rod cheerily. "Lead on, Todd." Todd looked around awkwardly, cleared his throat a little. "What, surely you know where we've going, after scouting it out for so long?" asked Rod. "Here, give me that scroll."

He looked at it and laughed. "South," he said. "The apocalypse has gone south for the winter."

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 57 ----

We are always fighting these days, and when we are not the wind cuts at us like knives as it howls across the frozen plains. I have not seen the sun in months; and I know that the stormclouds ever at my back are more than an especially harsh winter. But strangely, I find the dark gloom almost... reassuring. It is a constant reminder that it is not just I, but the whole world, that is spiraling into hell.

We were ambushed leaving the Elder Hills, en route to the large city of Upperna, where Limmy was reputed to be securing an outpost so my brave but tired troops could get some rest. The ambush was not large - a dozen ghouls, and we slew them all - but it came on the end of five days' hard march. Scouts had a large force of R'lyehans nearby, intent on retaking Upperna, and we were flying across the plains to head them off. Perhaps a third of my soldiers nursed serious wounds when we arrived at the city.

A light snow was falling, of course, but I barely noticed it. The city of Upperna smoked slightly from many smoldering fires. It switched hands several times during the Vanheim-Man war, then fell to R'lyeh, before Limmy convinced them to join our side. The old fool had clearly remembered my culinary tastes, for the farmers had all brought great quantities of butter along with their normal offering of food. Our great feast, which would have been the first proper meal in days, was cut short by the sighting of dark shapes advancing on the horizon. We grimly reformed our lines.

The wind picked up and blew flurries through the ranks, and I struggled to watch the approach of dozens of tall sea-colored shapes. As they got close, I realized that they were far taller than normal men, taller even than Rod and Todd. And then they began to scream. Blood ran out of the ears and noses of those unfortunate to be targeted, but there was nowhere on the field -- perhaps nowhere in the city -- that you could escape the sound, like the crashing of giant waves and the scream of wounded horses confined in the tiny space inside your head. The mystics and Golanish shamans were hit particularly hard; the fiends knew exactly who to target. Not far from me Tolma, a sorceress from the distant swamps, fell screaming in terror as her brains oozed out of her skull, and stared sightless at the flakes that began to cover her body.

Had there also been R'lyehan soldiers armed with spear and sword, the battle might have been lost; but most of their troops relied on that terrible scream. I felt great pride when not a single hypaspist or vinogher faltered in the charge across the plains, though some fell, skulls bleeding, before they reached the foe. The Illithids were cowards: it took only a short while for Tempest and the nascent blizzard to convince them to flee. I ran across the field with the men, intent on striking them down before the next volley of noise could split my skull, but they melted off the field before I could engage more than one. Their magician and priest were quickly killed; the leader of their ordinary troops surrendered. I do not trust him, and have placed guards with him at all time. And... I cannot prove it, but I am sure that it is his presence which caused all our precious butter to go sour.

It has been seven days since then, and my head is still ringing. I discovered an odd mark on my chest, after the battle: a jagged blue star, directly over my chest. I had not received a scratch in the battle, so I asked Andromache about it over dinner, but she ran off with a slight scream, and grabbed Balachandra. "This is not good, my friend," he said. "You have been marked." For what, I could have asked, but preferred not to know. We finished our butterless bread and soup in silence.

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

R'lyeh, Turn 57

My map of the world is getting extremely hard to read. Part of that is the blood, entrails, and cocktail sauce that I keep spilling on it, but mostly it's just the tangled web of orders that is required to keep the invasion of Caelum going, reclaim the lands they attack with their flying units, skirmish with Abysia, and assault the Arcoscephalean armies. Originally I thought it would be a good idea to draw each month's new orders in the blood of a different general who had failed me, but it turns out they all mostly have the same color blood, so that doesn't help.

Thalassa would have had blue blood, but unfortunately she went and got herself killed fighting Arco way on the other side of the world, and they weren't thoughtful enough to send a vial my way. I'd summon her back from beyond the veil, but... eh... don't feel like it. Besides, the world is ending, and my water mages are working on this neat little spell to flood the world and cleanse the coastlands of these pesky humans. That should be awesome.

Many humans have quaint notions about the shape of their world. They believe it to be a 4-dimensional riemannian manifold embedded in 11 supersymmetric dimensions, perhaps on the surface of some sort of coiled brane. In reality, it's flat. But there are certain places where the cosmos leaks through into the world they know. I have found one such place, deep in the earth on the Isle of the Hundred. The hundred what? Who can say- but the caves are full of stars. This place has an apocalypse-y kind of feel to it. It is the end of the world- in the literal sense- where this plane of existence meets into the greater reality... blah blah blah blah blah. This place needs more branes.

From the way Pandokos has been pushing his armies across the plains, it's clear that the Sleepers have an exact notion of where the final battle will be. Still, I feel I need to take the measure of my foe- see this god who has appeared to challenge me. I'll make a quick flight out there, try to talk with him, and be back here, building impenetrable defenses and massing hordes of chaff to be swept away in a tide of destruction.

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 58 ----

I slept uneasily in fits and starts, sprang from my bed at the awful shrieking of an Illithid scream, paused, tried to figure out of it was a dream, heard it again, grabbed sword and helm, and raced through darkened camp to slay the treacherous prisoner. He was safely guarded still, by sleepy watchmen of the night, and I heard the wail again pierce the stillness, though none of the watchmen heard a thing. In doubt now as to my sanity, I sprinted to Balachandra's tent. He and Andromache were sleeping peacefully in each other's arms, but the guard at the door to their tent slumped against the post, his eyes rolled back and vacant. It was then I glimpsed Tushar on the edge of camp, and a crouching, evil, purple-robed thing advancing on him. Tushar stood as if of stone, a pale white light enveloping him.

The purled-robed figure shrieked again, and my heart froze within me, but I dashed forward only to be brought up short in my tracks by something I could not see. I stood there, helpless, as Tushar reeled under the deadly gaze of this foul thing. And then he snapped awake, cried out one single word, and suddenly two creatures appeared. They were twisted, angular, transparent, pure malevolence. Their unearthly eyes roved around: horrors from beyond, predators of the soul, searching for their next meal. Their eyes lingered on me for what seemed like an eternity, and then they swooped on the purple thing, causing it to cower and hiss. Tushar, almost ready to faint, with blood pouring down his face, let cry again, and his assassin turned a violent blue, froze instantly to death, and the floating horrors vanished too. It was not Tushar's close brush with death, but the feeling of dread that these things provoked in me that caused me to lie awake and worry till dawn broke feebly through the ever present storm clouds.

As dusk fell on the next day we entered the city of Stavang on the shores of Vankara sound and found no resistance. I struggled to keep my eyes open as I went about my inspections. A cry to arms went up again, and I dashed to the lines. There, in the gathering gloom, just two Illithids and a few of their slave warriors. At last an easy struggle, I thought, but something else, tall and sinister, lurked in the darkness behind them.

I am at the banks of a river. The sun is out and high overhead and there is not a cloud in the sky. A warm breeze caresses my face and soft fingers stroke my arm. I turn, and there is Thymbre, radiant and smiling and warm. She leads me by the hand down beneath a willow tree where a blanket is spread, and food for a picnic. Sitting there waiting is an odd looking man, with green skin, three legs, and a mass of tentacles where his head should be.

Thymbre urges me to try some of the squid salad, and the green man confirms that it is very good, slurping it silently into his maw. Confused, I try a bite, and have a glass of wine. "Why am I here with you Thymbre, and who is your friend?"

Thymbre smiles her knowing smile and promises to explain everything very soon. She says that the green man has wanted to meet me for a long a time, and the tentacles nod in agreement.

"What do you do, sir? And how may I address you?"

He says his name, but it is carried away on the wind. His work, he says, is lying dreaming in the sea. He calls me friend, opines that I am not what he expected, and that perhaps our upcoming mutual death will not be so unpleasant. The harsh word "death" appears to break the spell. I glance at the black waters of river, at the boatman rowing back and forth upon it. I turn back, but Thymbre is fading. She blows me a kiss, and I wake upon the frozen earth where some small battle has clearly taken place, and yet we live to fight again.

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

R'lyeh, Turn 58

Young fool!

Magic swords do not grant a mortal the right to challenge a god! Some cobbled together army and a rotten human prophecy do not make Pandokos worthy to challenge me for supremacy of this sphere! I will crush him like a bug, and await the coming of my true adversary.

But I... I dream again. I flew out to witness his attack on some boring, two-bit human city. I felt no god-like being among their ranks, so I called out in my native tongue for Pandokos- and Pandokos came forth. The pull of his dream was strong, and before I could stop him, we were in this evil-looking place with bright sunlight and nasty green grass and young trees everywhere. A hideous monster was attempting to eat his tongue- and he didn't even object, or seem to notice. I tried to save him by sucking this monster's brain, but she shape-shifted, turned to crunchy-spicy kracken beneath my tentacle. The monster fell back. I was puzzled by the other god's form. I reasoned that perhaps taking a human form is a good way to trick the local peasants into trusting you long enough to eat them, and we chatted about this and that. He seemed very startled when I told him that the prophecy had several gods dying in the upcoming battle to decide the fate of the world, and broke off contact.

Later I ate a scout, and tasted in his eyes the Arco army. It was then that I realized that this human form was no dream-shape, no facade. This is just a tiny human with a sword that is bigger than he. In vain, I summoned scout after scout, trying to find one who tasted like he had seen a god. The northern scum have acquired several beings of power- a queen of the air, a few tartarians from beyond the gate. There is one blue skinned fellow with many arms who is a legitimate (if weak) god. One of those karmic-the-universe-is-a-cycle-I'll-spend-my-time-seducing-milk-maids-and-eating-butter-rather-than-conquer-the-world types. I doubt he'll even remember to show up to the final fight.

And so I head back to the Caves of Passing time, and stare glumly into them. Is there some other god who will come- unforeseen at the last hour? When Pandokos sees the force that I am assembling on the isle he will turn in fear and not fight. But even if he does fight, his tiny army will barely wet the field of conflict; while the prophecy speaks of rivers of blood and death of gods. I do not think Man has a god left. The vampire of the west, and the spider-king of the east are both busy and far from the isle. Even the birds, who keep my armies so busy in the south, are a long way from the isle. I have not met their pretender- but all reports taste that he is merely some unwilling ghost, dragged back from the grave by power-hungry priests.

So if the prophecy is right, there is someone I'm not counting on. Perhaps from outside of this dimension? Some greater being who will storm through in two month's time? Seize the isle and the caves from me? Hold possession of it for the long hours of May Day as the ancient fires burn and this world spins in a favored part of the time-stream? Attract the attention of the beyond through the blood of the battle, master time, stop time, end the world as ruler of all?

I must consult my books, I must gather my forces-- too long I have toyed with these humans. Something deadly is coming and I must be ready.

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

Wheee... I'm going to kill you all!

Hey, CuriousCat, were you interested in playing in Yarnspinners 2? We have a cool new wiki for it:
Yarnspinners 2 wiki

and sign-ups are in this thread

It's gonna be pretty fun.

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

R'lyeh, Turn 59

Whoever invented the game of parchesi anyway? It's stupid, and mindless, and there's no way that lobo guard should have been able to beat me.

I'm just not one for book-learnin' I guess. A few hours of pouring over ancient prophecy trying to divine the ultimate fate of this world and myself and I'm thinking about squid sandwiches and octopus smoothies instead of the upcoming apocalysi.

And how can a busy god be expected to keep one's mind on the task at hand? Everywhere my empire is fighting, struggling against these other pretenders to my crown. The birds are particularly annoying. Some magic spell has enabled all their troops to go underwater without my permission, and they have being taking advantage of this to sow dissent. In retaliation, a loyal sea king of mine has ordered the waves to rise and cover the infidels, flooding the coastal provinces everywhere and bringing fresh blood down to the hungry, hungry depths.

Sammy claims that this could be considered a possible fulfillment of the following scrap of prophecy: "And two moons before the end of the world, the air shall fly under the sea, and the sea shall cover the lands."

But I call this a radical interpretation of the text. It's clear that the above is simply a metaphor for the fall of the Babylonian empire. Crazy human kids are always reading so much into prophecy. I mean, the same thing goes on to say: "Spring will turn into an ill winter, and the giants will awaken to stalk the earth", but you don't see that happening.

I threw a horde of ghosts and a bunch of devils at Pandokos, trying to scare him off, but he's pretty well protected by those mages still. And now he's camped just across the river from my headquarters in the Caves of Passing Time. Tonight I plan to send a single lobo guard across the river ever half hour. Hopefully, the alarm will be raised every time and the foolish mortal won't get any of that "sleep" that such weaklings require. Oh- and that punk who beat me at parchesi? First across the river...

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 59 ----

If I still clung to the hope that this war, though great and terrible, is just another campaign against mortal armies like my own, it is gone now. We left Stavang in the early morning mist and were set upon by a horde of riders, pale and thin as ghosts. Inded they were ghosts: the archaic swords, the ancient battle raiments, the barbaric war cries from tongues long dead... as if they rode out of a battle from before the world began. A ragged mercenary captain named Gynter was leading the way; he was trampled by eighty pairs of hooves as substantial than dew on the grass. Yet we stood against the ghosts, and we fought them down.

By midday we had been attacked again by another unholy horde, this one from hell.

Tell me this: if the devils sent to drag your soul into infernal torment instead surrender, and offer their services in exchange for your protection, is this a bad sign? Does it mean that I am on the wrong side? Or is the hell toward which this world is spiraling such an exceptionally bad variety that even demons fear its coming? We left the three of them behind; no man would stand guard over them, and no mage would dare try to control them.

Stavang is a port city; we are by a wide body of water now, too wide for a proper river, too narrow for a sea. I can see white sails on the horizon, and on a clear day, the spires of castles unlike any I have seen till now: and there is smoke rising from them. I am told that way lies Abysia, a fair sized realm that has repelled the concerted advances of both R'lyeh and a race of flighted people far to the south. I am told that Man lingers still, has erected a fortress even, and will not give in to the tide of darknesss. I am told that the spider people still have a small enclave and have been almost untouched by the conflict that roils my part of the world. I am told this means there is yet hope; but I cannot feel it myself. It has been too long since I have seen anything but stormclouds, even in my dreams. Except for the one where I was dead.

We have made our camp by the water, near a small glade of trees. The land is deserted except for our ever growing armies: people know that a terrible battle is about to burst forth. On a small hill nearby, in a clearing, there are seven tall pillars, built in a previous age, impossibly white though etched with wind and sand and several ages of man. The pillars look like once they used to reach to the clouds; but the tops are all broken now. It is painfully clear how short they fall.

Limmy had a hammock strung up between two of them. I heard giggling voices disappear into the woods as I approached and from the disarray of goods around his clearly under-used tent I guessed he had been here a long time. He greeted me warmly, like a beloved brother, and invited me to share some food with him. I was surprised to note the bread was still warm; he laughed and said, "If you think that's good, you should try some of the freshly churned butter the milkmaids left." Limmy is like the old gods in stories -- content to string up his hammock and toy with milkmaids as the world ends around them. It's a somewhat irresponsible attitude I feel, but it does have that advantage of producing some top notch churned-milk product.

There is an island just across the water; there used to be a bridge to it, but it seems to have disappeared. Nobody likes to look at the isle for very long; you travel enough with Todd and phrases like "and on that blessed isle shall there be the death of hundreds, and the world besides" tend to rattle around your mind until you learn how to let your eyes slip past the uncertain motions on the distant banks. Those tentacles you imagine you see are only overgrown vines...

I had been here three weeks before I noticed Maude. I would have thought this hard to accomplish; Maude is taller than the two younger Firbolgs. But the camp keeps swelling, as more mystics trickle in, some leading small forces of hoplites and vinoghers, most with only a few tattered scrolls in hand.

"Oh, there you are, Pandokos," Maude said. "My boys have been telling me so much about the great adventures they've had with you. I hope they haven't been filling your heads with the silly nonsense they're so fond of spouting." I was about to say something about how nice it was to meet someone who didn't buy into all that prophetic mumbo-jumbo, when she went on, "They're always making a big fuss over the little things, like reclaiming ancestral homes, and forgetting the little details on which the world turns. 'Then shall the waters rise from below and fall from above to reclaim the earth, and the imprisoned shall break their chains, on the isle of a hundred dreams...'"

I guess there is no such thing as only believing in the sensible bits of prophecy. Either this was all written down a thousand thousand years ago, and we are but acting out our parts... or some theatrical hack is making a lot of money on false old scrolls. Actually, I've seen at least three apocalyptic-scroll vendors lurking around the camps. They always have a crowd.

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

R'lyeh, Turn 60

Auluddh has come.

To me, this has more import than world freezing over as the giants awake. Auluddh is the leader of the Aboleths, whose empire once spanned the Persei arm of the galaxy, before it was brought low by a stellar collision with their homeworld, which I don't know anything about that and at which time I have several eye witnesses who can provide me with an incredibly solid alibi.

If any deus ex vacuuma was going to appear and challenge me for supremacy, it should have been him, with a legion of shock-troops at his back. And he should have appeared here, at the caves. But instead he wandered through the void gate, somewhat lost. There, he cowers under the sieging force of birds, led by that erstwhile god: ghost-of-the-wingless. I will have my priests drag him out of his cave- use his raw power to smash the feathered ones, and make sure Auluddh also dies in that struggle.

And so... I must accept that Sammy is right. Tomorrow, before sunrise, Pandokos will march across that river which separates the isle from the mainland, claim his right to fulfill the ancient prophecy, and challenge me to combat. And I shall issue forth from my cave with a thousand spawn and slaves at my back, and score upon score of evil tentacled things from the void, and a hundred woefully misguided humans who think they are fighting the infidels who insulted their god, and a gaggle of starspawn for magical support, and two queens of water, and an ice devil (captured in a distant land)... and if the prophecy holds we will both die tomorrow and both time and the world shall end, but whichever side wins and maintains possession of the caves from sunrise to sundown during the carnage- that "god" shall return from death and rule this world and countless others as God.

And what of this human? What madness drives a mortal to attack a god? What twisted belief system causes a wanderer, far from home, to lay down his life in defense of strangers in a strange land? What love or hate causes him to struggle against forces he cannot possibly comprehend, much less control? And when did humans acquire the permission of the gods to challenge the order of things- to imagine a different world?

It scarcely matters. The world ends tomorrow. And no matter what happens, Pandokos' frame cannot possibly survive the transition to god-hood if his side should (by some miracle) win. But I have become quite attached to these caves, and the glimpses into forever which they provide. This has been my home now for some months, and I would hate to see my home broken into by another with his hands full of butter and the salesmen... those men! and their -- sales!

For now this is my house. I shall lie here until dawn, dreaming...

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 60 ----

The waters are rising every minute, and every hour it gets noticeably colder, though spring is long overdue. Scouts from the north say that giants have awokken there and are rampaging through the lands unchecked. The river which separates us from the isle is choked with the tentacles of random spawn-things which have been constantly harassing our army. Their ichor turns the once clear waters black as the Styx.

The symbolism is not lost on me. Tomorrow, Maude tells me, I must cross that river before dawn and seize control of the isle, or the world will be lost to the gibbering madness that crouches there. I will not be alone. My army has been reinforced several times over by mystics who suddenly started walking out of the laboratory with phalanx after phalanx of troops. I tried to get in there to talk to Balachandra and figure out how he had managed to pack so many men into such a small building, when the doorway was shattered with a deafening roar and a long string of elephants wandered out and started munching on the grass. I decided I didn't really care to know.

Anne (a magician from the Sinking Lands who I had not previous met), ran up to me, sopping wet, with shellfish and seaweed in her hair, and clutching a pair of those blasted flying boots. "The army in the sea has arrived, Pandokos!" she exclaimed with a huge smile, as if I would be glad to find myself talking to a crazy person. I attempted to smile and back away slowly, but she grabbed me, and dragged me down to the shore (which was even closer than I remembered). She pointed out into the chilly, crystal clear waters, and it seemed as if I could see men moving under the sea in full armor, along with some huge, ghostly giant.

Maude startled me when she snuck up behind us. "For is it not written, 'and, in an hour unlooked for, those who took the paths of the deep shall arise and claim their part on the isle'?" To which I could only reply that if it was "written" no one had ever showed it to me, and it seemed mighty convenient that I was only ever told about most of these prophecies after the fact. Maude looked at me with a little sadness in her eye and told me in a soft voice that I am going to die tomorrow.

I already know that.

I feel it in my weary bones, which have marched on too many rugged, dusty paths, too far from home. I see it with the eyes of an old soldier from the great campaign (may you have found rest Alexandros, though I did not) when I look at the scuttling opposite shore and realize that everything there waits to kill us. I smell it in the chill sea air, harsher and piercing than the warm waters of Pagasae. I hear it in my dreams, as Thymbre urges me to come home to her. I taste it in the butter - does this pinnacle of food exist on the other side of the river Styx?

I will bury this book, along with the "Collected Sayings" before marching tomorrow. At least then it will survive, though for what hope I do not know, if we should fail. At least it will have the proper burial I will be denied. Yet these is some solace... Andron epifanon pasa gi tafos... For heroes, the whole world is their tomb.

But these are unbecoming thoughts. I have the finest army of friends in the world to lead tomorrow. My sword lies gleaming beside me, ready for battle. And there is still one last sunset to watch, and one more loaf of freshly-baked bread to spread with the finest butter.

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

+10 pearls to both for the last few turns. The sense of doom has been palpable.

Would someone please post the turn file for the apocalypse?

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

I will post this turn (and all turns from turn 6 onwards) as soon as the game is over. Once I get the turn files for Arcoscephale and Caelum, it shall be over, and Cthulhu shall rule over the world. Bow down to the Elder Ones!

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

We have now reached the Restaurant at the End of the Universe. The score file has been attached to this mail, and I will upload all the turn files later, if my connection behaves.

Points given for the ranks:
- Provinces: R'lyeh, Caelum, Arcoscephale
- Forts: R'lyeh, Caelum, Arcoscephale
- Income: Arcoscephale, Caelum, R'lyeh
- Gem income: R'lyeh, Caelum, Arcoscephale
- Research: Caelum, Arcoscephale, Man
- Dominion: R'lyeh, Arcoscephale, Caelum

Which would give us the following totals, for ranks alone:
- R'lyeh: 4X20+1X5=85 points
- Caelum: 1X20+4X10+1X5=65 points
- Arcoscephale: 1X20+2X10+3X5=45 points
- Man: 1X5=5 points

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

All the turn files from turn 6 onwards are attached to this mail.

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 61: Epilogue ----

It is said, about the final battle of some-or-many armed persons against the some-or-many tentacled things, that the tentacles won the day, and few persons escaped alive, with or without their arms. It is said that when they saw the battle turning against them, the persons of spear did not flee, preferring to die in battle than turn and forsake their friends. But earthworms, in addition to being slimy and having little respect for an important historical document such as myself, do not make the most reliable of sources. Even the most cunning chronicle scroll must wait patiently in such circumstances until whichever side has won realizes their sore need for the brilliant insights of a quality book of collected sayings, and then I will be dug up with much fanfare and charged with writing the history of that epic battle.

A few worms tell a different story, that some men have escaped, like the crafty Odysseus and the lizards-of-many-names-starting-in-Golan. They whisper that even though the rest have not come out of the cave, yet they were victorious (but not in the winning-the-battle kind of way that one normally thinks of as victory): the mad god was turned to stone (some say also to mist and to fire and to frost, but others say that was the other god, who spilled butter on my pages, and who could probably use some time as a statue to atone for his errors). Thus, they say, mad-tentacle-god was prevented from reaching the exact right spot in the caves before the window closed, and failed to gain ultimate power. The worms were unclear why there should be a window in the depths of the caves, but such informants are my lot for the foreseeable future.

I am a very patient book of collected sayings, although spending so many months buried next to the scroll of the sayings of the prophet Sokodnap makes me long to give someone a good paper cut. He likes to go on about how his prophet carried him into every battle, and how he was there at the very last; that he felt the spear thrust that felled his prophet. I say the blood stains and jagged holes make him a much less helpful and informative scroll. The worms say of Pandokos that he stood his ground in the center of the storm for the twelve long hours of that final day, guiding and comforting his troops and friends as they fell one by one, and slaughtering in turn a hundred foul-tentacled-things before the spirit of the river arose and dragged him down. I am sure the mystics will be grateful that my pages were not ruined by the river water when they come to dig me up.

... Hello?.... Is there anyone out there?.... Important book, down here!....

... guys?

(From the lost work The Collected Sayings of Pandokos the Prophet: In his final incarnation)

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

Silly me, I have forgotten to give the master password. It is hoohah; most players should already know the master password, but not our other fans. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/wink.gif

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

[embarrassed cringe]

Sorry folks, I seem to have disappeared into RL for several months, during which time the game has finished. Sincere apologies for this, though I at least have something to show for the busy period (I'm getting married!). Thanks for all your restraint - I was expecting a load of "where the hell is magnate?" posts!

Congratulations to Sedna on winning the strategic element of the game. Shall we leave it there, or would you like the rest of the yarns scored? Sedna has finished 40 points ahead of Puffyn but Puffyn was quite a long way ahead in yarn points, so it could be close ...

Let me know. Apologies again,

CC

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

Hey, no worries. Congratulations of your engagement. I don't think there's a real need to score the remaining yarns. In one sense, everyone who finished the game is the winner.




(In another, more accurate sense, I think Cthulu won no matter how the yarns are scored).

Re: MP Game - Yarnspinners
 

Indeed - and congratulations to all of you on Yarnspinners 2, and the website and all that. It's looking really good.

CC