[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 43 ----

The Yldemirians had gone completely wild in just a few weeks. Entirely forsaking their initial claims of principled revolt, a mob took to the hills to crude weapons and set about systematically pillaging the land. We took them in a little clearing in the mountains, and it still does my heart good to remember: with wild shrieks they emerged from all sides, and before I could call a word the hypaspists, hoplites, and silver shields had shucked off their marching gear and assembled into two deadly lines of metal facing their foes. The barbarians came on strong, and bashed apart the lone vinogher who had been traveling with our army and was outside the main column trying to make friends with a moss-covered rock. Then they reached our line, flung themselves upon it... and broke, like the tide on a rock cliff. Not one of my men was injured in the initial blow, and our counter charge was swift, sure, and deadly.

There is little else for me to do here. Messengers from the west have arrived, proclaiming that all the lands between here and the Frost-Water mountains now pledge allegiance and support to Arcoscephale. Another lost group of silver shields have joined us (hearing that soldiers of Alexandros were always welcome in Oast Hills) and, led by Samir, has ventured north to pacify the unruly tribes around the headwaters of Aeros River. Meanwhile, Limmy's quest to redeem himself continues to win us support in the Farsen Forest region. I have my doubts, though, as to whether Ole Blue actually does any fighting anymore, or simply uses his supposed immortality and buttery tongue to woo the daughters of local chieftain, and in that way gain their aid.

I shall return to the city of Mictlan, I suppose, and use one of these pairs of flying boots to make a quick survey of the empire. In particular, I wish to meet these sleepers in the Sinking Land and find out what they're really up to. The latest crazy rumor is that they're giants, which probably means that they're about an inch taller than the nutrient-starved denizens of the swamp, and armed with magical weapons, which probably means that their arms are carved with scary-looking runes. Still, "ancient heroes awaiting the final cataclysmic battle that will decide the fate of the world" or not, they are gaining quite a following, and thus merit some attention.

I can't even remember how long it's been since I last saw Oast Hills. Perhaps it has shrunk in my memory after wandering the vast temples of Mictlan, or perhaps it is true that the leaders of such a crummy little hovel on the edge of a muddy brook now rule all this land. It is hard to credit. And... I cannot escape feeling like I am a puppet in all this. That my actions are scarcely my own, and my motions guided by... something like fate I suppose. I simply bend to the necessities that push around me. And the end? The ultimate destination is the same for all mortals. But I cannot see what lies between there and here. Once I thought I knew: the army makes such sight-seeing easy by bringing the final goal ever closer. Maybe it is just this odd land, and Zeus knows that my adventures hereto have been strange, but I feel that my path is about to get truly bizarre.
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