MP Game - Yarnspinners

[Cainehill]

Sent a message or two to Yellow Cactus - hopefully sie gets the game working right with the maps and all.

Failing that, if YC (don't eat the yellow cactus) bows out, I'll bow in with my first ever Mictlan game. If so, I may have to do a first tale slightly stale.

But hopefully, the Cactus is running right now, and I don't have to either bend a knee or collar a Lilith.

[Karacan]

Ermor: Turn 1

There is a tomb in Kisir Dagri, sealed by powers long forgotten and dead. A hero's tomb it is, for a hero lies buried within, yet sealed it was in fear, for the noble hero was misunderstood, and fear of the unknown is ever the death of the wise.

This tomb is my home now for aeons, and the race that imprisoned me must have followed the path of all that is living long ago, the path I denied to guide my steps. And I know that my imprisonment is coming to an end, for I hear the sound of scraping and the mutter of incantations, and I know that my time has come.

The moonlight hurts what remains of my eyes, but the sight is a welcome one, for one not unlike me welcomes me to the world of the living. Angmar his name is, and I name him General of my armies to come. The ruined keep of an ancient civilization is seized and a hall of rituals and worship is erected, for in the tomb's silence I have pondered long upon the way of faith, and have deemed it a suitable weapon to have my revenge.

A nearby village provides pitiful taxes, and thus Angmar's first task is to wipe it out, looking for valuables with which to pay mortal followers, for those alive are easily seduced by greed or faith, and I intend to use both.

For I am Noth, the Terror of the Tomb, and I will bring the world the enlightenment I have discovered.

[Yvelina]

Everyone's undead, and everyone's a writer. I understand that sitting in a tomb with nothing to do does that to an immortal. How am I to compete with this? But no worries, by turn 60, I'll have you all safely back in the grave!

--- Vanheim I ---

The big weenie in the sky is gone, good riddance! Not a moment too soon, either… A few more years of peace and tedium, and I would have probably slit my own veins. Or more likely, I would have rode up to His Supreem Dullness, and stuck a spear in his enormous gut… a much classier way to end it all. But enough about the past! There is a bright and bloody future ahead of me. The people of Vanheim may have forgotten me, but there is nothing like being trod on by an giant, eight-legged horse to stir one’s memory.

It’s true that they have grown a bit too soft for my liking, and what the hell is up with the hummies no longer enslaved and even allowed to lead troops? The only Vanir I could root out has barely heard about air magic, and would not know a sacrificial virgin if she bled all over him. I may be able to use him for shuffling troops around, but first I will stick his nose inside a grimoire for a month or two, while I figure out whether his brain was missing at birth, or whether it atrophied from disuse.

It may take some time to hammer these slackers into a weapon I can use. But I have waited centuries for a chance to start a good gory war, and I’m not going to show up on the battelfield with an escort of under-educated fools and peace-loving sissies. I could brush up on some spells myself, come to think about it… But first, I think I will go trample some infidels. I’m back, and everyone better believe it!

[jarenko]

--Atlantis--

In the northern seas, beneath the eternal song of the tranquil waves exists a pearl of a kingdom. Beyond the reach of the land dwellers, hiding in the shadows of R'yleh, the Atlantean kingdom flourishes.

Between magnificent buildings of rock and coral, citadels, towers and castles cometh the great Kraken, lord of all he surveys, master of Atlantis and holder of the royal sceptre.

From his perch atop the tallest tower in the city of Atlantis, he oversees the rule of the King. For now, the people of Atlantis will learn to serve their new master, and should he prove to be as powerful as he seems, they will be lead to great endeavors never before dreamed of by these humble people.

[YellowCactus]

--Mictlan--

Far within the North-Horslund lay the valleys of Mictlan. An ancient people, fearful of the eternal, this empire has been thrown into chaos as it's devote priests turn upon citizens in grotesque blood sacrifices.

From village to walled-city, the peoples of North-Horslund find sanctuary within the dominion of Sethra, Lady of Fevor. Templerate orders begin to stir, forming fanatical units of faithful servants.

Old beyond time, the Lady Sethra courts priest and king alike. Many tribe take refuge here as the 'Age of Ascension' begins.
-Yc

[Sheap]

Spring, Year 1.

I tell you what. Ten thousand years in the crypt will give you such a headache.

Seems like it was only Last millenium that I was out and about, playing with my ant farm, playing with my spider farm, and then there was that time when the spiders got into the ant farm... well, you can't win 'em all. Of course when you're the king, it's all life size.

I'm not going to get into just how I went from the Spider King, to TEN THOUSAND YEARS in a HARD STONE TOMB with NO PILLOWS. They think just because a guy's dead, more or less, he doesn't need the comforts of life any more. I'm going to have to give my followers a little education in ceremonial burial. I should have ruled C'tis. Now there's some lizards who really know how to lay a guy to rest, I tell you what.

Anyway, things don't move so fast, when you're in a tomb. And uncomfortable as it may have been, it does have some comforts. It's got a movie theater. You know I spent the Last thousand years, just watching Gigli?

Or maybe that only seemed like a thousand years.

Going to go out for a bit. Have to teach some witch doctors to read, and tell some bureaucrats not to take any wooden nickels. This could take a while.

In His House at R'lyeh dead Cthulu waits dreaming (1)

Aeons pass. We dream of many things. Of the home-that-was amongst the stars, and the home-that-will-be when this world is harnessed to Our will. Of things un-named, and Presences unnameable; inhabitants of the great Void. Of places that existed once, or that only exist within the compass of Our dreams. And of the Great Old Ones.

The spheres turn, the constellations change, and the old power returns. Our dreams grow strong. We break the bonds of the One who bound us to this dead form, then banish it from this world; Our world. The stars are right. Cthulu will return, clothed in new form, to walk the earth once more.

It is Our time.

...you know, you can't leave the Starspawn alone for five minutes. We come back from a quick nap and find the place overrun with Atlanteans. They make poor slaves, useless soldiers, and they don't even taste very nice. And what's this business about breeding with Humans? Yech. It's clearly time to clean house and get things organised. Our world awaits.


(1) For further source material please see Cthulu Returns!

Out-of-character note: I'm competitively-minded enough to not feel comfortable posting about what I'm doing until after a turn's been executed. So all my story Posts are going to be about what happened Last turn. Is this what everyone's doing? Or will be reading a bunch of parallel out-of-sequence AARs?

Mark

[Sheap]

I tend to agree with you on this point. But I'm not really playing this game to be competitive, so I'm satisfied either way.

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 1 ----

Pandokos of Pagasae here displays his inquiry, so that human achievements may not become forgotten in time, and great and marvelous deeds may not be without their glory.

Spring, Year 12

The butter is missing again.

The locals in these parts insist that some mythical creature steals it away in the night, but I've found perfectly human footprints in the dirt around my stores on many mornings. When I catch the thief, he will pay. It is bad enough that I am thousands of miles from home in a muddy encampment at the foot of the mountains, surrounded by barbarians with no sense of propriety or reason. It is bad enough that our weapons, after years of campaigning, are dull, and that our armor is in such dire straits that yesterday I caught myself gazing enviously at the children in the street, clad in cooking pots too elderly to be trusted with the food anymore.

It is bad enough that I am forced to make do with these lousy local recruits, as the real soldiers, fellow citizens who have suffered together on this god-forsaken campaign, are stretched thin by the petty fighting we must do in order to keep the locals mollified with our continued presence.

But the worst of it - at least, that is how it seems now, facing my breakfast - is that instead of dining on fresh grapes and succulent olives, plucked from branches tossed in a sea breeze, I am forced to subsist on a diet of strange vegetables and rotten bread. And now I do not even have butter for it.

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