MP Game - Yarnspinners

[Sedna]

Turn 19, R'lyeh

Great Iron Mines Batman! It was such a lightly guarded mountain village. I seized the high ground, and laughed to myself as the locals frantically grabbed spears, sticks, and hunting knives and struggled up-hill against the snow, giving me loads of time to prepare the familiar rituals which make me invincible: Quickness, Ethereal, Luck, Twist Fate. I have become so used to these spells I could cast them with my eyes closed, if I had any.

After the Last crunchy village baby, I noticed the mounds of iron slag sitting outside the town, only barely covered with a light dusting of snow. Beyond them, a well beaten mud path led me to the mine. It is good that minors are so tasty, because these miners will be necessary to continue digging the iron and shipping it down to the bottom of Red Lake, where my Illithids have been rounding up many volunteer Atlantians, who hope for a better life for them and their families. I shall gird them in steel and send them out to redden the seas.

As for batman? I knew that the Count of Katak-Ukon was going to be trouble the moment I first met him after that battle. He seemed... less cowered than most of the humans I appoint as puppet dictators. (In Takini I actually appointed a puppet as their new lord. That actually worked remarkably well until Last month, when the puppet inexplicably failed to deal with some brigands who had taken up residence there, forcing me to intervene. Needless to say, that puppet's head now rests in my display case, and another, more competent, piece of fabric is now in charge).

Sorry, I was talking about Folke, who now styles himself as a vampire. Apparently, the humans of this land are scared of such puny creatures, mainly because they suck the life out of their fellows (which is odd, as I do pretty much the same thing, and yet my citizens do nothing except praise me all day). At some point I'll have to send someone to deal with this usurper and his rabble.

Sammy, my first brave little sage, has uncovered a few valuable secrets. In an ancient tome he found the mystical incantations needed to re-arrange huge masses in the heavens, forming a giant lens which focuses the light of nearby O stars onto the surface of this planet. The effect should, in theory, be devastating. If the mass could be moved precisely enough, it would mean the destruction of this pathetic rock in a cataclysm of fire. Without such fine control (which I do not expect my servants to master) it will merely burn my enemies on the battle-field. Furthermore, Sammy has found a way to project his self into distant lands, and see the men and warriors contained therein. A useful skill, but I hope he did not discover it in an attempt to flee my service. The commander of the local construction crew, one Farol by name, says he often discovers Sammy wandering far from his office. Sammy claims to be sleep walking, but it is a mite suspicious that he always seems to have all his worldly possessions strapped to his back. I know, I shall volunteer a young lady into the sage-line. Then Sammy will have a friend, and maybe he won't leave me.

[CuriousCat]

Machaka: Turn 18

Cetewayo returned to the surface with some relief. He would never admit it to anyone, in fact he barely admitted it to himself, but after being trapped in his own tomb for such a long time he had something of an aVersion to tombs and mausoleums in general. It was ironic, but it would remain a private irony. He made his silent way back to the camp to resume his observations of the celebration. Morning would be soon enough to organize a party to excavate the newest cause for rejoicing.

Meanwhile, soon after Cetewayo left the tent to go on his private search, Karo the Machaka Hoplite acting as Cetewayo's chief body guard this evening noticed that the King was gone. "Not again!" he thought to himself. He was going to get into trouble again! It seemed like the King, blessed be his name, blah, blah, yada, yada was always sneaking away from his guards. Of course, Karo wasn't sure what he was supposed to protect the King from... he was already dead... sort of. Anyway, he had seen the King in battle and he knew that anything that would cause the King pause would destroy him and his men easily. That fact didn't change the fact he and his men had been ordered, along with the other guards, to maintain a constant guard on the King. The orders had come from the High Priests of all three Priestly Orders. It would not be a good thing for those very powerful men to decide that he had disobeyed their orders. Karo immediately passed the word for the guards to begin their search. Hopefully they would find the King before anyone else noticed his absence.

As Cetewayo approached the camp he noticed his "guards" resuming formation around him. He found their presence mildly amusing. Did they really think that they were guarding him? If so, against what? He was fairly certain that some, if not all, were in the employ of the High Priests. He was unsure of the High Priests' motivations. Especially after his recent "illness" he had his suspicions. Until he had significantly more than suspicions he would have to act as though they were above reproach.

Doing things himself had turned out well. Cetewayo decided to try it again. He would gather his army and lead it himself. He sank deep into a trance and communicated his commands to the priests in the capital as well as his prophet Babu. He emerged from the trance confident that his forces would meet him to prepare the invasion of the rich coastal province that had repulsed his armies once already.

[CuriousCat]

Machaka: Turn 19

The time was right. His forces were ready. Cetewayo was pleased that the High Priests in the capital had managed to recruit this large force. He had a mixture of heavily armored hoplites combined with a large number of lightly armed archers. Hopefully the combination would prove strong enough. He decided that he would be prepared to become the deciding factor himself should it prove necessary.

Day began to lighten the field. Karo faced the coming battle with mixed feelings. He looked forward to the battle, but dreaded it as well as all experienced warriors did. However, his mind was further divided. It had finally happened. The King, The God, had given him orders in direct conflict with those given by the High Priests. The High Priests had given absolute orders for a constant retinue of guards for the King. There had been times when the King had disappeared. Karo knew he would be held responsible for those disappearances that had occurred while he was on duty. However, now he was leaving the King's side to fight a battle. Of course, he was doing it on direct orders of the King. He was very unsure what the High Priests would do. They were very... direct with those who disobeyed their orders for whatever reason. But he HAD to obey the God didn't he?!? Surely they would agree, after all they were HIS High Priests... weren't they?

Cetewayo could tell that his orders had caused considerable consternation among the guards who had been scheduled to attend him that day. He had been very careful not to challenge the High Priests' power directly. However, the immediate victory was more important than some petty political posturing. The response would also give him valuable insight into the motivations and intentions of the High Priests. Some might think him paranoid, but they did not have his finely honed political sense, that ability to feel the currents of power and influence. It was possible that the High Priests had not been behind his recent illness, but he was not willing to take that sort of naive risk.

The battle began slowly, as did most. The defenders began the battle. They had one of those deluded mortals who claimed to be a priest. Cetewayo was amused. What god did this priest worship? Cetewayo could sense the other quasi-divine beings in the world and he could tell that this priest worshiped none of them. This creature would prove to be ineffective, his powers weak. Cetewayo hoped to be able to eviscerate the fool himself. The defenders launched a full flight of arrows at extreme range. They were very lucky and actually killed a couple of the Machakan soldiers. Babu the Prophet began the response by shouting a prayer for vengeance upon The God's enemies. Cetewayo was pleased that Babu was so enthusiastic, but he thought that Babu could surely do something a bit more practical. As for himself, Cetewayo decided that he would prepare to take part in the battle should it become necessary. He focused his powers and suddenly everything seemed to slow. Everything was moving at half speed. His own archers fired arrows to darken the sky. They caused damage, but killed no one. Cetewayo hoped that things would improve. More incoming arrows proved completely harmless, not even bouncing off of a shield. To Cetewayo's great approval, Babu began a rousing prayer that seemed to instill an almost mindless fanaticism among the troops. Cetewayo further cast Mistform and Protection as his archers released once more. This time they created havoc among the enemy, killing a number of his archers and wounding that stupid priest.

After casting Ironskin and Mirror Image Cetewayo decided that he would join in the fight immediately rather than wait for dire need. He quickly approached the lightly armed militias. As he approached them he noticed that the enemy priest had fallen under a hail of arrows. His visage was frightening indeed as he laughed his way into battle. He fought alongside his hoplites. The archers proved almost too effective, mowing down the militia men before Cetewayo and the hoplites could engage them. There were plenty more heavily armed infantry men behind them though. The battle degenerated into a bloody fray.

That night around the camp there was much celebration. The men were happy to have survived, although there were some wounded. Cetewayo was pleased. This province was a wealthy one. It was a rich farmland and the trade along the river was an additional bounty. Losses had been light. Soon it would be time to further expand the Machaka nation.

[magnate]

Turn 17: Arco 2, R'lyeh 2, Machaka 2
Turn 18: Arco 3, R'lyeh 2, Machaka 2

Totals after turn 18:
Abysia 14
Arco 38
Atlantis 2
Caelum 6
Ermor 20
Machaka 30
Man 17
Mictlan 6
R'lyeh 27
Vanheim 4

CC

[CuriousCat]

Machaka: Turn 20

The battle had been a great success. Cetewayo was quite pleased with the outcome. Perhaps he should have taken a more personal role earlier. He sent word to the capital for reinforcements to meet him in route to his next conquest.

The march was hot and dry as the army crossed the plains. Karo and the other guards had resumed their duty to constantly accompany the King. He still disappeared from time to time, but they had not again voluntarily left him alone. Of course, after the battle few of the men believed that they could do much to defend the King that he could not accomplish more easily himself. During the battle he had moved like a blur and had seemed to be many places at once. He had killed a large number of the enemy and had never received a wound. Before the King had been respected because of his secular position and his obvious supernatural nature. However, now the superstitious dread was beginning to change into a more genuine respect for his abilities. Before the Priests had declared Cetewayo's divinity and everyone had acknowledged him as such. However, for most people this acknowledgement was simply mouthing the words that they were told to repeat. Now, however, the army was beginning to believe in the King's divinity on a much more visceral level.

Cetewayo noticed the more profound respect with which the soldiers had begun treating him. Their awe was now based on his battle prowess. In time they would realize his divinity with the entirety of their souls. He simply had to continue his success, expand the empire and make their lives better. A simple matter for a god. But could he do it?

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 20 ----

Military life is hostile to butter. I served under the great Alexander as he cut through the kingdoms of the world. We spent many seasons under the scorching Egyptian desert sun, where my butter turned to soup, and many more in the mountains of Medea, when my butter was rock hard in the bitter mornings. Yet somehow these swamps spoil butter faster than anywhere else in the known world. Every morning I stumble over to my saddle-bags and withdraw the precious day's ration, and every morning it is the consistency of sludge and smells of brackish water—barely worth putting on my moldy bread at all.

It is said that when Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept that there were no more worlds to conquer. This morning, I wept, for spoilt as it may be, I still need my butter every morning. But today it was gone from my bags.

Around the hottest, most insect-filled part of the day, Balachandra arrived at the camp, with a small contingent of horsemen, a few more hoplites, and... My heart beat quickly for a moment when I saw the green robes of Apollo, the chestnut brown locks... but of course it was not my Thymbre. Stories spin false hopes in man. It is hard not to lie awake at night, thinking of Orpheus, the greatest singer this world will ever know, who descended into the Underworld, and would have won the release of his love, Eurydice, had he not looked back at the Last moment. It is foolishness. I have seen many strange things in this land, but the river is deep and cold, and those who pass it will never return.

I later had a chance to talk with this priestess of Apollo. She was called Andromache, and her familiar appearance was no accident, for in fact she was one of the slaves I had rescued from the evil warrior-women some months ago. She had fled the site of her torment, and arrived at Thymbre's temple, there entering into the divine mysteries. We wandered along the edge of the bog, helping pull each other out of the deadly quicksand. It was strange seeing a local woman in the Greek religious garb, but she had learned only enough during her short training at the temple to make her fairly burst with ridiculous questions:

"Is it true that Apollo raced with Hermes at the first Pythian Games at Delphi?"

"No... well, it depends. The stories we tell about the gods are really stories about ourselves. No one has ever actually seen one of the gods, but by believing in their stories, we become more like the gods ourselves."

"Wow, Apollo must have raced really fast if no one saw him!"

How could I explain to this girl that I had competed for the bay-leaf crown in the hoplite race many years ago. The gods were honored at the races, it was true, but they were not there. It was just men, the hot sun, and a will to win. Luckily, the conversation was interrupted by Balachandra, who carried new orders from the village council.

It should come as no great surprise that their missive nonsensically ordered us to turn back around and trudge back to the village of the warrior-women. There, to do... who knows what? Balachandra was certainly no help; all he cared about (I swear by Zeus I am not making this up) was whether my butter ration had disappeared that morning. When I assured him that it had, he face split in a ridiculous grin.

---

[puffyn]

---- 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.

---