MP Game - Yarnspinners

[puffyn]

---- 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.
---

[magnate]

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 ...

[Sedna]

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?

[Sedna]

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.

[Sedna]

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.