MP Game - Yarnspinners

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 41 ----

It is late summer here. The small melt-water creek that runs along the west bank of the city is almost warm, and though it is still a bit colder here than I would expect for the season, the locals revel in what they claim is an uncharacteristic warm spell. Every day the riverbanks are filled with laughing children and young women, who even a few weeks earlier were too scared to leave their homes. Some of them have even taken to swimming in it, and consequently I have had a hard time enforcing rigorous training schedules among my hoplites and hypaspists, who always find some pretext to patrol near the river.

I am of course making sure my trooops maintain acceptable standards of training and readiness. But for the first time in years - decades - there is no immediate threat. It is not as if we have won this fight only to turn around to fight another foe tomorrow; we are really, actually, at peace. After all those years in Alexandros' army, then on the great campaign, then those dark years after our abandonment when we would fight for whichever side promised us bread, then the service to the Oast Hills elders that led to the overthrow of the evil blood-leeches... I feel almost at a loss about what to do next.

I think I will go swimming. I miss Thymbre now, perhaps more than I have the past few months, because now there is time to pause and reflect on her absence, and the small beaver dam I found last week that will go unremarked by her. But in other ways the pain has almost faded away, like a grave wound that has at last scarred over, and is little more than a memory permanently etched on your skin. I know that she would be happy that this land is cleansed of blood sacrifices. I know that she might even, though I still cannot, consider it to have been worth dying over.

I think mostly she would be pleased this unhappy city is slowly blossoming into a happy, civilized city. I have kept busy conferring with architects and engineers to rebuild after decades of neglect, and they seem more than happy to try out my fading memories of real archictural design (though we're having a bit of a problem reconciling column tastes). It has created a lot of work for the many former soldiers, who slave or free were wretchedly treated under the old regime. It is good to hear the sound of hammer and chisel, of people haggling in the marketplace over a variety of food unimaginably vaster than what was available during the long seige.

One thing, though. I haven't spoken much with any of the mystics in ages, not even Balachandra, who keeps constant watch on the roads. Strange sounds sometimes come from their quarters, and they often walk around with smiles on their faces, and far, distant looks in their eyes. I wonder if I should be concerned with what they are up to. Their quarters are across the river. Perhaps I should wander down that way and keep an eye on them.
---

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 42 ----

Many ignorant people believe the gods find their amusement in thwarting the efforts of man, by multiplying our troubles when we are down, and providing good things only to lull us into a false sense of peace. Until today, I had little credited such ideas.

It really is impossible to keep a large empire happy and united, especially when the dilapidated animal tracks that pass for roads through the southern swamps have been further ruined by many armies marching to and fro upon them, waging war. A messenger on foot can take half a year to reach Horslund Forest from Oast Hills, despite the raging peace.

Although I do feel the weight of age in my bones, I am not just engaging in senile rambling, but have three salient points to relate on this topic. Firstly, I have issued a command to the mystics who are so busy at their forges that they should provide us with more pairs of winged boots, such as the ones Andromache never takes off (except, presumably, when she is with Balachandra, unless they can carry the weight of two people). With these marvelous devices it is possible to bypass the sludge and cut the travel time dramatically. I desire them not for myself, but for the mystics studying here. They have better things to do with their time than wander the swamps, and I'm sure if I sent the whole gaggle south they would arrive depleted in number, and the bog would be richer in mystical robes.

Secondly, bizarre rumors come from the south speak of a race of ancient sleepers who are awakening and stirring up in the people memories of a time they never knew; hopes for a golden age, impossibly bright; whispers of power beyond compare and above contention. So far, it appears these charlatans have confined themselves to ramblings about the lands on our western border, now owned by the Vanir. But I wonder how long it will be before they turn their poisoned tongues against me...

And thirdly, I have just had a messenger to tell me that the tribe who lives north of here (the Yldemirians) have broken their oaths to us and set up an independent state. I do not wish to become a tyrant, but such treachery, so soon after we freed them, cannot be allowed to stand. I am also given to understand that a mystic searching there uncovered a cave containing very rare yellow gems. Perhaps the locals sought to gain possession of this resource our mystics spent so much effort finding, or perhaps they simply feel that in such a large empire, in which travel is so difficult, they would be allowed to rebel. Whichever the case, I shall bow to the amusement of the gods, forsake my peaceful time here, and march north with an army to crush these insurgents.

Yet, surely the non-existent gods have been kinder to me than to the ruler of the Kingdom of Man, Ward of the Summer Vale. Scout reports paint a grim portrait: already engaged with the Vanir, the things from beneath the waves have emerged into the sunlight which surely hates their existence, and have carved a swath of destruction; from the south, the spider people have joined in the attack, leaving Man beset by enemies on all sides, and sure to crumble.
---

[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.
---

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 42

X,
We have secured this end of the bridge, and encountered only light resistance. Where are the armies of Man? Though, in your genius, you choose to attack when they were heavily engaged with treacherous Vanheim, they must still have great forces in the eastern part of their kingdom. All is deserted here, but we shall remain, holding the bridge, to give you all the time you need to tear down the walls of Starko, and unleash death thereupon. All hail the glorious X.
- Xi Mi, high-general of the GAPFC-BPRR, and secretary of goodness and puppies

X,
Kill. Ate. Destroy. Sun bright. Woods good. Run, run away. Into the wild. Into the woods.
- Aud

X,
As ordered, squadrons A and B struck west this month, capturing Horken Bog. We encountered only light resistance, and suffered no casualties. We have received no further orders and continue south along the river, hoping to seize the magical laboratory in the Dunwash and capture or kill the sages there.
- Ahu'yhuala

X,
We woke, so hungry, under cold, heavy raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains. No forces of Man stood to hinder our gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains. One scout tried to stop us, and we gave him great paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains. We now shamble west; under the hills there are fertile plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains. We'll beat down their defenses and trample their graaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains. And then, maybe south, to eat our their...
- Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 43

Hmmm, it is as I feared. Man-ish forces make no distinction between the forces of Xlikloth, which are ravaging the land, and myself, who is only trying to find and kill that upstart punk. I wandered across the beautiful old library by the riverside, and was attempting to communicate with the local garrison the only way I know how (by sucking out their brains) when a group of Illithids showed up. The humans got all uppity and tried to stick metal into things, and before you knew it many of the best volumes in the library were blood splattered.

Anywho, the commander of the R'lyeh force, Ahu'yhuala, is loyal to me. Or, at least hates Xlikloth, which is the same thing. He was upset that he had to leave his sand castle under the sea to come fight. We found a magic lab next to the library, strewn with odd human magical equipment (apparently they think magic is done with paper, quills, lanterns, and a surprising number of human skulls). The skulls make me hungry. But I digress. Together, Ahu and I used the lab to make contact with Cthugul back home. He was very glad to hear from me, since he had feared the worst since my disappearance. The old boy is getting slow in his old age though, and is thinking about retiring to spend more time with the spawn, and letting one of the other priests venture into the void.

Argh! Off topic again. This is what happens when I get hungry; those militia were barely more than a snack.

Cthugul says that most of the Elder Starspawn remain loyal to me, but are afraid of Xlikloth's power. If I can just remove the head (literally) of this rebellion, the rest will fall in line. And Cthugul knew that the traitor was directing the assault on the castle at Starko, only a few leagues south of here! But the journey there will not be easy. Great armies of Man are roving along the coast, and will most unfairly try to kill me. One force in particular, is rumored to have dozens of fire mages, and some nasty fiery snakes. And me without my fire-proof night-clothes! This will not do, so I have ordered Cthugul to ship me something fire-proof right away so that I can get close enough to these mages to explain the subtle distinction between Xlikloth (the lunatic terrorizing their lands), and my godly self (Lord of Nightmares, He Who Lies Dreaming, Great Elder God Who Will Destroy All Their Minds And The Very Foundations Of The World).

So, until that magic gear comes in, I'll spend some time here, perusing some of the Man-ish books. Oh, "How to cook", that looks good.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 47

Well, gosh, if that wasn't the oddest thing. I've eaten a lot of things in my time, some of them strange enough they would blow your mind, but I've never tasted Death before. He was a nice enough chap. Kind of ticklish and brackish.

Tricked out with a new shiny magic toy or two, I was close enough to Xlikloth to smell him. Then the memory becomes somewhat disjointed: I know I ran into some two-bit general with a horde of undead under his command. Undead indeed, what is it the empire of R'lyeh coming to? Although, I guess I should drop that bias now. Blah blah blah, chitty-chat, and then suddenly there were Manish mages everywhere and giant flaming snakes. They hit me with spells and froze me in place, and I stood helpless as they cut my divine flesh. I tasted my whole life before my tentacle: cup of brains, cup of brains, almost got shagged, cup of brains...

And then I was dead, and then the prayers of my faithless slaves pulled me back to the mortal coil. I am relieved to discover I lost only a few months. Being dead gives one a certain intaste into the universe. And while I wouldn't say there is immediate cause for panic, let's just say that I won't be investing in any bonds with a time to maturity of more than about a year. I see that old Nothy-boy is no longer verber of nouns, and Vanheim is looking a little green behind the ole gill-slits.

So now I'm in a difficult position. Caelum, to the south, has grown extremely strong, and Man, despite having mostly triumphed over Vanheim, has been sorely hurt by Machaka and the cursed rebels. I would love to turn my army south, but to do that I would have to reclaim it from the upstart. And, much as I hate to admit it, I'm not really in any shape to go anywhere. I mean, it's only a chest wound. The limp? I've had worse. Look, your whole arm's off! No it isn't. But that pesky Never Healing Wound. It's not so much the physical pain, but the mental trauma of such an injury. Never Healing. It sounds so final, doesn't it?

Anyhow, it's been a long time since I've been this close to the Void. And Cthugul's here and is rather chatty, and really, I'm just not feeling that well-disposed toward Man to want to go teleporting all the way across the world to reign in some trouble-maker who believes all surface dwellers are part of some vast air-breathing conspiracy. I'll just sit here and watch my enemies kill each other for a while. In fact, maybe I'll take up knitting. I hear you can do some interesting and amazing things with alpaca.

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 44 ----

I have a newfound respect for Andromache's ability to use these flying boots. It is remarkably difficult to keep your balance when your feet can be blown in wildly different directions by even the slightest breeze. If you then add in mountains or looming tall trees... I must have set down six times already, with varying amounts of control, to regain my balance (and recover from the slightly sick feeling I get from traveling at such great heights), when I realized that the clearing I was resting in looked familiar.

"Come to crush my arrugula, deathbringer?" I heard a voice say. I would almost say its tone was friendly chiding, but I remembered well the odd, hostile way in which we had parted. Still, there was no denying that the old enchantress seemed to be almost smiling as she spoke.

"Well, there's no helping who you are, I guess," the old woman continued. "But perhaps your Navnit was not so far wrong when she spoke well of you. Have some warm fragrant herbal beverage with me."

As much as I had always felt ill at ease in her presence, I was not about to refuse the offer of anything warm. I could barely feel my nose and fingers after many hours' flight, and I gratefully gulped down the mug she placed in front of me, and the warm biscuits and generous amounts of butter. Perhaps I had been mistaken in taking a dislike to this odd woman who never left her grove of trees.

We spoke for a while of the war with Mictlan, and she broke into a real, unmistakeable smile when I described the fall of Sethra and Huehueteotl, and the rebuilding of Mictlan. But mostly she just shook her head when I spoke of all the fighting, and seemed particularly grim on hearing of Amshula's death and the growing factions among the mystics. "You are walking on the edge of a knife, Pandokos," she said. "There is some sort of turmoil hanging over your future, wherever you are. You should leave now, so that it does not perhaps overtake you here, where we have already suffered far too long." But this time, on ordering me to leave, she also prepared a basket of biscuits (and butter) for me to take with. Some people are just naturally brusque, I guess.

She eyed me a little bemusedly as I fumbled with the straps on my boots, then again as I immediately fell over when I tried to hover a few feet off the ground. I have found that my quick reflexes are sometimes a hindrance in keeping my balance while flying, causing me to overreact and tumble more than I should. But finally, I righted myself.

"Be careful," said the old woman. "The land is cleaner now than it has ever been, but there are still some pockets of evil intentions, especially where you are going. Perhaps you are one of the rare deathbringers who does not seek only death and glory at all cost; but I suspect many of the other sort will be drawn to news of your conquests and undo the peace that you have helped bring."

As I was flying off, she said, "Search carefully among the friends you think you know, the roads you've walked a hundred times. Perhaps you will find something that surprises you; and I hope not for the worst."

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