MP Game - Yarnspinners

[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.

---

[Karacan]

I'll be treating it as if writing a real AAR: While trying to maintain my plotline, I'll tell of things I intend to do, with a few brief descriptions of why I do so... since direct competition isn't exactly what the game is about, me thinks. If this helps you exterminating my Ermor by turn 20, I was probably proven wrong, but so be it.


On a side note: Unfortunately, I might stale the next turn. I hope I won't, but the timelimit is nearly exactly the time I am gone for this prolonged weekend... So you know I don't drop out.

[Alneyan]

The Kingdom of the Vale, Man: Early Spring

"As the zephyr comes, so does it leave, unexpected and uncaring."

A flicker of light, and the hussle of wings. It was all that hinted at the presence of Ilneoa within the camp, but the impression it made on the soldiers were strong enough. Thus did she inspected the army quickly gathered among commoners and green warriors; her army nonetheless, protecting her life and her lands. Precious few of her men had ever taken the life of a foe, but this would come, as surely as summer wanes when the circle of the year turns around.

The Lady of Avalon had rallied her forces, these children of springtime, as she was asked to by the voices of the wind. "Within the greater cycle, we are nearing the other end of the pendulum, where fates will be mingled and all previous orders will collapse," they claimed. "Against these tides of turmoil, you are to marshall your forces and establish a sanctuary of stability, wherein you will kept the ways of the Vale." And so she obeyed, and could not deny the truth contained in these words. The circles had been broken, and equilibrium was lost. Already the waves of change were coming near, carrying the power to reshape the world.

Alas, much would be lost within this surge of chaos. Another Dark Age could fall on the land, heralding the end of the days of Avalon. The isle was weakening moon after moon, and the numbers of its inhabitants dwindled cycle after cycle. Truly Ilneoa was not from the isle herself, but she came to love its people and eventually remained there, a guide for Avalon, a warden against future.

Few lords gathered to hear her pleas, and many of the shires formerly under the rulership of the Vale seized their independence and threw aside both the old ways and their bonds with Avalon. This thought brought much concern to Ilneoa; a diminished Avalon, divided into several smaller islands, could not survive the tide, but why would these earls and other peers of the realm secede from the cradle whence they come from? The army gathered under her windows would face the unfortunate tudy of bringing anew the might of the Vale, for division offered no hopes of survival. Already bowmen were practicing their craft, in expectation of the battles that woud follow. One of their arrows shot down a crimson leave from a tree, an omen of the tomorrows to come.

[Tuidjy]

I'm with Karacan on this one. I will be writing reports for the current turn,
talking both about what happened at the beginning of the turn, and the orders
that I am giving. I may choose to omit some particularly important clue, like
'I'm cloud-trappezing seven Seraphs on top of Abysya's VQ', but there will be no
deliberate disinformation. By the way, even when I omit information, I will try
to explain it in game-universe terms the next turn. Don't you hate it when some
Seraphs fresh out of boot camp get drunk and decide to go to hunting?

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 2 ----

I really hate this country.

I went to see the village leaders after the seventh dawn on which the butter had gone missing. In a diplomatic but (I thought) firm way, I recommended they teach their children some respect for the soldiers who defend them from occasional invaders, and muck out stables the rest of the time, and how if our foodstuffs continued to be stolen we would be forced to ask the Golanans (a hated neighboring tribe) if they desired a cheap band of soldiers. I expected them to vigorously deny everything, or plead with me to stay, or at least acknowledge my complaint.

But no: as soon as they understood what I was saying, a great cheer erupted from the onlookers, and the leaders began smiling and chattering excitedly, clapping me on my back as if I had just announced that a volcanic eruption had wiped out Golana.

"But what about my butter?" I asked Balachandra, a young man who as a boy had spent time in our camps and had recently become a local magician of sorts. He usually helped me make sense of local activities, but now he was as inscrutably enthused as the rest of his cursed countrymen. He grinned broadly, and announced to the crowd, "Pandokos wants more butter!" to which they responded with more cheering, and a bit of singing. Some maidens began to dance, and the mob descended into revelry.

Seeing that it was hopeless, and in no mood to join the festivities, I decided to go home and try again the next day. But they would not let me leave. An old lady rushed in front of Xanthos, startling him considerably, and fell to her knees, crying out loudly. The tight crowd forced me to dismount and walk around the old woman, but people kept pressing close to me and murmuring. A few milkmaids giggled about how the butter thief was welcome at their homes any time, and more than one mother pushed forward a screaming child, as if my armor were somehow blessed, and not smelling rather strongly of manure.

The next morning, I was awoken early by the sound of the murmuring. When I emerged, the crowd, several score strong, gave a great cheer. They came to catch the thief, I thought momentarily, pleased that I had gotten through after all. But no: my daily ration of butter was completely gone, and there were numerous buttery handprints all around my window.

"Did you at least see who it was?" I growled at the crowd, some of whom appeared to have been there since nightfall. Balachandra laughed, and said, "Of course, of course, didn't you?" and began leading the mob in a bizarre sort of chant.

At which point I decided that I would go back to sleep, in the hopes that when I woke up the world would make sense again.

---