MP Game - Yarnspinners

[Karacan]

Ermor: Turn 4


Astara's invasion was a successful one, as well, despite heavy resistance. A group of mages was assisting the villagers in their province's defense, and accompanying them was a beast I thought long extinct, a man with a bull's head who cut through Angmar's legions like flies.

Yet my followers prevailed, for neither fear nor terror is known to them, and the man-beast was finally slain like his masters, though not without losses.

Still, I am confident that the remains of my troops are capable of handling the provincal resistance they will encounter further to the north, and there is no rest for my army of the fallen, for now that the failings of the flesh rot from their bones, they have surpassed the pitiful limitations of mere mortals.

Impressed by my general's efforts, Caractor, an ancient Censor of fallen Ermor has decided to join my crusade, for his cause is not unlike mine. He, too, seeks to bring the wisdom of the other side to mortals, albeit for his own reasons. As long as he follows my rule, though, I could not care less of his motives.

My coffers are spilling, and I decide to renew the contract with the mercenary Rolf Magnus who served me surprisingly well for a creature that still clings to this illusionary life. I think my offer is to his liking, and I would be very surprised should he rethink his allegiances. One day, his use for me will cease, but it isn't now, and when that day comes, the caste of clerics I intend to create will have further uses for his corpse.

For I am Noth, the Prince of Famine, and the hunger I arouse is of greed and blood.

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 4 ----

I think it is still summer... it has been hard, convalescing in this dark tent, to keep track of the days... it is painful to see my previous words of optimism and I would feel cursed by the gods had I not long since stopped believing in them. Perhaps I do not like to think what terrible deeds I am being punished for. So hard to think I was once an eager file leader... how bright Alexandros's armor was, his dream, and ours, of glorious victory in a far off land.

Poor Xanthos. I do not know what strange thoughts entered his mind as we approached the brigand lair. I saw their number was not great, and given my soldiers' skill knew we would prevail. My soldiers... my soldiers were brilliant... they kept their formation, and would have slain all our foe if only... But Xanthos, my faithful steed and companion... Perhaps he wanted to run free over the open plains -- it was such a fine summer day -- or perhaps he had simply tired of all this war and wanted to die with honor and glory. He would not hear my shouts to stay behind the hoplites, much as I begged him, and he rushed past the front file into the middle of the brigand mob.

What happened next is a blur... I recall one, perhaps two brigands fell beneath Xanthos' hooves (I had no time to draw my sword)... I recall a hail of javelins as my troops tried in vain to scare the brigands away from me and my wild steed. And a sword struck Xanthos, and again, and I fell into darkness.

My men thought I was dead. I heard later that a band of locals rushed out, and three died while the rest dragged me to safety. My hoplites held firm our retreat; they are Greeks. Would that they had a worthier commander... but they will not hear such talk from me. They regard my charge as heroic, and declare that fighting beside me raises their spirits.

It is odd to hear them talk this way, because the villagers have ceased their incessant bowing and butter songs, and once again ignore me. The talk these days is of a great battle that took place near the town of Bolfar. My soldiers swear that none of them went out there to fight, and yet the town pledges allegiance to us, and sends us gold and supplies. The villagers have come up with a new dance, in which they kick one leg and flail their arms. I doubt this would make sense even if I were well.

My butter has not been stolen once since I returned, but I do not have the stomach for it. I wonder what this means.

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