MP Game - Yarnspinners

[CuriousCat]

Machaka Turn 25:

Cetewayo was pleased with recent events. His army was winning battles with minimal losses, his own fame was growing, and he had initiated an offensive against the traitorous High Priests. Well, 'offensive' might be a strong word for slipping a loyal operative back into the capital. It also remained to be seen if the High Priests could detect his touch on Karo. Cetewayo was almost positive that they would not be able to do so, however that almost left too much room for remote possibility. If he had never experienced it, he would have said that it was almost impossible for any force still existent in the world to have rendered him unmoving for months... but that had happened. Regardless, Cetewayo would gain valuable knowledge from the gambit.

Meanwhile, Karo and the other wounded had reached Balakavo. He reported to the high priests as they had directed. He was interviewed personally by The Voice of the Lord. Some might see this as a mark of honor. Previously, Karo might have seen it so. However, now it made him very nervous. He knew that there was friction between the King, the demi-god and god to be, and the High Priests who were supposed to be his chief representatives. He was clever enough to have figured out that he and the other guard leaders had been told to give the King a constant bodyguard. They had been given very explicit instructions never to leave him without this supposed protection. After the first battle that Cetewayo fought it became quite apparent that he required no bodyguard. That left one obvious motivation for the order. The High Priests wanted information about the King's movements, actions, and abilities.

Now Karo found himself in a rather uncomfortable position. He had always desired to advance in the army. He knew that such advancement would not be without some subterfuge and political intrigue. However, in the Machakan Theocracy most such machinations were primarily the domain of the various priestly orders. Thus, Karo was not prepared for the position in which he had found himself. He was not only a secret agent for one of these political powers, he seemed to have become something of a double agent. The High Priests were confident that he was their pawn. The King was equally certain of Karo's loyalty. It only remained for Karo to decide where his ultimate loyalties lie.

[Sedna]

Turn 26, R'lyeh

I open my mind and see...

High in ice-covered mountains a ragged band waits in the night, guarding the pass. In the first attack, a month ago, their line was shattered by the charge of nightmares, but most of those skeletons were splintered in turn. Now the crossbowmen check their firing mechanisms, the militias keep a wary distance from the hybrid soldiers, and the lone meteorite guard— limp, and with only one good eye left, licks pitifully at his wounds and wishes he had never left the waves.

In that strange otherplace that is the Void I see Cthugul. Abandoned by his bodyguard, which had been given the wrong orders, and bereft of the astral pearls necessary to whisk him home (thanks to over-zealous pearl collection orders), he prepares to face down a Dweller. His protection spells are powerful...

In the sound, tritons wander like wraiths. The seasonal schools of fish failed to arrive. The seaweed crops have mysteriously turned rancid. The dead float everywhere.

The Dweller paralyzes, Cthugul burns its mind and advances. For long hours they struggle in the swirling madness, as Cthugul advances, step by painfully slow step. At Last he reaches the dread being and reaches out to drain its life-force for his own.

The amazons attack in the deepest part of the night, their dark clothes allowing them to sneak within a hundred paces of the flickering campfires before they are seen. With ear-rending shrieks they throw themselves against the militiamen and slice through them in a wall of little red splotches. The hybrids run at the sight and are cut down as they stumble on their robes. The crossbows keep up a steady fire, and, just when the meteorite guard, one claw pathetically dragging his lacerated body to cover, is about to be butchered, a volley of bolts scares the amazons away.

I look into the future of this troubled sphere...

The meteorite guard will die next month at the caves, as he alone provides the crossbowmen with cover from a horde of barbarians. Their great swords will leave no piece of him large enough to be worth eating.

[magnate]

Back at Last. Sorry about the delay - four shocking weeks at work finally finished. I also have a new video card, which works (many thanks to PowerColor). So of course I've been distracted by Freelancer for the past week (wha'd'ya mean it's a 2003 game? I've only just started Baldur's Gate I!). I've now finished FL though (not much replay value!) and remembered to catch up here.

It's pretty obviously a three-horse race, at least in the writing stakes (I don't see the score graphs so I can't comment on those ...):

turn 19: Arco 2, Machaka 2, R'lyeh 2
turn 20: Arco 2, Machaka 2
turn 21: Arco 3, Machaka 2, R'lyeh 2
turn 22: Arco 2, Machaka 2, R'lyeh 2
turn 23: Arco 2, Machaka 2, R'lyeh 2
turn 24: Arco 2, Machaka 2, R'lyeh 2

Totals after turn 24:
Abysia 14
Arco 51
Atlantis 2
Caelum 6
Ermor 20
Machaka 42
Man 17
Mictlan 6
R'lyeh 37
Vanheim 4

Merry Xmas and Happy New Year to you all,

CC

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 26 ----

Another spring is passing by, though the marshes are much the same. The marshes are always the same. The other day, I found a patch of marsh that was very much not the same, and it felt almost unnatural, so accustomed have I become. I was walking toward the east of the village, down a path I'd only travelled once before, when I came across a small grove of tall hardwoods. At more than double the height of a man, these trees dwarf everything in the area, save only Amshula's spindly little turrets. You would expect there to be crowds of people here, gaping at the sight of something living reaching such an unusual height, yet I saw no one. Come to think of it, you would think that if these trees had been there when I marched with our armies to the east, I or one one of my men would surely have noticed them. For the grove looked old, and the trees were very densely packed, like soldiers in formation, and it was almost pleasant to stand in their shade.

They were, of course, covered in vines, and home to many proper swamp denizens, like snakes, whose constant crawling made it seem as if the trees were moving their vines in a most malevolent way. I also imagined I heard the sound of footsteps more than once, but there was never anything there. I finally decided the novelty of seeing an actual tree was not worth the malice in the air, and headed back. On my way, I passed one of the sorceresses, heading out that way. "You should not go out this way," she said. "It is not safe to wander the groves of the T'lyearugh without proper training." She hurried on before I could ask her what she meant.

When I returned to the fortress, another caravan had arrived from the north. This is at least the third one in recent days to arrive, bearing another dark-cowled sibling or cousin or other relation of the mystic clan. (I spent most of the evening listening to a young man, who bore a strong resemblance to Amshula, explain why the matrilineal descendants of the third wife of the cousin of someone, whose name escapes me, were more knowledgeable in the ways of the earth, as opposed to those of the fifth wife, before I was able to make my escape.) The new arrivals are all quick to join their kind, who stay in their locked towers at all hours, making strange sounds and terrible smells.

I solved one mystery, though: I was hearing footsteps. I caught Balachandra taking off a strange cloak as he greeted another third-cousin-on-his-mother's-side, or to be more precise, caught a patch of empty sky slowly put on a Balachandra shaped skin. It made me queasy to look at -- and then I realized that this was the same effect I had noticed in the battle to take this province. Somehow, they have devised a way to weave near-invisibility into cloth. Balachandra, for his part, merely winked at me when he saw me staring, a bit gape-mouthed. I felt a sudden flash of realization.

So that's who's been stealing my butter...

---

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 27 ----

Life in the Sinking Land is mostly quiet with brief flashes of chaos.

I spend my days training. Many young men have asked to join our forces. The forge billows blow without ceasing to produce new shields and armor. It takes many years of training to master the 12-foot spears that the full hoplites use, so I've been organizing a new regiment of hypaspists, with 8-footers and lighter armor. The lack of flanking cavalry in this land severely limits my tactical options, but I hope the hypaspists can partially replace them. We spend most of the morning running through the swamps in full battle armor. I've lost a few in the sucking mud, but the survivors are incredibly fast and unafraid of snake swamps.

In the afternoons I work with my veterans. The long months fighting through the swamps left many of them with festering wounds. The priestesses of Apollo and Athena have been tending to them, though, and virtually all are now back to fighting trim. We practice the fundamentals: speed by charging in full armor, spinning the line and charging again for hours on end until the ground on the hillside has been churned into mud; precision by shredding a rope with just the points of a spear in mere seconds; strength by lining up six deep as we would in the phalanx and pushing over trees with our shoulders (somehow the old Spartan drill is less impressive when we use scrawny, half-dead tree-like bushes rather than mighty oaks).

In the evenings we have aristeia, one-on-one contests of fighting prowess. I have always been a good warrior, but lately there is no escaping the fact that I have become abnormally quick. Balachandra gave me a finely-crafted spear which I adore. Its balance and lightness would make any man formidable in combat and, when, in my dreams, I am back at Godsgrave mountain, now I have this spear and it turns into a rod of light in my hands and burns the undead before they reach Thymbre.

But it isn't just the spear, nor the long hours of training. Against the most skilled silver shield I draw the poorest weapons from the pool, and even then I must hold back or humiliate them utterly. They are so slow. When we go into aristeia it is suddenly as if time slows down to half-time. Dodging spear-points becomes, if not easy, at least possible, and I barely have to wait for openings— if I wanted to I could tap his armor with my spear in the first seconds of the fight. Of course I allow them some dignity in the battle, but of course I still win every time. I am undefeated now in the aristeia for three months, and every night it gets easier. I am grateful that my skills have developed to this point, but it is odd.

But yesterday morning my peaceful training schedule was interrupted by Ialysos, a competent old hoplite who patrols the province with the light troops who will never (for one reason or another) join the full phalanax. His force surprised someone spying on them on the road to Vorgunmarsh, and though he tried to stop them, the cardaces chased the spy down and gutted him with their spears. Only afterward, from the dead man's markings, did they learn that this was no local rebel, but a scout from the kingdom of Machaka. I have heard strange things of this land, but for certain I wish them no ill. As a practical matter it would have been nice to interrogate the scout and find out what he was doing so far north of his own kingdom. I will send their ruler a message of condolence.

And now this morning Balachandra and his second-half-brother-twice-removed-on-his-second-father's-side Nirmai are rounding up all the mystics from their various places of study, yelling something in the local dialect and gesturing wildly to the north. Ah well, I have written enough for today; I'd better go find out what the babble is all about.

---

[CuriousCat]

Machaka Turn 26:

Karo's loyalties were not really in question. He had fought beside his King. He had observed the King's prowess and strength. He had also quite grateful to the King for finding further use for him after his wounding. Karo pondered these issues as he waited for the audience with the Voice of the Lord. He had been summoned at first light. Karo had been torn about what to do with the Clam. He had to get it to the King's magicians. However, he had to get it to them in secrecy. Karo was afraid to leave the Clam unprotected since it was obviously of immense value. However, he was more afraid of bringing it with him to the interview with the Voice of the Lord. Who knows what sort of powers the man had? Of course he wasn't as powerful as the King, but Karo did not want to test the Voice's powers of perception by bringing a powerful magical item into his presence.

Cetewayo could sense an echo of Karo's anxiety. He was fairly certain of its cause as well. He knew that it was about time for the wounded to have reached Balakavo. Karo was no doubt nervous about his upcoming encounter with the priesthood. Cetewayo was pleased with the past month's events. His forces had conquered another mountain province. The past few months had gone as well as could be expected, however the army had suffered small losses at every battle. Cetewayo decided that he must wait for reinforcements to arrive. The respite would give him time to search the rugged territory for magic sites. Before he began the ceremonies to sensitise himself to the magical emanations of such sites, he would attempt to strengthen his connection to his agent Karo. He had prepared Karo for the upcoming encounter with the priesthood, but perhaps there was more that he could do.

Karo continued to get more nervous as he waited. He was almost certain he had made the right decision, leaving the Clam with his kit from the road. He was still concerned that the Voice of the Lord would ask him questions that could cause him problems. Finally, he was told that the Voice of the Lord was ready to see him. He was escorted into a large, luxuriously appointed office. The Voice of the Lord, the most powerful man in the kingdom was sitting at his desk. The Voice dismissed the young priest who had escorted Karo into the office. He then rose from his desk and locked the door. Karo felt that his heart was about to explode out of his chest. Why had he locked the door?!? Surely the high priest would not torture here in his office?! The Voice of the Lord walked over to the wall and did something that Karo did not see clearly. Suddenly a panel swung open and a dark figure stepped out. The High priest turned, smiled a cold self satisfied smile, and uttered the first words spoken since Karo had entered the room, "Now we can begin your 'interview'".

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 28 ----

(From The Collected Sayings of Pandokos the Prophet: In his first incarnation)


"They came for our holy girls," said the woman of Tolk. "We wept, for their sacrifice would be in vain, but we hid a few away so that our priestesses would not face Ma'era empty handed."
"They enslaved the spirits of warriors who perished defending our lands, a dozen tree-lives ago, and caused them to turn on us, and chase us out of our homes, until the land was populated only by ghosts," said the old man of Vorgun.
"First they took all the girls, holy or not, and killed those who were not useful, except a few of us who hid," said the young maiden from Horslund. "Then they came back and took anyone who could work, leaving the old and sick to die because there is no-one left to till the fields or chop the wood or churn the butter."

And Pandokos of the impressive range of facial colors grew very stern..."


There is a holy marsh here, where the corpses of people killed in battles do not decay, but float beneath the surface, unable to leave the swamps even in death. The people light candles here, which burn for months, whenever there are new corpses. There are a lot of lit candles, and there would be many more if there were anyone left to light them. If I were in better humor, I would find it amusing that the first time I have left the marshes for a year and a half would find me returning again and again to this one patch of swamp, in what is otherwise a fine land of tall oaks and and evergreens.

I am not amused.

When Balachandra came to me Last week, with another ragged band of half-starved refugees, his eyes could have melted stone. These people, though they seemed more dead than alive to me, were from the north, where they had lived peaceably on the edge of the forest and the swamp before the raiding party wiped out their entire village of thousands. This is the third group this week, raged the inferno in the eyes of my oldest friend in these lands. This has gone too far, rumbled the avalanche. Balachandra is always such a mild, reasonable man. We must act now, roared the tempest. I wonder how Amshula would have implored me? I wondered, idly, before giving the orders to march. We left by nightfall.

There are very few people here, at least who dare to show themselves, though I suspect there are many more hidden in dark, forgotten corners of the woods. Far too many villages are entirely empty, food left half-eaten on dinner plates, here and there a pool of dried blood, a charred corpse. In more than one burnt shell of a house, there are whole families clustered together around the fireplace, with no signs of violence, sometimes holding hands. In a low voice, Andromache explained that it is better to die quickly with the ones you love. She alone walks through the villages without a look of dazed horror on her face, as if she had seen this sort of thing many times before. She probably has.

At Last we came to a village where the corpses were still warm to the touch, and found what we were looking for, scuttling down the road to the north. We quickly slew the band of slavers, and rescued half a dozen villagers, most of whom were too dazed to be able to give a coherent story. But one man told me that I should go see the old woman who never left the sacred grove. Outsiders are not permitted to enter, he said, especially not military men who lack respect for life. But she would talk to me.

And indeed, though I had never seen her before, she greeted me as if picking up a conversation we had left off the Last evening. "I was waiting for you, Pandokos."

---