MP Game - Yarnspinners

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 58 ----

I slept uneasily in fits and starts, sprang from my bed at the awful shrieking of an Illithid scream, paused, tried to figure out of it was a dream, heard it again, grabbed sword and helm, and raced through darkened camp to slay the treacherous prisoner. He was safely guarded still, by sleepy watchmen of the night, and I heard the wail again pierce the stillness, though none of the watchmen heard a thing. In doubt now as to my sanity, I sprinted to Balachandra's tent. He and Andromache were sleeping peacefully in each other's arms, but the guard at the door to their tent slumped against the post, his eyes rolled back and vacant. It was then I glimpsed Tushar on the edge of camp, and a crouching, evil, purple-robed thing advancing on him. Tushar stood as if of stone, a pale white light enveloping him.

The purled-robed figure shrieked again, and my heart froze within me, but I dashed forward only to be brought up short in my tracks by something I could not see. I stood there, helpless, as Tushar reeled under the deadly gaze of this foul thing. And then he snapped awake, cried out one single word, and suddenly two creatures appeared. They were twisted, angular, transparent, pure malevolence. Their unearthly eyes roved around: horrors from beyond, predators of the soul, searching for their next meal. Their eyes lingered on me for what seemed like an eternity, and then they swooped on the purple thing, causing it to cower and hiss. Tushar, almost ready to faint, with blood pouring down his face, let cry again, and his assassin turned a violent blue, froze instantly to death, and the floating horrors vanished too. It was not Tushar's close brush with death, but the feeling of dread that these things provoked in me that caused me to lie awake and worry till dawn broke feebly through the ever present storm clouds.

As dusk fell on the next day we entered the city of Stavang on the shores of Vankara sound and found no resistance. I struggled to keep my eyes open as I went about my inspections. A cry to arms went up again, and I dashed to the lines. There, in the gathering gloom, just two Illithids and a few of their slave warriors. At last an easy struggle, I thought, but something else, tall and sinister, lurked in the darkness behind them.

I am at the banks of a river. The sun is out and high overhead and there is not a cloud in the sky. A warm breeze caresses my face and soft fingers stroke my arm. I turn, and there is Thymbre, radiant and smiling and warm. She leads me by the hand down beneath a willow tree where a blanket is spread, and food for a picnic. Sitting there waiting is an odd looking man, with green skin, three legs, and a mass of tentacles where his head should be.

Thymbre urges me to try some of the squid salad, and the green man confirms that it is very good, slurping it silently into his maw. Confused, I try a bite, and have a glass of wine. "Why am I here with you Thymbre, and who is your friend?"

Thymbre smiles her knowing smile and promises to explain everything very soon. She says that the green man has wanted to meet me for a long a time, and the tentacles nod in agreement.

"What do you do, sir? And how may I address you?"

He says his name, but it is carried away on the wind. His work, he says, is lying dreaming in the sea. He calls me friend, opines that I am not what he expected, and that perhaps our upcoming mutual death will not be so unpleasant. The harsh word "death" appears to break the spell. I glance at the black waters of river, at the boatman rowing back and forth upon it. I turn back, but Thymbre is fading. She blows me a kiss, and I wake upon the frozen earth where some small battle has clearly taken place, and yet we live to fight again.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 58

Young fool!

Magic swords do not grant a mortal the right to challenge a god! Some cobbled together army and a rotten human prophecy do not make Pandokos worthy to challenge me for supremacy of this sphere! I will crush him like a bug, and await the coming of my true adversary.

But I... I dream again. I flew out to witness his attack on some boring, two-bit human city. I felt no god-like being among their ranks, so I called out in my native tongue for Pandokos- and Pandokos came forth. The pull of his dream was strong, and before I could stop him, we were in this evil-looking place with bright sunlight and nasty green grass and young trees everywhere. A hideous monster was attempting to eat his tongue- and he didn't even object, or seem to notice. I tried to save him by sucking this monster's brain, but she shape-shifted, turned to crunchy-spicy kracken beneath my tentacle. The monster fell back. I was puzzled by the other god's form. I reasoned that perhaps taking a human form is a good way to trick the local peasants into trusting you long enough to eat them, and we chatted about this and that. He seemed very startled when I told him that the prophecy had several gods dying in the upcoming battle to decide the fate of the world, and broke off contact.

Later I ate a scout, and tasted in his eyes the Arco army. It was then that I realized that this human form was no dream-shape, no facade. This is just a tiny human with a sword that is bigger than he. In vain, I summoned scout after scout, trying to find one who tasted like he had seen a god. The northern scum have acquired several beings of power- a queen of the air, a few tartarians from beyond the gate. There is one blue skinned fellow with many arms who is a legitimate (if weak) god. One of those karmic-the-universe-is-a-cycle-I'll-spend-my-time-seducing-milk-maids-and-eating-butter-rather-than-conquer-the-world types. I doubt he'll even remember to show up to the final fight.

And so I head back to the Caves of Passing time, and stare glumly into them. Is there some other god who will come- unforeseen at the last hour? When Pandokos sees the force that I am assembling on the isle he will turn in fear and not fight. But even if he does fight, his tiny army will barely wet the field of conflict; while the prophecy speaks of rivers of blood and death of gods. I do not think Man has a god left. The vampire of the west, and the spider-king of the east are both busy and far from the isle. Even the birds, who keep my armies so busy in the south, are a long way from the isle. I have not met their pretender- but all reports taste that he is merely some unwilling ghost, dragged back from the grave by power-hungry priests.

So if the prophecy is right, there is someone I'm not counting on. Perhaps from outside of this dimension? Some greater being who will storm through in two month's time? Seize the isle and the caves from me? Hold possession of it for the long hours of May Day as the ancient fires burn and this world spins in a favored part of the time-stream? Attract the attention of the beyond through the blood of the battle, master time, stop time, end the world as ruler of all?

I must consult my books, I must gather my forces-- too long I have toyed with these humans. Something deadly is coming and I must be ready.

[Sedna]

Wheee... I'm going to kill you all!

Hey, CuriousCat, were you interested in playing in Yarnspinners 2? We have a cool new wiki for it:
Yarnspinners 2 wiki

and sign-ups are in this thread

It's gonna be pretty fun.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 59

Whoever invented the game of parchesi anyway? It's stupid, and mindless, and there's no way that lobo guard should have been able to beat me.

I'm just not one for book-learnin' I guess. A few hours of pouring over ancient prophecy trying to divine the ultimate fate of this world and myself and I'm thinking about squid sandwiches and octopus smoothies instead of the upcoming apocalysi.

And how can a busy god be expected to keep one's mind on the task at hand? Everywhere my empire is fighting, struggling against these other pretenders to my crown. The birds are particularly annoying. Some magic spell has enabled all their troops to go underwater without my permission, and they have being taking advantage of this to sow dissent. In retaliation, a loyal sea king of mine has ordered the waves to rise and cover the infidels, flooding the coastal provinces everywhere and bringing fresh blood down to the hungry, hungry depths.

Sammy claims that this could be considered a possible fulfillment of the following scrap of prophecy: "And two moons before the end of the world, the air shall fly under the sea, and the sea shall cover the lands."

But I call this a radical interpretation of the text. It's clear that the above is simply a metaphor for the fall of the Babylonian empire. Crazy human kids are always reading so much into prophecy. I mean, the same thing goes on to say: "Spring will turn into an ill winter, and the giants will awaken to stalk the earth", but you don't see that happening.

I threw a horde of ghosts and a bunch of devils at Pandokos, trying to scare him off, but he's pretty well protected by those mages still. And now he's camped just across the river from my headquarters in the Caves of Passing Time. Tonight I plan to send a single lobo guard across the river ever half hour. Hopefully, the alarm will be raised every time and the foolish mortal won't get any of that "sleep" that such weaklings require. Oh- and that punk who beat me at parchesi? First across the river...

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 59 ----

If I still clung to the hope that this war, though great and terrible, is just another campaign against mortal armies like my own, it is gone now. We left Stavang in the early morning mist and were set upon by a horde of riders, pale and thin as ghosts. Inded they were ghosts: the archaic swords, the ancient battle raiments, the barbaric war cries from tongues long dead... as if they rode out of a battle from before the world began. A ragged mercenary captain named Gynter was leading the way; he was trampled by eighty pairs of hooves as substantial than dew on the grass. Yet we stood against the ghosts, and we fought them down.

By midday we had been attacked again by another unholy horde, this one from hell.

Tell me this: if the devils sent to drag your soul into infernal torment instead surrender, and offer their services in exchange for your protection, is this a bad sign? Does it mean that I am on the wrong side? Or is the hell toward which this world is spiraling such an exceptionally bad variety that even demons fear its coming? We left the three of them behind; no man would stand guard over them, and no mage would dare try to control them.

Stavang is a port city; we are by a wide body of water now, too wide for a proper river, too narrow for a sea. I can see white sails on the horizon, and on a clear day, the spires of castles unlike any I have seen till now: and there is smoke rising from them. I am told that way lies Abysia, a fair sized realm that has repelled the concerted advances of both R'lyeh and a race of flighted people far to the south. I am told that Man lingers still, has erected a fortress even, and will not give in to the tide of darknesss. I am told that the spider people still have a small enclave and have been almost untouched by the conflict that roils my part of the world. I am told this means there is yet hope; but I cannot feel it myself. It has been too long since I have seen anything but stormclouds, even in my dreams. Except for the one where I was dead.

We have made our camp by the water, near a small glade of trees. The land is deserted except for our ever growing armies: people know that a terrible battle is about to burst forth. On a small hill nearby, in a clearing, there are seven tall pillars, built in a previous age, impossibly white though etched with wind and sand and several ages of man. The pillars look like once they used to reach to the clouds; but the tops are all broken now. It is painfully clear how short they fall.

Limmy had a hammock strung up between two of them. I heard giggling voices disappear into the woods as I approached and from the disarray of goods around his clearly under-used tent I guessed he had been here a long time. He greeted me warmly, like a beloved brother, and invited me to share some food with him. I was surprised to note the bread was still warm; he laughed and said, "If you think that's good, you should try some of the freshly churned butter the milkmaids left." Limmy is like the old gods in stories -- content to string up his hammock and toy with milkmaids as the world ends around them. It's a somewhat irresponsible attitude I feel, but it does have that advantage of producing some top notch churned-milk product.

There is an island just across the water; there used to be a bridge to it, but it seems to have disappeared. Nobody likes to look at the isle for very long; you travel enough with Todd and phrases like "and on that blessed isle shall there be the death of hundreds, and the world besides" tend to rattle around your mind until you learn how to let your eyes slip past the uncertain motions on the distant banks. Those tentacles you imagine you see are only overgrown vines...

I had been here three weeks before I noticed Maude. I would have thought this hard to accomplish; Maude is taller than the two younger Firbolgs. But the camp keeps swelling, as more mystics trickle in, some leading small forces of hoplites and vinoghers, most with only a few tattered scrolls in hand.

"Oh, there you are, Pandokos," Maude said. "My boys have been telling me so much about the great adventures they've had with you. I hope they haven't been filling your heads with the silly nonsense they're so fond of spouting." I was about to say something about how nice it was to meet someone who didn't buy into all that prophetic mumbo-jumbo, when she went on, "They're always making a big fuss over the little things, like reclaiming ancestral homes, and forgetting the little details on which the world turns. 'Then shall the waters rise from below and fall from above to reclaim the earth, and the imprisoned shall break their chains, on the isle of a hundred dreams...'"

I guess there is no such thing as only believing in the sensible bits of prophecy. Either this was all written down a thousand thousand years ago, and we are but acting out our parts... or some theatrical hack is making a lot of money on false old scrolls. Actually, I've seen at least three apocalyptic-scroll vendors lurking around the camps. They always have a crowd.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 60

Auluddh has come.

To me, this has more import than world freezing over as the giants awake. Auluddh is the leader of the Aboleths, whose empire once spanned the Persei arm of the galaxy, before it was brought low by a stellar collision with their homeworld, which I don't know anything about that and at which time I have several eye witnesses who can provide me with an incredibly solid alibi.

If any deus ex vacuuma was going to appear and challenge me for supremacy, it should have been him, with a legion of shock-troops at his back. And he should have appeared here, at the caves. But instead he wandered through the void gate, somewhat lost. There, he cowers under the sieging force of birds, led by that erstwhile god: ghost-of-the-wingless. I will have my priests drag him out of his cave- use his raw power to smash the feathered ones, and make sure Auluddh also dies in that struggle.

And so... I must accept that Sammy is right. Tomorrow, before sunrise, Pandokos will march across that river which separates the isle from the mainland, claim his right to fulfill the ancient prophecy, and challenge me to combat. And I shall issue forth from my cave with a thousand spawn and slaves at my back, and score upon score of evil tentacled things from the void, and a hundred woefully misguided humans who think they are fighting the infidels who insulted their god, and a gaggle of starspawn for magical support, and two queens of water, and an ice devil (captured in a distant land)... and if the prophecy holds we will both die tomorrow and both time and the world shall end, but whichever side wins and maintains possession of the caves from sunrise to sundown during the carnage- that "god" shall return from death and rule this world and countless others as God.

And what of this human? What madness drives a mortal to attack a god? What twisted belief system causes a wanderer, far from home, to lay down his life in defense of strangers in a strange land? What love or hate causes him to struggle against forces he cannot possibly comprehend, much less control? And when did humans acquire the permission of the gods to challenge the order of things- to imagine a different world?

It scarcely matters. The world ends tomorrow. And no matter what happens, Pandokos' frame cannot possibly survive the transition to god-hood if his side should (by some miracle) win. But I have become quite attached to these caves, and the glimpses into forever which they provide. This has been my home now for some months, and I would hate to see my home broken into by another with his hands full of butter and the salesmen... those men! and their -- sales!

For now this is my house. I shall lie here until dawn, dreaming...

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 60 ----

The waters are rising every minute, and every hour it gets noticeably colder, though spring is long overdue. Scouts from the north say that giants have awokken there and are rampaging through the lands unchecked. The river which separates us from the isle is choked with the tentacles of random spawn-things which have been constantly harassing our army. Their ichor turns the once clear waters black as the Styx.

The symbolism is not lost on me. Tomorrow, Maude tells me, I must cross that river before dawn and seize control of the isle, or the world will be lost to the gibbering madness that crouches there. I will not be alone. My army has been reinforced several times over by mystics who suddenly started walking out of the laboratory with phalanx after phalanx of troops. I tried to get in there to talk to Balachandra and figure out how he had managed to pack so many men into such a small building, when the doorway was shattered with a deafening roar and a long string of elephants wandered out and started munching on the grass. I decided I didn't really care to know.

Anne (a magician from the Sinking Lands who I had not previous met), ran up to me, sopping wet, with shellfish and seaweed in her hair, and clutching a pair of those blasted flying boots. "The army in the sea has arrived, Pandokos!" she exclaimed with a huge smile, as if I would be glad to find myself talking to a crazy person. I attempted to smile and back away slowly, but she grabbed me, and dragged me down to the shore (which was even closer than I remembered). She pointed out into the chilly, crystal clear waters, and it seemed as if I could see men moving under the sea in full armor, along with some huge, ghostly giant.

Maude startled me when she snuck up behind us. "For is it not written, 'and, in an hour unlooked for, those who took the paths of the deep shall arise and claim their part on the isle'?" To which I could only reply that if it was "written" no one had ever showed it to me, and it seemed mighty convenient that I was only ever told about most of these prophecies after the fact. Maude looked at me with a little sadness in her eye and told me in a soft voice that I am going to die tomorrow.

I already know that.

I feel it in my weary bones, which have marched on too many rugged, dusty paths, too far from home. I see it with the eyes of an old soldier from the great campaign (may you have found rest Alexandros, though I did not) when I look at the scuttling opposite shore and realize that everything there waits to kill us. I smell it in the chill sea air, harsher and piercing than the warm waters of Pagasae. I hear it in my dreams, as Thymbre urges me to come home to her. I taste it in the butter - does this pinnacle of food exist on the other side of the river Styx?

I will bury this book, along with the "Collected Sayings" before marching tomorrow. At least then it will survive, though for what hope I do not know, if we should fail. At least it will have the proper burial I will be denied. Yet these is some solace... Andron epifanon pasa gi tafos... For heroes, the whole world is their tomb.

But these are unbecoming thoughts. I have the finest army of friends in the world to lead tomorrow. My sword lies gleaming beside me, ready for battle. And there is still one last sunset to watch, and one more loaf of freshly-baked bread to spread with the finest butter.