MP: Chronicles_EA: Second-pass Signup and Discussion

[Jybalbyle]

My bad. I'm sure it will not affect my chances of winning the game...

[Darkwind]

Guess what Heroic Ability Neriglissar got.
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The whale moved towards Fraal, its blubber rippling as it swam past the smaller, crippled Atlantian Queen. Fraal noticed the arms and realized that it was another Atlantian, though an especially large and fat one.

Fraal continued his charge, slamming into it with full force with his comrades. He even managed to tear a gaping wound in the thing's stomach, though it didn't seem to care. As others tore in, he noticed that both the Atlantians regenerated unnaturally quickly.

He ducked as a vast quarterstaff appeared from the rolls of the thing's thick chest and slammed right past him into his friend. He stabbed again, but the thing ignored his trident and carved a path of destruction through his friends.

One of the survivors, a triton Fraal couldn't recognize, turned tail and retreated. Fraal followed, and soon the whale-with-arms was far behind them, huffing and puffing as its cheeks turned a strange color of purple, struggling to catch up to an army of Tritons in their element. Fraal was already trying to decide where to hide--go back to his village? Join a mercwenary band prowling the waters? Or perhaps with mysterious Khreshaal who had promised the commander riches?
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Cax Kulu glanced nervously at the Basalt King. He had suggested the try out the new formation on a smaller target first, but the King had insisted on attacking the prestigious Amber Clan. The soldiers were clearly agitated as well, though the Deep Ones seemed to still be excited about the prospect of fresh meat. The rushing sound told him before he even looked that the Tritons were charging, and the battle was on.

The well-defended Shamblers and Spearman took up the first wave of Atlantians, charging forwards with their shields ready to take the tritons' tridents. The Amber Clan elite tore through them like butter, aiming at the poorly-defended heads or simply smashing through the thin shields. The survivors put up a meager attack as the second wave attacked.

The Deep Ones loped towards the tritons on all fours, jumping and clawing and biting at them. The armor simply withstood all but the most fierce attacks. Cax Kulu pushed and shoved, desperate to get to the front where he might do some good, but the Atlantians resisted him with as much vigor as they did the enemy. Looking for the King, the noticed the vast monarch was simply standing back and admiring his sword.

The counterattack was vicious. The unarmed and unarmored Deep Ones gave no resistance to the enemy tritons. The few men remaining took a look behind them and ran full-speed for the hills. Looking with them, Cax Kulu saw that bastard King running away, already farther ahead than any of the others. Not wanting to be left for dead in a rout, he followed the lead of his men.

The tritons swam past him, crushing the Deep Ones. A whole group went after the Basalt King; the fool simply continued to run even with the tridents speared through him. Cax Kulu gave himself a moment to--

A trident slammed through the back of his head, through his eye. He fell with a soft crash, the spikes on his armor breaking as they touched the ground.
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I give the good-for-nothing a sword. A fancy, shiny sword that's supposed to make him more awesome. What does he do? NOTHING.

[Baalz]

Farbaute flung a half eaten haunch of pig aside and belched. Reaving had been good to him and it would be time to let out the greaves of his cuirass again. Tales has spread throughout the land of his blazing trail across the countryside, his men looting and burning, eating the finest of the foods and drinking the finest of the wines before burning and spoiling the rest. The Shadowdale militia had hardly put up a fight, they’d obviously been fearing the day his banner appeared and had no heart for fighting the scourge of north.

Meanwhile, in the western deserts another hero feared throughout the land gazed down the hill at something new. Gudrod studied the banner flapping atop the pole in the village center. It would appear his reavers had finally cut a path to one of the more organized nations of man for this was the banner of Marverni. Eager for blood, his warband prepared to put another nest of vermin to the sword, but Gudrod held them. He had special instructions for dealing with Marverni. “Bring me their mayor. Alive, and kill no one.”

This surprised his lieutenant, but his wishes were carried out immediately. Glamoured raiders crept into the mayor’s house and spirited him up the hill to attend Gudrod. “Listen well human, you do not have leave to speak. You will bring a message to whoever styles himself your king. The Master Druid Zanbarth has declared a cleansing and the nation of Helheim it’s instrument. Your encampment sits upon ancestral Helheim lands, we claim the whole of the Anaurch under our banner from The Sword to the High Ice. Master Zanbarth has fond memories and old friends on your council of druids and has instructed us to spare your people if possible. Yet order must be restored and the overgrown bush of humanity trimmed. If you yield the Northwest Anaurch and Western High Ice we will compensate you for displacing your people and sign a treaty leaving everything west of this to you. These lands are barren and of little benefit to your nation, yet important to Helheim. If you prove yourself a friend of the Vanir we will protect you from the more barbarous and vicious nations of your ilk, there could be much benefit to you as we clear the land of those of your kind less willing to restore the land to balance. You have one fortnight to consider and accept this treaty and begin moving your people.”

As the terrified mayor was pushed back to stumble into his sleeping village Gudrod ordered “Send word to Farbaute and Afe that I require support on the western front. Word has it that the Hangadrott Siguard has ridden out at the head of his own personal army, send word to him as well. This human king may require blood to flow if he believes we are bluffing. Meanwhile, let us take position inside their lands. We will merely observe for now.”

[Ruminant]

Many apologies guys, I have rolled the turn back. Several factors including some drama regarding my uni enrolment and a stray dog of all things resulted in me forgetting to submit my turn. I wasn't the only one who didn't quite manage to get it in on time so I've decided to roll back the turn this time. I sincerly apologise for any inconveniance I might have caused.

[Baalz]

I'd like to suggest that rollbacks be reserved for really critical things like for instance a server hiccup causing the turn to host early with half the nations not having turns submitted. Rollbacks have caused problems in every game I've been in when they were used. It's extremely frustrating to have a battle you "won" turn out differently, and double plus extremely frustrating when your neighbor does something differently than the first time after having seen the result of a battle. I think they're particularly frustrating in this game where people are writing storylines. I've seen a lot of bad blood created from rollbacks, with accusations of cheating, people quitting the game in a huff etc., probably best to just suck it up and accept a stale here or there when real life causes you to miss a turn.

[Ruminant]

Good points, Baalz. We've already run over that turn so I'm guessing I can't undo the rollback? But rest assured I won't be arranging any more in the future simply because I missed a turn.

[Vanslime]

Helheim has made demands, and Marverni has answered.

Give the wiki a look sometime.

For your benefit, here's the short version.

Go to Hel.

[Darkwind]

If I forget to chronicle turn 7 tomorrow, remind me. I don't have time now, unfortunately.

Also, the game is getting interesting! I've met (through Inutho, my poor conscripted scout) a new nation, who you'll only learn about should you pester me into writing a story.

[Wrana]

He seems to be enjoing his life. "Go to the army - see the world" seems to actually work!

[Darkwind]

Deep Ones are not smart.
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It was a hot fall day in the Llyrath Forest, one of the last until winter. It was a day where lizards would lazily bask in the sun and ignore even the flies that settled near their face, a day where the bears sat in the shade rather than catch fish in the sunlight. It was a day where Nature herself seemed to take a day off to est and enjoy the last remnants of summer. But on the edge of the forest, something stirred.

A lizard raised its head, tasting the air and feeling something wrong. It smelled...wet. The lizard rose to all fours, grabbing its trident and staring intently at the forest around it. A far-away rustle, and then another, and soon the south was alive with sound. The air was hot and humid, now, and the stench of fish drifted from the south and the noise. A single glimpse of something blue, and the forward scout was scurrying back to its home to report to the elder shaman.
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It was a satisfying sight. My Atlantians were charging forward, the Deep ones loping madly forward for the flesh they could smell, as the lizards ran tridents-forward, perhaps hoping to smash through our shields.

The lizard-men hit my shamblers at full speed. A few were knocked back, but for the most part the lizard-men only wounded them. I could see bursts of intense fighting, both my men and theirs falling, as I jostled the crazed Deep Ones to get to the front. The lizards' faces were bright--it seemed they thought they could win, since the mighty Shamblers were falling to their tridents.

And then the Deep Ones slammed into them through the gaps in the ranks, just as I had planned. The thick hides of the lizards proved to be nowhere near as tough as kelp to the Deep Ones' jaws and fists. The lizards were unprepared, and the Deep ones flowed over their sides and surrounded them--the cowards retreated, their primitive king running tail between his legs, faster than any of them. I left the lizards to disperse and the Deep Ones to their latest meal.

I was curious as to what the lizards tasted like; the Deep Ones found them appetizing enough. They are a stringy sort of meat, and tough, with very little taste. These creatures are certainly warriors, not livestock, however poor warriors they may be.
-Kosuth, on the Capture Llyrath Forest
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spikeman say longbrownfish is enemy, say they taste good
longbrownfish look tough, smell tasty, good prey
longbrownfish kill big ones, then longbrownfish die
claws tear longbrownfish, mouth eats longbrownfish
littleone scratch, and littleone bite, and longbrownfish shout and littleone scratch more
longbrownfish run, longbrownfish chase and die
longbrownfish taste good, strong fish to make strong littleone
-Thoughts of a Deep One
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The men of Stone Bridge are an uncreative lot. Inutho rode towards the east, where his escort promised him lay a god. The Stone Bridgers were rather confused when a talking bipedal fish showed up on their doorstep asking for safe passage. At first, they had thought to breed him, but Inutho had been able to convince the conceptually poor men that he was not the kind of fish you bred, ate or kept as pets--another barbaric practice of these people in particular. As he had learned from the Elder Rider of Stone Bridge, this people had a long and proud history of aggressive raids to control the nearby territory, and a long history of being stupid enough to be defeated by every reasonably intelligent invader that came their way. They held on to what they had with a vengeance, and what they had was skill with the horse.

Fortunately one of their gods is a fish, Inutho thought; the fish-god Dagon had saved him by 'granting his representative the finest horse in the land'. In truth, stupid people are greedy and stupid Elder Riders even more so. The 'Prince of the Fish' had been assigned an escort to bring him to the false god to the East where Inutho could perhaps parlay with civilised men.

"The godless! Prepare yourselves!" Inutho grimaced at the rider's words. Every tribe on the Sword Coast, as they called it, shared the same language. He readied his pike--stolen from a wandering knight who thought he was a representative of some god or another--and prepared for battle.

But the only hooves he heard were that of the escorts. There were no footsteps, no sounds to tip off the Stone Bridgers. "Wha--"

A star hurdled out of a patch of dirt. It crashed into one of the riders, engulfing both horse and man in flame, only to run to the next. The Stone Bridgers almost simultaneously charged at it.

Improvising, Inutho threw the pike like a javelin at the star-man and ran away before he died of dehydraton from the heat. Looking back, he saw a messy blaze of fire and people and people made of fire. Inutho charged far forwards, up to the to the top of Secomber Hill--which marched the beginning of the Secomber tribes' lands--and looked back.

A single escort rode towards him. "We go quickly--magma men come in big numbers, they come with armor. Fish not do good with them, huh?" Inutho resisted the urge to suggest that nine out of ten escorts killed was not excellent odds against a single scout. He rode forwards with the escort into the land of the living stars.