MP: Fame and Riches - game ended, Numahr - Agartha won!

[pakoito]

Kingdom of R'lyeh, under New Direction after the death of our god.

There's only 9 water provinces in the map I conquered in 4 turns. You have around 18 undefended provinces with 2 neighbors on chokespots, where I have 8 who can access me from anywhere. I'm sorry if you don't understand my peoples needs but I want someone out of the map now, and your nation is a giant with feet of clay. ("HAHA DOUBLE ENTENDRE" "Shut up, Centophoros, you have no voice now the Pretender's dead")

Your last message is one of weakness and doubt about whether you can stand a defense against several armies. It's not in my hands to crush you, but it doesn't take much to understand that the wild card of a bold newbie can turn a game's fate.

[Anaconda]

It had been the sunny month of Shahrivar when Commander Mganga came down to South riding a spider. He had been an infantry man, and he had always fought on his feet. So, on his feet he died. Now he was going back North carried on his hide-shield.

Maybe, if Johannes the prophet would have been a man of higher moral, he would have blamed him self for ignoring the walking dead. But his visions considering these abominations had been weak, and on the other hand, he was not a man who would bother him self with a guilt.

The undead had sneaked on the host with the cover of falling night. They had shared some mead and meat with the monkey envoys, and men were bringing out the fires to hold the cold of night at bay. The surprise was complete, and the results were the same. No matter it must have been days now, they had not seen the sun since the defeat.

While Machaka infantry held their ground, the few spiders they got with 'em broke surprisingly fast. The enemy was able to flank the hide-shield wall and it did not take long when there were only archers releasing their volleys on the approaching enemy. Volley after volley, it made no difference. The enemy wore steel, and the arrows lacked the penetration. Commander Mganga, a hero of mighty strenght, fell protecting the last of the archers.

”Note to self; next time bring the riddle of magic fire along” Johannes Kurkunkastaja was thinking. ”We will see how them monsters boil in their armors. The funeral march was slow and the atmosphere depressed as never before. Even the Tartarians are crying, some thought wiping the rain off their faces. All missed the commander, a man who had their respect. The same could not be said of the prophet, who led with the fear rather than with example.

The prophet knew it, but it did not matter to him.

Better to be feared and alive, he was thinking when the attendants of the ceremony passed him. Johannes did not attend the march North. He had other business to take care of. Indeed, the peijainen for Mganga would be held without any notable figures. Witch doctors and sorceress', they'd all fallen side by side with Mganga.

But new heroes will rise, and the day shall come again. The prophet had seen it in his fevered dreams.