MP Game - Yarnspinners

[Sedna]

Turn 24, R'lyeh

I really want to write about my plans to backstab Atlantis, but I'm afraid his spies might be reading this diary. Eh. You only die once, right?

If you're an Atlantian agent please stop reading here.





I mean it!





C'mon, please?





Okay, now that we're alone...

I've convinced Abysia to join me in this attack. They say you can't buy love, but you can certainly buy friendship with enough astral gems. Abysia will take the land Atlantian provinces in a whirling firestorm, and I'll cover the underwater lands in death. Our biggest concern is the ancient squid, Abysos. He is, by all accounts a potent warrior, and worthy of respect. I respect squid-balls. If you eat them right after they come out of the deep-fryer they'll burn your mouth something fierce. It's the kind of burnt roof of the mouth that sticks with you for a few days too.

I've taken some of my precious brains off research duty to forge me up some magical stuff. So far I've been eating humans in the buff, but I'm pretty sure I'll want some cool toys to keep me entertained as I conquer Atlantis.

So now my star children are spread throughout their land, ready to assassinate their leaders at my merest command. My conventional armies are assembling on their borders, and my mages have been brushing up on their nastiest distance-attack spells.

Ah... I'm practically giddy with glee. A real battle at Last. From all accounts, this will be the first clash between major powers in this world. In my heart of heart (the one in my 3rd left aorta), I hope this little war may spur other parties into the fray. I'm not aware of any Atlantian allies, but everyone loves to use a good war as a convenient excuse to take over their weak neighbors.

My generals do think I'm mad. I gently remind them that I'm not mad— I'm CRAZY!!!!

Like a fox.

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 24 ----

We held Divikar's funeral Last night, as his older sister Sadhana had only just arrived from the capital. (And how many siblings does this clan have? I wondered, as she murmured words to Amshula and Balachandra from the others who could not make the journey.) As the eldest member of the family, she presided over the ceremony, which was held by the mouth of the river, some two hours' march from our fortress. I was not expecting a large crowd -- Divikar tended to keep to himself, and we were far from the lands where he grew up -- but villagers kept streaming in all day from throughout the province. I asked a village chieftess from up north why she had travelled so far to bid farewell to a gangly teenager who had helped drive her sistren from power. She said, "We have known for a while that our time as a free nation was ending. At least you have been fair and demanded no more from us than is any conqueror's right to demand from his subjects." It was only later that I realized she was not talking about our forces in general, but me. It was not a pleasant thought.

As with all local ceremonies, much of the funeral was quite inexplicable, especially the part where they rounded up all of the butter churned that week and burned it in a giant pyre. (I contributed my rations; Divikar was my friend. It is still a senseless custom.) After dark, for according to Balachandra all funerals must be held under a clear night's sky, the body was placed in a boat with two large candles and a shallow bowl of water, and pushed out into the lake, while the siblings chanted dirges. Amshula had a look in her eyes that chilled me to the bone. It put me in mind of another funeral Last year, a terrible affair of ice and stone, and I silently implored whichever gods might listen to not forget about Thymbre, though she has passed forever from my reach. For a while I stood there staring at the cold, distant stars, who alone do not die. When the funeral boat finally drifted out of view, it was glowing faintly; probably one of the candles had fallen down.

This morning, I awoke to the sound of clanging and shouts coming from the mystic's tower, where no one else is allowed to enter. They have been in there for many hours now, working furiously, though toward what end I cannot guess.

---

[CuriousCat]

Machaka Turn 24:

The army was beginning to move out. Karo stared out at the sea from the lonely, rocky promontory that he had found. He was slowly regaining the use of his arm, but it would be some time before he could swing a sword or set a pike to fight. Again the news was mixed. He was going home and would get to see his family after these long months of war, but he had no idea what he was going to do when he got there. The army had been his life since he was a boy. He had moved up quickly because of his physical prowess, intelligence and charisma. Now though, his future was dim indeed. If he was diligent, he might recover most of his skills, but that would take time and was not guaranteed. How could he support his wife and two young children?

As Karo was torn between hope and despair he was shocked to realize that his King had silently appeared next to him. By the absence of the King's guard Karo was sure that Cetewayo had pulled his disappearing act again. His instinctive grimace quickly slid into a sardonic grin. The disappearing acts were no longer his problem. Before Karo could do anything else, Cetawayo said, "Karo, you are to travel back to Balakavo with the other wounded, correct?"

Karo was surprised that the King remembered his name. He put his surprise aside and answered, "Yes, my Lord, I am to leave your service now that I can no longer fight."

"Well, that is one possibility. However, I had a different fate in mind." Cetewayo remarked.

"My Lord?"

Cetewayo smiled. He had judged correctly. Karo's quick, shocked and hopeful response confirmed his Cetewayo's hopes. "You will travel back to the capital as planned. You will see your family and spend some time there, hopefully completely recovering from your injuries. However, during this time you will be my agent in the capital, if you choose."

"Of course, I will do whatever you wish my Lord." Karo replied.

"This must be completely voluntary."

"Voluntary, my Lord?"

"You are going to be my personal agent. I will not deceive you, this could be more dangerous than what you have been doing for the Last year. In order to help protect you, I will place a seal over your mind."

Karo realized what the King was leaving unsaid. There would be danger aplenty. He would have to steer a careful course between serving the King and obeying the priests. Regardless, this was a dream come true. He quickly accepted the offer.

Cetewayo stretched his hand out and it seemed to go into Karo's forehead. Karo gave himself completely to the experience. Cetewayo smiled once more at what he found there in Karo's mind. This was final confirmation of his plans.

As Karo was recovering from the magic that had been used on his mind, Cetewayo brought forth a small package. "This is your first assignment. You must convey this magical clam to my magicians in the capital. Of course, the High Priests are not to know of it. I will contact you with further instructions." With that Cetewayo faded from sight.

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 25 ----

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



Sing, goddess, the anger of Pandokos of Pagasae

and its devastations, which put pains thousandfold upon the Mictlanians,

hurled in their multitudes to the house of Hades strong souls

of heroes, but gave their bodies to be the delicate feasting

of dogs, of all birds, and the will of Zeus was accomplished.



Everywhere I go in this land I become a little more sick. The empire of Mictlan, which festers to our north, uses the blood of the innocents to call devils up from the house of Hades. They employ massive armies of slaves, having decided that an entire clan of people are unworthy of freedom, and sacrifice them callously in their battle lines. I have this Last information on direct authority of a scout, many leagues to the north, who saw Mictlan's forces in battle some months ago. Meanwhile, as I go among the people, spreading the news that we do not worship the same foul, wretched god, I have to endure looks of fear and hate. The locals associate all military men with the patrols which used to come in the night, breaking into homes and tearing families apart as they took young girls off to die on the tops of their red-stained temples.

Sometimes in our travels we cross the borders into Tolk, or Horslund Forest. In these lands, still under the shadow, it is as if the sun itself has no power to bring light and cheer. Even Andromache, who is normally very happy (if silly), becomes a cloud of grief. No doubt she remembers her own captivity and near escape from death. We never see any young women on these trips. I hope that the locals have simply learnt to keep them well-hidden. The alternative, the madness, defies belief.

In the dark of night though, I fear I understand. It is hard to keep a string of petty, hostile, provinces united. And fear is a useful tool in a tyrant's box.

The Golanarians are revolting and it makes me mad. Villans now roam the highways of this province, cutting off our route back home. And yet I am not willing to drag my army through the mud for months on end to quell this problem. I am needed here. This close to the shadow, my men need me to keep from going mad, and soon, very soon, my skill in battle will be needed. I will write to the village elders telling them that the Golana problem is in their hands. I'm sure they can find some local hero willing to do a spot of police work.

---

[Sedna]

Turn 25, R'lyeh

It's beginning to look a lot like fishmen
Everywhere I go...

This time of year just makes me want to sing. So it's just wonderful that my people have been relearning some of the old, old carols about me that used to inspire such delicious fear 'round solstice times.
I even got my minions to join me in a little sing-a-long as we travel out to the front to carry out our... uh... secret plans. If you've never heard a hundred shambler thralls singing "Oh come, all ye Olde Ones," you haven't lived. Granted, if you live in the places we're coming to, you'll probably wish you'd never lived once we actually get there, but still. "Oh come, let us abhor them / Oh come let us abhor them /Oh come let us abhor them / Scream, run and hide..." Just magnificent.

Ah... I bet my old friend Cthugul has been circulating some sheet music. There was the most touching show put on by the local schoolfish Last week, wherein the adorable little tots rang little bells and sang for me:

"Cthulu lives, Cthulu lives, deep down in the sea
In the city of R'lyeh, waiting to be free, hey"

A little out of date -- I've been free to have my way with the world for some time now, thank you very much -- but I do appreciate the sentiment. In gratitude I only ate the children who couldn't carry the tune very well. Oh, and all the clown fish. I love clown fish.

[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.

---