MP Game - Yarnspinners

[GriffinOfBuerrig]

Heyda, i would be interresed to play with you, but i don´t see the game under mosehansen.

Can someone post the link and tell me where to upload my pretender - i would like to pick Vanheim :-)

[Alneyan]

I should have been clearer. Yarnspinners is a game that has already started, so you would sign up as a replacing player, and would not have to create a Pretender. We are around turn 33: the reason I recommend Vanheim is because they aren't on the brink of a war, unlike the other nations looking for another player.

The game is played via mail (Play By Email, or PBEM), so it is not available at Mosehansen (it used to be hosted there though). If you are interested in joining us, you should send me a mail, and I will forward the game file to you. The mail is in my profile, or here: alneyan[AT]fastmail[DOT]co.uk (replace [AT] and [DOT] by @ and .)

[puffyn]

--- Caelum, turn 33 ---

I have been away from the capitol far too long. The empire of Caelum -- no one can deny that it is an empire now, of the mightiest in the world -- has grown large and prosperous. (Would it be better if we had stayed small? It is much too late for that now.) I have turned the wastelands to the north into peaceful, productive members of an empire that now spans all lands to the east of the Nidzh River, except for a colony in the far east that belongs to the spider people.

The spider people. Perhaps that was my first clue. I had heard that they were ruled by someone not unlike myself, torn from the grave into a strange world of palatial intrigues and a powerful priestly caste. I pitied him a little, for in Caelum it is the researchers who hold power; and how much intrigue can they indulge in when they are constantly lost in the towers of old scrolls and manuscripts scattered across our kingdom? Since I have become the reluctant leader (I will not say "god", though everyone else does) of this land, I have urged the scholars to regain our long-ago position as the most powerful researchers in the world. Was I hoping to channel their ambitions to peaceful ends, to give them other things to contemplate than spreading word of my divinity? Strange how one so powerful as I could be so naive.

So when the spider people first sent forays into empty lands across the wide river that divided our kingdoms, I sent them a message of friendship and peace. They were clinging to life wedged against the powerful empire of Man; if they were willing to pacify lands that our forces had no intentions of approaching anytime soon, I saw no need to fight. (For though they are small and somewhat weak, I suspect that they would fight dearly for their small homeland.) But I have heard no news of my messenger, though it has been many months. The way is long, even for my fast-winged scouts; but rumors began to reach me that perhaps the mountains crossings were the least treacherous of the problems facing my messenger. So far, there has been peace. But I fear the rising powers in this land will not let that Last.

My own fateful error led these forces to power, though at the time it was acclaimed as a brilliant success. The high seraphs announced the discovery of a way to harness lightning, along with many spells to protect themselves, and begged leave to travel en masse to meet in battle Solaris, a knight of great renown who had long held sway on the borders of the capital. I gave reluctant permission, though I was concerned we would fall behind on our great research plans, with so many high seraphs gone. "We must all go," said Wizard (W). "We do not know if our plan would work, but it will surely fail if the Lord of the West Wind does not permit a sufficient number of us to try." Their plan, of course, was a resounding success; there were few casualties; and since then he and some of the other seraphs have been hailed as heroes throughout the land.

But after the battle, only a few seraphs returned, carrying powerful items stripped from Solaris' corpse, while the others went forth to conquer the rich southlands. We have slipped from our position as the mightiest researchers, and the other empires will be quick to capitalize on this, I fear; but when I discussed this with Wizard (W) he merely smiled and extolled the large number of fortresses we have constructed, the growing number of troops, our ever-increasing borders and wealth. It was after he returned that I had a chilling moment that I wished I had paid more attention to: I was suddenly unsure if this was the same "Wizard (W)" who had asked leave to depart. Had his experience with death and power changed him that much? Or was he really a different person? It dawned on me that, with no less than five mages known as "Wizard (W)" in my lands, I have no way of knowing which one I am talking to. But I am used to sudden chills as if from the grave, and ignored this one as all others, and went back to the unifying the north.

I learned two things today. The first is that we have launched a massive attack on Ermor. We used to be friendly with their lands; perhaps I was less cowed by the chill of death than other rulers might have been. From time to time we would receive Messages from their ruler, who always signed his Messages with the words "For I am Noth", and we had come to an understanding of peace, though I have not heard from Noth in many months. When I asked Wizard (A), another of the warmongers (and it is impossible to tell if any are against the war, when all look and talk and act the same), why we had attacked his lands, with whom we share such an enormously large border, he simply said, "Noth doesn't live there anymore." I walked away before he could regale me with news of the many glorious victories; there will be plenty of defeats to come.

There is more: this same Wizard (A) has called forth one of the holiest creatures of the Caelumites, the Queen of Storms, and sent her forth in a berserker rage to wrack havoc on Ermor. The seraphine priestesses, meanwhile, have sharply increased in number, and are fanning out across the lands, seeking to banish the undead. I learned of the death of my storm general prophet, whose name I never even learned, only Last week; apparently he died a year ago or more, sent to fight a battle where he had no hope of winning. Now there is a Prophetess, Zabele, and I fear the rise of a powerful caste of priestesses to complement the wizard seraphs, who have seized power.

The other thing I learned is that I am a prisoner. My return to the capitol, apparently, is unwanted by the high seraphs, and I am to stay in this remote library where I have been training young sages and crafting powerful artifacts during what I thought was a well-deserved respite from war. They could not stop me from leaving if I wanted to, of course, though I suspect the weapons being readied against the undead hordes of Ermor would quickly be turned on me if Wizards (A) and (W) felt I had outlived my usefulness as a religious rallying point. For I am the Ghost of the Wingless, at least to the armies being massed; it is in my name that they fight, and kill, and die.

---

[Sedna]

Turn 32, R'lyeh

If you really must know, the siege still continues.

Need I say more?
Eh, well, I'm bored, so I'll say more.
Everyone is tearing down the kelp fortress, but I refuse to eat seaweed again, unless it is wrapped around fresh squid.
Delicious wonderful squishy slimy chewy ancient kraken of the deeps... why won't Abysos come out and play?

There is nothing on my god-o-vision these days: no sneak attacks, no deadly diseases, no lame troops to kill.
Only the good people of South Hengewood giving me 500 gold.

Exciting war, huh?
All this success is leaving too few people dead
Too few fishy corpses to pick through, too few, too few...

Sammy sends word. Doesn't the kid have anything better to do? Like, say, research?
"Oh great Cthulu," he starts. (He doesn't actually say that. I just like to pretend.
My minions never grovel sufficiently.)
"Excellent news here. Stop. Heard news about nearby den of necromancers. Stop.
Obvious now why so many girls in this land are death-obsessed. Stop.
Nearby town had the most wonderful little harvest festival that I went to with Stella and Sarah and..."
Eyargh, I need to eat someone.

N
O
W

[Sedna]

Turn 33, R'lyeh

So they starve, so they starve, what do I care: we have broken through the fortress! The only question now is: would I rather deep fry the squid? Turn it into ceviche? Lightly sauté it with butter and capers? Perhaps a delicate yellow curry. Squid soup for everyone.

Just as soon as we rips 'im limb from limb from limb from limb...

The only thing marring my joy is this nasty posse of Atlantians who refused to let themselves be eaten, but instead attacked me -- me -- in the province to the north. The nerve, oh, the nerve. I shall crush them just as soon as I am done with my fried ceviche butter curry soup of squid.

Ooh, ooh, have you heard my latest witticism? "You can't make an omelet without kracken eggs." I just kracken myself up. Ha ha.

To celebrate, I send more minions on the far side of the world out to death, theirs or others, what do I care? My spawnlings I send against tritons, my assorted rabble of a vaguely non-live nature I send against some dull little coastal province with archers. I used to love to eat archers, their long bows perfect for dislodging bits of limb caught in my tentacles. But land food just doesn't appeal right now when the sea is about to yield up such a bounteous feast. Atlantian really does taste just like chicken.

[puffyn]

Hi Griffin,

Welcome to the game. Feel free to post the occasional yarn if you get into the game - I know there's only a few of us posting most turns these days, but I like reading all of the reports I can get. (And not just for the vital insights into everyone else's strategies... )

-Puffyn

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 31 ----

We turn north again, working on fragmentary reports from scouts throughout Mictlan's empire. My plan is to avoid the large enemy army encamped just south of their capitol, skirt around, and hit their city from the west. The going will be slow, since it will be necessary to pacify the locals, clear out blood-hunters, and set up some sort of local defense at each town we come to. If all goes according to plan, we should be outside their bloody walls in two, maybe three months.

Looking back over my previous entries, I see that I have neglected to mention the strange beings that now travel with us. Balachandra calls them vinoghers. I normally call them "stupid" or "mindless twit", since they have no conception of personal space or self preservation, and are happy to aimless wander into a campfire, scatter ash and plant bits into one's butter, and then plod off, completely oblivious to the flames now dancing around their legs. We've lost three of them and nearly a pound of butter that way, but more seem to arrive continually.

But the vinoghers are quite sturdy in battle. Not as effective offensively as my hoplite, they do have a remarkable ability to keep wandering forward, randomly crushing things, despite missing an arm or two. In the most recent skirmish, the slave armies of Mictlan turned and fled at their mere approach. I guess the strange southern sorceresses (Ulde, or one of her triplets) are to thank or blame for these brutes. I don't need them to win battles, but they keep my real men healthy and I am grateful for that. I shall have to send the triplets a nice fruit basket from the Mictlan capitol when it falls.
---

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 32 ----

At times I feel a little redundant. We approached a large Mictlan army on the plains outside Oeversee. As usual, I had my slow troops in a protective square around the mystics, priests, wounded, and other useless bums. On the left flank, the now-elite hypastist phalanx; on the right, a barely distinguishable clump of vines and moss that typically breaks up into something like ten vinoghers.

The blood-herders have some men who have mastered the art of flight, and these sometimes cause problems for the mystics, who have never held an honest spear in their life. In this case, one lone fanatic soared majestically into the air, raised his spear, gave a horrible cry, and ... promptly skewered himself upon the spears of the phalanx.

The mystics were wasting their time on foolish chants, so I left Andromache to watch out for them, and marched forward with the phalanx. The slave army had nearly reached us, and though we were heavily outnumbered, I could see the fear in their eyes, for we have gained quite a fearsome reputation in these parts. There was a sound like a thousands swords being drawn, and a whistling that you felt, rather than heard. Instinctively, we all ducked behind shields, pulled our helmets down low, but the whirling blades came from behind us, flew safely over our heads, and scythed the slave army apart.

The slaves of Mictlan rarely wear any armor or shields, and are generally slow also. The blades tore limbs clean off, chunked a few of them cleanly, and generally mangled a number more. Slipping on the blood and entrails, still more afraid of their masters behind them than of the death in front, the few remaining slaves got to their feet, and struggled forward. At that moment, a lightening bolt appeared out of the sky, and with a great clap of thunder, charred the earth directly in front of the slaves. On the way down, the lightening must have caught the trees branches on fire, for the next second, a veritable shower of fire fell amongst the poor conscripts, burning many, and lighting several of them on fire.

The survivors fled as soon as we reached them and presented our spear points, and impenetrable wall of gleaming shields. The vinoghers tore a few apart as they ran, dropping their spears to escape more quickly. The few non-slave warriors melted easily under our advance, and the battlefield was ours.

That night, I spoke with Tushar (Balachandra's second cousin, once removed). He confirmed my suspicion that there was nothing supernatural going on at the battle: the mystics had simply found a way to propel a large number of sharpened blades through the air. He refused to tell me the mechanism though: "Magic," he replied with a wink. Of course he also claimed credit for the lightning strike, but it was clear he was just trying to see how gullible I am.

---

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 33 ----

Tushar's invention (the troops nervously refer to it as The Blade Wind. As in, "Keep your head low in battle or the blade wind will send your head back home to Attica without your body", or, "If you touch my butter ration again I'll blade wind you back to the stone age") remains devastatingly effective against the forces of Mictlan. With its help, we cut a bloody swath through the patrolling army and are now camped outside the gates of Mictlan itself, gathering the materials for a siege. I do not know how long we will have to remain here. The walls around this city are strong ones, and there are many defenders inside.

I have heard some odd reports from back home. Upper Skelde, just north of Oast Hills, has always been home to a proud and warlike people. Now, perhaps, they have been defeated in battle by forces under the control of the village elders. Or perhaps not — I have heard both. It almost seems as if a rabble of locals was soundly defeated there, and yet the province spontaneously decided to join their fate to ours anyway. And I keep hearing a name I have not heard in a long time... Limmy. It seems that the faith of some people never dies.

The sorceress triplets (I think Vlde, actually, but I cannot keep them straight) have sent a messenger complaining that a large slaver force is marching south directly for them. The scum have already taken the sacred grove of the old woman, and the sorceresses fear that the fort in the sinking land will soon be under siege. I'll write them a witty response telling them to get their plant buddies to protect them. Bloody sorceresses— can't even handle a little counter-attack. The troops believe that they are not altogether dedicated to our cause, so I'm certainly not about to go rushing off to save them. I'm sure that once Mictlan's capitol falls, the god-empress (as she imagines herself) of this people, also known as Sethra, Lady of Fever, will surrender completely.

Honestly though, I hope the so-called Harvester comes in person to try and break the siege. I would love to end her reign of terror on my spear-point.

---

[Sedna]

Turn 34, R'lyeh

Now THAT was a meal!

The kelp walls rolled back at Last under our relentless attack and we stormed the heart of Atlantis, the deepest place of this world, where starlight never reaches to burn their fish-eyes.

My shambler thrall and assorted otherworldly beings were at the maw first, while my shark knights and rabble of tritons prepared for their vertical attack. Behind them all, my Illithids waited in steely grey silent rows, clutching their tridents, and focusing their minds on the void.

But Atlantis was not going to wait patiently for our attack. Diving down from the starless darkness above our heads came a cluster of tritons, and a handful of horrendously coiled sea serpents. The serpents dove upon the shamblers, breaking their necks between powerful jaws. The dumb brutes just stood there, trying helplessly to trample their foe. Sheer numbers carried the day. Even the tritons who landed amongst our weaker Illithids had their minds torn out by screams, and the serpents were surrounded on all sides my meteorite guards and formless things and vile spawn. And their bodies returned to the sea.

Enemy mages drew down the water above our heads so that it struck our ranks, sending troops flying. Some cowards now fled under the storm, but my elite shark knights had swum, unhindered to the side of Abysos, the great kracken, pretend ruler of the seas. Their might teeth tore chunks from him, and the smell of blood now coursed through the veins of the sea.

My own preparations complete, I surged forward, cutting a path through the gate not far behind the surviving thrall. There, in the narrow space, their coral guard engaged us, and many of my slaves poisoned trying to rend the armor apart, but I was protected by powerful magic, and the screams of the Illithids behind us froze ever more Atlantians, and they fled into the darkness prepared for them.

Now Abysos issued forth, and his tentacles were everywhere, flinging my slaves into the walls of his fort, and into the deep chasms which littered the plain. His ink coiled around him, and caused every living thing near him to die. But I, protected, reached his side. With several tentacles paralyzed, and several more busy ripping a thrall into tiny pieces, I easily reached his side, and sank my own tentacle deep in his flesh.

For long we stood in the deep, just the two of us, as our forces skirmished on the side. Ever he strove to dislodge me, and ever I sucked out his life force. At Last he grew weary, and I grew full. I discarded the dried up remains, and my star-children finished the job.

For dessert, I ate three Initiates of the Deep and one Deep Seer. In the bloodied, turmoiled waters after the battle we found four magic clams, and one enormous cauldron of fish soup - leftovers.

Now I am sure there is an empire to run, but I am full, and must nap.