MP Game - Yarnspinners

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 39


"ATTN: Front Line", read Ahu'yhuala, looking up from his sand castle. "Keep up the good work!! Your efforts are very valuable to us in the fight against [blank].." Here he paused, squinted. The words "Atlantis", "Tritons", "Evil soul-sucking void lords", "Man", and "All those who oppose us" were all scrawled in the blank, though some of them appeared to be crossed out. "Our glorious struggle demands constant vigilance and sacrifice," he continued. He glanced at his men. B Squadron appeared to have copied his drip-arch model, and was taking advantage of his inattention to the sand to add elaborate shell hatching to their castle turrets.

He skimmed the rest of the message. "Be assured that the GAPFC-BPRR has important plans for your brave warriors/ magicians/ chefs (choose all that apply). Stand by for urgent communiques to follow." It was signed "X", like all the others. Ahu'yhuala placed the memo down, and began work on a double-layered tunnel system. He could not let A Squadron down. They would have the best sand castle ever. He figured he had a good two, three months before X got around to sending him actual orders. There was no time to waste.

[magnate]

Well, it looks like the game is pretty interesting, with several races still in contention.

The yarns, though, are far less hotly contested, with Arco way out in front and only R'lyeh with any hope of catching.

Are you all still interested in scores for the yarns? I'm happy to keep going if you are, but it seems to me like the yarns and the game have become separate competitions.

CC

[puffyn]

Hi Magnate,

As I recall, the original victory conditions for the game involved the points for the yarns plus some points for the top three people in all score graphs except army size. I realize of course that I have the most to benefit from these rules remaining the same (though as you can see Arco is doing fairly middling in most score graphs). At this point, I hope everyone has realized that I'm really just having fun writing the yarns, and any points that result are a pure bonus.

-Puffyn

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 40 ----

... and when Pandokos wrote to the most wise Elders to tell them of the joyous defeat of the evil Mictlanians, he grumbled, saying, "By Zeus, it takes longer to sign my name than it does to write 'Blood suckers dead. War over'." But Nihar, who is related to Balachandra, the First of the Wise, on his mother's side, through her second cousin ... [passage elided] ..., read what he had signed, and he noted that although it was true that he was "Pandokos, Acting Stategos of Oast Hills, the Sinking Lands, North & South Horslund Forest, and various sundry swamps, as well as all lands formerly in Sethra's thrall," there were also some tactless omissions. But Pandokos, whose bravery in battle is not matched by his consideration for the feelings of the loyal inhabitants of Aeros River, the Skeldes, and Godsgrave Pass, said some unkind words and muttered, "I've got to come up with a shorter name..."

From The Collected Sayings of Pandokos the Prophet, in his second incarnation

Today, we are at peace. No more slave raids mar the beauty of this land, no more young girls are put to the knife, no more unnatural creatures terrorize the people. It ended, appropriately, with the death of Hueheuteotl, who had spent a month encamped outside the Mictlan capital, attended by a lone archer. The mystics, as is typical, declared it was "not worth their time" to put down their books for five minutes and slay this lunatic, so only Odysseus and an old priest came out to meet me when I arrived with the army. It was clear from the first that the archer wanted to abandon this mad siege and surrender, but his so-called prophet quickly smote him dead when he tried to flee. Five of my hypaspists also fell before we ran him through. They were given burials fitting for any hero.

Since then, it has been nothing but joyous celebration in the former capitol (except for Balachandra, who follows me around asking when Andromache is expected to return). Tens of thousands of people died in just the last five years, and the survivors are jubilant (and a little shocked) that the old priests are gone. All of the old temples have been torn down, though I hear rumors that, against my orders, some of the lesser priests and officials who know the workings of the royal treasure vaults have been kept on. But though there is much dancing in the streets all through the warm summer nights, there are, as yet, few takers for the new religious faith being offered them. The least offensive of the old temples, the temple of the moon, has been properly cleansed and rededicated to Artemis, but attendance remains low. I suspect it may take a little while for them to feel able to trust the gods again, but concede to Thymbre our old argument about reason and religion: perhaps a little belief that the future will be better is not so very bad.

Certainly, the city-dwellers are aping some of the more bizarre customs of my local troops, such as smearing themselves with butter and composing ridiculous rhymes on the subject of churned dairy products. They also shout out "Argasi, Argasi" every time I walk through the streets, which I was told by Balachandra was the local word for our Greek troops. Perhaps they have been speaking with some of our brave lads from Arkadia; though by the way Balachandra smiled when he told me this I rather suspect it has a different meaning in his dialect. He refuses to elaborate.

It made me think, though, that we need something to tie our far-flung cities together. The village of Oast Hills may still be paying for our army's upkeep, but out here the name rolls off the tongue as "Waste Hells", which seems to annoy the mystics. There are also a few people who grumble about us as invaders, and more than a few who worry that they are now simple vassals to a far-off kingdom. So I have come up with a new name, that combines the "Argasi" with the local word for "people", "sifaly", or Arcoscephale, after appropriate Hellenification. It is under that name that we shall forge a nation. And let us hope that it will be a land of peace and prosperity and lots of butter.
---

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 40

Tonight, is our night. For too long have been held captive, dreaming in the city under the waves. The minds of men are ours to consume. It is our birthright, our calling, our long-held sacred duty. Tonight, we begin. Tonight, is our night.

It will be tough going. Arrows will pierce your flesh, and a cruel, unfriendly sky will hurl down death upon you. Yet, through the storm, through the tempest of arrows, you will pass, slipping between the place they know and the place they will never comprehend and rending their minds in turn. On the beaches of Westwatch and Anodyr, under the cliffs of Shalen, and in the fetid fens of Draggonsbladder, many brave beings will become martyrs, many brave beings will journey tomorrow on different, far stranger waves. Yet the dead will serve to rededicate us, to reaffirm our holy goal.

And what is our goal? What called us to this place, long ago, from across the great void? Conquest! Dominion! Godhood! For too long we have been fettered by the weak-minded, and ruled as much by our slaves and we ruled them. Tonight that changes. The ichor of Illithid on the sands of Man shall be a sign, seen from heaven itself. Tonight is our night, and heaven shall tremble in fear. Tonight is our night, and stained sands will bear witness of our deeds here till the rivers change courses and the mountains are moved. Tonight is our night! Let the summer vale burn, and its fire be a warning to the rest of the world: tonight is our night!

This is the Word of X.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 41

Light and airy, with subtle, fruity notes and an earthy undertone. Moderate fat content, good levels of iodine and vitamin D,

I can only conclude that I have returned to the moderate latitudes, and I cannot be far from the sea. This land is mostly empty, it took many days before I found a wandering hunter to sample. I'm not sure exactly where, somewhere in Man's empire I presume. I hope they will not misinterpret my presence.

It was nearly two months ago now when the loyal starspawn found me high in the north of this world, nearly mad with hunger and rage. He studied the spell that had banished me from my watery palace, and said that he would be able to use those faint lingering tendrils of starlight to send me back through space-time to kill the one who did this to me: Xlikloth. At first I was skeptical, but then he showed me the fine weapons Cthugul and his boys back in the lab had been cooking up... and my urge to bury them into soft, yielding flesh grew too great.

Clearly, more skepticism was warranted, since nobody around here has a name beginning with X. I think I'll go south. No, north. Hmmm... but east is so attractive too. Perhaps I'll just sit here and wait for news to come to me in tasty little human nuggets.

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 41 ----

It is late summer here. The small melt-water creek that runs along the west bank of the city is almost warm, and though it is still a bit colder here than I would expect for the season, the locals revel in what they claim is an uncharacteristic warm spell. Every day the riverbanks are filled with laughing children and young women, who even a few weeks earlier were too scared to leave their homes. Some of them have even taken to swimming in it, and consequently I have had a hard time enforcing rigorous training schedules among my hoplites and hypaspists, who always find some pretext to patrol near the river.

I am of course making sure my trooops maintain acceptable standards of training and readiness. But for the first time in years - decades - there is no immediate threat. It is not as if we have won this fight only to turn around to fight another foe tomorrow; we are really, actually, at peace. After all those years in Alexandros' army, then on the great campaign, then those dark years after our abandonment when we would fight for whichever side promised us bread, then the service to the Oast Hills elders that led to the overthrow of the evil blood-leeches... I feel almost at a loss about what to do next.

I think I will go swimming. I miss Thymbre now, perhaps more than I have the past few months, because now there is time to pause and reflect on her absence, and the small beaver dam I found last week that will go unremarked by her. But in other ways the pain has almost faded away, like a grave wound that has at last scarred over, and is little more than a memory permanently etched on your skin. I know that she would be happy that this land is cleansed of blood sacrifices. I know that she might even, though I still cannot, consider it to have been worth dying over.

I think mostly she would be pleased this unhappy city is slowly blossoming into a happy, civilized city. I have kept busy conferring with architects and engineers to rebuild after decades of neglect, and they seem more than happy to try out my fading memories of real archictural design (though we're having a bit of a problem reconciling column tastes). It has created a lot of work for the many former soldiers, who slave or free were wretchedly treated under the old regime. It is good to hear the sound of hammer and chisel, of people haggling in the marketplace over a variety of food unimaginably vaster than what was available during the long seige.

One thing, though. I haven't spoken much with any of the mystics in ages, not even Balachandra, who keeps constant watch on the roads. Strange sounds sometimes come from their quarters, and they often walk around with smiles on their faces, and far, distant looks in their eyes. I wonder if I should be concerned with what they are up to. Their quarters are across the river. Perhaps I should wander down that way and keep an eye on them.
---

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 42 ----

Many ignorant people believe the gods find their amusement in thwarting the efforts of man, by multiplying our troubles when we are down, and providing good things only to lull us into a false sense of peace. Until today, I had little credited such ideas.

It really is impossible to keep a large empire happy and united, especially when the dilapidated animal tracks that pass for roads through the southern swamps have been further ruined by many armies marching to and fro upon them, waging war. A messenger on foot can take half a year to reach Horslund Forest from Oast Hills, despite the raging peace.

Although I do feel the weight of age in my bones, I am not just engaging in senile rambling, but have three salient points to relate on this topic. Firstly, I have issued a command to the mystics who are so busy at their forges that they should provide us with more pairs of winged boots, such as the ones Andromache never takes off (except, presumably, when she is with Balachandra, unless they can carry the weight of two people). With these marvelous devices it is possible to bypass the sludge and cut the travel time dramatically. I desire them not for myself, but for the mystics studying here. They have better things to do with their time than wander the swamps, and I'm sure if I sent the whole gaggle south they would arrive depleted in number, and the bog would be richer in mystical robes.

Secondly, bizarre rumors come from the south speak of a race of ancient sleepers who are awakening and stirring up in the people memories of a time they never knew; hopes for a golden age, impossibly bright; whispers of power beyond compare and above contention. So far, it appears these charlatans have confined themselves to ramblings about the lands on our western border, now owned by the Vanir. But I wonder how long it will be before they turn their poisoned tongues against me...

And thirdly, I have just had a messenger to tell me that the tribe who lives north of here (the Yldemirians) have broken their oaths to us and set up an independent state. I do not wish to become a tyrant, but such treachery, so soon after we freed them, cannot be allowed to stand. I am also given to understand that a mystic searching there uncovered a cave containing very rare yellow gems. Perhaps the locals sought to gain possession of this resource our mystics spent so much effort finding, or perhaps they simply feel that in such a large empire, in which travel is so difficult, they would be allowed to rebel. Whichever the case, I shall bow to the amusement of the gods, forsake my peaceful time here, and march north with an army to crush these insurgents.

Yet, surely the non-existent gods have been kinder to me than to the ruler of the Kingdom of Man, Ward of the Summer Vale. Scout reports paint a grim portrait: already engaged with the Vanir, the things from beneath the waves have emerged into the sunlight which surely hates their existence, and have carved a swath of destruction; from the south, the spider people have joined in the attack, leaving Man beset by enemies on all sides, and sure to crumble.
---

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 43 ----

The Yldemirians had gone completely wild in just a few weeks. Entirely forsaking their initial claims of principled revolt, a mob took to the hills to crude weapons and set about systematically pillaging the land. We took them in a little clearing in the mountains, and it still does my heart good to remember: with wild shrieks they emerged from all sides, and before I could call a word the hypaspists, hoplites, and silver shields had shucked off their marching gear and assembled into two deadly lines of metal facing their foes. The barbarians came on strong, and bashed apart the lone vinogher who had been traveling with our army and was outside the main column trying to make friends with a moss-covered rock. Then they reached our line, flung themselves upon it... and broke, like the tide on a rock cliff. Not one of my men was injured in the initial blow, and our counter charge was swift, sure, and deadly.

There is little else for me to do here. Messengers from the west have arrived, proclaiming that all the lands between here and the Frost-Water mountains now pledge allegiance and support to Arcoscephale. Another lost group of silver shields have joined us (hearing that soldiers of Alexandros were always welcome in Oast Hills) and, led by Samir, has ventured north to pacify the unruly tribes around the headwaters of Aeros River. Meanwhile, Limmy's quest to redeem himself continues to win us support in the Farsen Forest region. I have my doubts, though, as to whether Ole Blue actually does any fighting anymore, or simply uses his supposed immortality and buttery tongue to woo the daughters of local chieftain, and in that way gain their aid.

I shall return to the city of Mictlan, I suppose, and use one of these pairs of flying boots to make a quick survey of the empire. In particular, I wish to meet these sleepers in the Sinking Land and find out what they're really up to. The latest crazy rumor is that they're giants, which probably means that they're about an inch taller than the nutrient-starved denizens of the swamp, and armed with magical weapons, which probably means that their arms are carved with scary-looking runes. Still, "ancient heroes awaiting the final cataclysmic battle that will decide the fate of the world" or not, they are gaining quite a following, and thus merit some attention.

I can't even remember how long it's been since I last saw Oast Hills. Perhaps it has shrunk in my memory after wandering the vast temples of Mictlan, or perhaps it is true that the leaders of such a crummy little hovel on the edge of a muddy brook now rule all this land. It is hard to credit. And... I cannot escape feeling like I am a puppet in all this. That my actions are scarcely my own, and my motions guided by... something like fate I suppose. I simply bend to the necessities that push around me. And the end? The ultimate destination is the same for all mortals. But I cannot see what lies between there and here. Once I thought I knew: the army makes such sight-seeing easy by bringing the final goal ever closer. Maybe it is just this odd land, and Zeus knows that my adventures hereto have been strange, but I feel that my path is about to get truly bizarre.
---

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 42

X,
We have secured this end of the bridge, and encountered only light resistance. Where are the armies of Man? Though, in your genius, you choose to attack when they were heavily engaged with treacherous Vanheim, they must still have great forces in the eastern part of their kingdom. All is deserted here, but we shall remain, holding the bridge, to give you all the time you need to tear down the walls of Starko, and unleash death thereupon. All hail the glorious X.
- Xi Mi, high-general of the GAPFC-BPRR, and secretary of goodness and puppies

X,
Kill. Ate. Destroy. Sun bright. Woods good. Run, run away. Into the wild. Into the woods.
- Aud

X,
As ordered, squadrons A and B struck west this month, capturing Horken Bog. We encountered only light resistance, and suffered no casualties. We have received no further orders and continue south along the river, hoping to seize the magical laboratory in the Dunwash and capture or kill the sages there.
- Ahu'yhuala

X,
We woke, so hungry, under cold, heavy raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains. No forces of Man stood to hinder our gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains. One scout tried to stop us, and we gave him great paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains. We now shamble west; under the hills there are fertile plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains. We'll beat down their defenses and trample their graaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains. And then, maybe south, to eat our their...
- Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains