MP Game - Yarnspinners

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 55

My war against Caleum is underway: three legions rose from the depths, smashed through their defenses of Caelum and seized every one of the port cities on their main continent. If such a move had any real tactical significance it would have been pure genius. I've sent an abomination to pillage their back country, and unleashed a horde of undead against a gaggle of mages, who unfortunately mostly survived the encounter. The birds rely heavily on a spell which creates illusionary soldiers to defend their land. My spawn attempted to swat the enchantment away during our initial assault, but they failed. Yet the phantoms cannot hold back the tide...

Arco chose this moment to strike. Previously we had enjoyed only a few border skirmishes, but it is now quite clear that they intend to field powerful armies against me. If I were to attack Abysia and Machaka then I could be at war with all the major powers, which would be chaotically fun.

But for now I must continue my work here. Sammy reports on the following snippet found locked in the deepest vaults in Halls of Andvare. He believes it refers to the same prophecy about the Sleepers.


Sleepers on the isle of sea
Two wanderers far from home
On Beltane, one final fight
Seals the fate of the world


I don't know where Beltane is, and an isle of sea sounds like a lake to me, which is good news for R'lyeh (go big blue!).

Generally I distrust prophecies and eat prophets (I never had a chance to taste Xlikloth, although he had probably turned sour during his betrayal) but... I do kinda get this tingly sensation in my back knee which normally means there's an apocalypse a brewin'.

So the world is ending- what do you do? If you're a mad-elder-dreaming-god ya go with what worked well last time: raise taxes sky high on all your craven servants, send armies hopelessly to their deaths to distract your enemies from your true plans, launch new wars on those who you haven't yet had the pleasure of killing, and spend your days crawling around in the murky-dank forests, searching for some mystical powerhouse which will seal your supreme power. Stupid prophets and their blank verse! I so totally have the power to bring every corner of this world under my chaotic darkness- and then the world comes to an end. When I become truly omnipotent I'll make sure this kind of thing is outlawed.

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 55 ----

And it came to pass that the sleepy-ones marched forth in the aid of the butter-lover, and found a world much changed. Todd-of-the-extreme-height drew forth the blood-stained, tattered remains of "The Collected Sayings of Sokodnap (who was quick in battle but slow in his messy death)". "I inherited this scroll from my mother, Ddot, who woke with this world, and now I will see its setting," he explained to the reluctant prophet as the hypaspists rustled in their armor like a thousand leaves. "Now... which way is up on this stupid map?"

From The Collected Sayings of Pandokos the Prophet

Todd is leading us somewhere, and for some reason I keep following. I guess I'm morbidly curious about the end of the world prophecy, but I doubt that gore-encrusted scrap of parchment he carries really helps him very much. Todd seems... a bit out of touch. We marched into the Elder Hills last week, and he was so shocked to see knights that he just stood around gaping and let me do all the smiting. "Did these hills always used to be here? Where are the lush forest and average-sized lizards? We were supposed to turn right at the glacier..."

That night, Todd complained that the moon was smaller than it use to be in his day, and that the stars had "moved". I'm sure that the separation from his brother has driven the poor lad crazy, but most of the local recruits give a lot of credence to this mythology. Yesterday, when farmers arrived selling fresh produce, I overheard part of their conversation:

"I hear that them sleepers leave gold coins under young'uns' teeth"

"No, them's just crazy stories, why, C'tugul would choke on them when he ate their heads"

"D'ya reckon it's true what they say?"

"'Bout the world endin'?"

"Yep."

"Reckon so. My crops 'aint been growin' like they should. Figures this world here's about all used up and it's time for a new one."

"Huh. Maybe I'll come back as a bird. That'd be swell."

Like all locals these two were completely out of their mind, but at least they had fresh butter I could barter for. Back in Greece, if our world was ending, we wouldn't have any of this crazy talk about it coming back. It'd stay ended, the way worlds are meant to. It's times like these I'm reminded that I'm so far from home.

But enough musing. Todd has gotten us hopelessly lost in this hills and I have to search for a way out. A crazy man has wandered into camp shouting: "Sigh and Shudder the east-fold! Lightning and death will envelope the quiet lands and the fens will be stained with the ichor of the invaders!"

He seems at least as rational as anyone else here. Perhaps he'll be able to give cogent directions to the end of the world.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 56

It is possible that I have bitten off slightly more than I can comfortably swallow.

Arcoscephale continues to attack into my northern borders where Man still clings to life, avoiding my killer armies, and sneaking into my heartland and causing trouble. My war against Caelum generally goes well. We have made impressive gains along the eastern shore, and a battle was fought at the mighty fortress on the Isle of Locmar in which many birds armed with magic bows were vanquished, and their magic wonders fell into our hands. The ivy king who had been supporting that force lost his mind in the carnage, and that magical tree he carries now only serves as a club.

But then I had to attack Abysia too... just a few incursions into their border lands, but I'm sure they won't be forgiving. And then my master plan of taxing my people to death worked a little bit too quickly, and now my tax collectors are facing a devil of a time removing the slaves' gold teeth, and my beautiful piles of cash are vanishing (note to self: take over some lands which haven't been taxed heavily). And then Caelum launched their counter-attacks into my homeland. Ice devils amongst the forests of oak and kelp, and... in North Hengewood.

The purple. The purple.

It has come at last into this world to toy with us as a kitten idly bites wings off of flies. I had longed for, dreamed for, the day when I might first see it emerge in a shimmer of light through the void gate. And instead, I am awoken to a great disturbance and feel- see with my whole being as it flits halfway across the world, scatters defenses like chaff and destroys my beloved temple which so many slaves had died to raise unto me.

The foolish bird-folk do not, cannot know what they have brought into the world. Unleashed deep in my empire, they may think they are safe from the destructive urges. Yet as light creeps into even the dark places of the sea, so too its might will encompass and destroy the narrow confines of this earthly frame. Between it, and I, and the violence raging across the hinterlands, and the rising sea, and the storm... death comes as an end.

I am not worried. I am not overly concerned.

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 56 ----

Todd got us hopelessly lost, of course. We must have passed that particular circle of jagged rocks three times before he sat down, glummly, by the side of the river. He muttered unhappily about the opacity of prophet-blood and the disagreeable tendancy for sheepskin to decay after only a few thousand years. He had not been moping for more than an hour when our scout ran into camp, breathless at the news that a large army was approaching. I had my sword out and was mustering the troops when a second scout arrived with the happy news that the army was ours. And sure enough, there was an excessively tall man leading the way, talking amiably with Tushar

I was relieved: so Tushar had prevailed upon Rod and his army to head south. ("But there is still our ancestral time-share by the lake to free," Rod had protested feebly, before Tushar hit upon the magic word "apocalypse" to lure him here.) The brothers firbolg had a joyous reunion: the only ones who can find any happiness in the grim succession of ever-bloodier battles. I asked Tushar what news he had heard while in the north.

"It's not good, Pandokos," he said. "R'lyeh had only recently overrun the lands on the other side of the great river, and there were many refugees in miserable hovels on this side. They all wanted another mountain range or two between them and the terror they had left."

I told him what I had learned of the battles far to the east, where Maude was fighting back huge R'lyehan armies, how Man was surely going to fall soon, and then the full force would be brought to bear on us. There were reports of attacks throughout Arcoscephale -- crazed soldiers of R'lyeh rising from nowhere and attacking, though the local patrols easily killed them all. And we knew there were large armies just south of us.

"Oh, I ran into someone who knew you," said Tushar. "Name of Seleucus, sound familiar?" How could it not? He had been with Alexandros' main force, when we were left behind. By rights he should be back in Sparta now, with his wife and daughters... what was he still doing here? "Same as you, Pandokos: hiring himself out to the best-paying good cause." He had marched his hoplites the other way, toward the heart of R'lyeh land. It occurred to me that perhaps my troops and I hadn't been left behind: that not a single one of the brave lads who marched with Alexandros had left this land alive. I certainly won't...

Tushar's army camped by the river with us, and the next day we were joined by Balachandra, Andromache and the rest of the mystics we had left at the Jervellan Wall. "Well, we're all here now," said Rod cheerily. "Lead on, Todd." Todd looked around awkwardly, cleared his throat a little. "What, surely you know where we've going, after scouting it out for so long?" asked Rod. "Here, give me that scroll."

He looked at it and laughed. "South," he said. "The apocalypse has gone south for the winter."

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 57 ----

We are always fighting these days, and when we are not the wind cuts at us like knives as it howls across the frozen plains. I have not seen the sun in months; and I know that the stormclouds ever at my back are more than an especially harsh winter. But strangely, I find the dark gloom almost... reassuring. It is a constant reminder that it is not just I, but the whole world, that is spiraling into hell.

We were ambushed leaving the Elder Hills, en route to the large city of Upperna, where Limmy was reputed to be securing an outpost so my brave but tired troops could get some rest. The ambush was not large - a dozen ghouls, and we slew them all - but it came on the end of five days' hard march. Scouts had a large force of R'lyehans nearby, intent on retaking Upperna, and we were flying across the plains to head them off. Perhaps a third of my soldiers nursed serious wounds when we arrived at the city.

A light snow was falling, of course, but I barely noticed it. The city of Upperna smoked slightly from many smoldering fires. It switched hands several times during the Vanheim-Man war, then fell to R'lyeh, before Limmy convinced them to join our side. The old fool had clearly remembered my culinary tastes, for the farmers had all brought great quantities of butter along with their normal offering of food. Our great feast, which would have been the first proper meal in days, was cut short by the sighting of dark shapes advancing on the horizon. We grimly reformed our lines.

The wind picked up and blew flurries through the ranks, and I struggled to watch the approach of dozens of tall sea-colored shapes. As they got close, I realized that they were far taller than normal men, taller even than Rod and Todd. And then they began to scream. Blood ran out of the ears and noses of those unfortunate to be targeted, but there was nowhere on the field -- perhaps nowhere in the city -- that you could escape the sound, like the crashing of giant waves and the scream of wounded horses confined in the tiny space inside your head. The mystics and Golanish shamans were hit particularly hard; the fiends knew exactly who to target. Not far from me Tolma, a sorceress from the distant swamps, fell screaming in terror as her brains oozed out of her skull, and stared sightless at the flakes that began to cover her body.

Had there also been R'lyehan soldiers armed with spear and sword, the battle might have been lost; but most of their troops relied on that terrible scream. I felt great pride when not a single hypaspist or vinogher faltered in the charge across the plains, though some fell, skulls bleeding, before they reached the foe. The Illithids were cowards: it took only a short while for Tempest and the nascent blizzard to convince them to flee. I ran across the field with the men, intent on striking them down before the next volley of noise could split my skull, but they melted off the field before I could engage more than one. Their magician and priest were quickly killed; the leader of their ordinary troops surrendered. I do not trust him, and have placed guards with him at all time. And... I cannot prove it, but I am sure that it is his presence which caused all our precious butter to go sour.

It has been seven days since then, and my head is still ringing. I discovered an odd mark on my chest, after the battle: a jagged blue star, directly over my chest. I had not received a scratch in the battle, so I asked Andromache about it over dinner, but she ran off with a slight scream, and grabbed Balachandra. "This is not good, my friend," he said. "You have been marked." For what, I could have asked, but preferred not to know. We finished our butterless bread and soup in silence.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 57

My map of the world is getting extremely hard to read. Part of that is the blood, entrails, and cocktail sauce that I keep spilling on it, but mostly it's just the tangled web of orders that is required to keep the invasion of Caelum going, reclaim the lands they attack with their flying units, skirmish with Abysia, and assault the Arcoscephalean armies. Originally I thought it would be a good idea to draw each month's new orders in the blood of a different general who had failed me, but it turns out they all mostly have the same color blood, so that doesn't help.

Thalassa would have had blue blood, but unfortunately she went and got herself killed fighting Arco way on the other side of the world, and they weren't thoughtful enough to send a vial my way. I'd summon her back from beyond the veil, but... eh... don't feel like it. Besides, the world is ending, and my water mages are working on this neat little spell to flood the world and cleanse the coastlands of these pesky humans. That should be awesome.

Many humans have quaint notions about the shape of their world. They believe it to be a 4-dimensional riemannian manifold embedded in 11 supersymmetric dimensions, perhaps on the surface of some sort of coiled brane. In reality, it's flat. But there are certain places where the cosmos leaks through into the world they know. I have found one such place, deep in the earth on the Isle of the Hundred. The hundred what? Who can say- but the caves are full of stars. This place has an apocalypse-y kind of feel to it. It is the end of the world- in the literal sense- where this plane of existence meets into the greater reality... blah blah blah blah blah. This place needs more branes.

From the way Pandokos has been pushing his armies across the plains, it's clear that the Sleepers have an exact notion of where the final battle will be. Still, I feel I need to take the measure of my foe- see this god who has appeared to challenge me. I'll make a quick flight out there, try to talk with him, and be back here, building impenetrable defenses and massing hordes of chaff to be swept away in a tide of destruction.

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 58 ----

I slept uneasily in fits and starts, sprang from my bed at the awful shrieking of an Illithid scream, paused, tried to figure out of it was a dream, heard it again, grabbed sword and helm, and raced through darkened camp to slay the treacherous prisoner. He was safely guarded still, by sleepy watchmen of the night, and I heard the wail again pierce the stillness, though none of the watchmen heard a thing. In doubt now as to my sanity, I sprinted to Balachandra's tent. He and Andromache were sleeping peacefully in each other's arms, but the guard at the door to their tent slumped against the post, his eyes rolled back and vacant. It was then I glimpsed Tushar on the edge of camp, and a crouching, evil, purple-robed thing advancing on him. Tushar stood as if of stone, a pale white light enveloping him.

The purled-robed figure shrieked again, and my heart froze within me, but I dashed forward only to be brought up short in my tracks by something I could not see. I stood there, helpless, as Tushar reeled under the deadly gaze of this foul thing. And then he snapped awake, cried out one single word, and suddenly two creatures appeared. They were twisted, angular, transparent, pure malevolence. Their unearthly eyes roved around: horrors from beyond, predators of the soul, searching for their next meal. Their eyes lingered on me for what seemed like an eternity, and then they swooped on the purple thing, causing it to cower and hiss. Tushar, almost ready to faint, with blood pouring down his face, let cry again, and his assassin turned a violent blue, froze instantly to death, and the floating horrors vanished too. It was not Tushar's close brush with death, but the feeling of dread that these things provoked in me that caused me to lie awake and worry till dawn broke feebly through the ever present storm clouds.

As dusk fell on the next day we entered the city of Stavang on the shores of Vankara sound and found no resistance. I struggled to keep my eyes open as I went about my inspections. A cry to arms went up again, and I dashed to the lines. There, in the gathering gloom, just two Illithids and a few of their slave warriors. At last an easy struggle, I thought, but something else, tall and sinister, lurked in the darkness behind them.

I am at the banks of a river. The sun is out and high overhead and there is not a cloud in the sky. A warm breeze caresses my face and soft fingers stroke my arm. I turn, and there is Thymbre, radiant and smiling and warm. She leads me by the hand down beneath a willow tree where a blanket is spread, and food for a picnic. Sitting there waiting is an odd looking man, with green skin, three legs, and a mass of tentacles where his head should be.

Thymbre urges me to try some of the squid salad, and the green man confirms that it is very good, slurping it silently into his maw. Confused, I try a bite, and have a glass of wine. "Why am I here with you Thymbre, and who is your friend?"

Thymbre smiles her knowing smile and promises to explain everything very soon. She says that the green man has wanted to meet me for a long a time, and the tentacles nod in agreement.

"What do you do, sir? And how may I address you?"

He says his name, but it is carried away on the wind. His work, he says, is lying dreaming in the sea. He calls me friend, opines that I am not what he expected, and that perhaps our upcoming mutual death will not be so unpleasant. The harsh word "death" appears to break the spell. I glance at the black waters of river, at the boatman rowing back and forth upon it. I turn back, but Thymbre is fading. She blows me a kiss, and I wake upon the frozen earth where some small battle has clearly taken place, and yet we live to fight again.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 58

Young fool!

Magic swords do not grant a mortal the right to challenge a god! Some cobbled together army and a rotten human prophecy do not make Pandokos worthy to challenge me for supremacy of this sphere! I will crush him like a bug, and await the coming of my true adversary.

But I... I dream again. I flew out to witness his attack on some boring, two-bit human city. I felt no god-like being among their ranks, so I called out in my native tongue for Pandokos- and Pandokos came forth. The pull of his dream was strong, and before I could stop him, we were in this evil-looking place with bright sunlight and nasty green grass and young trees everywhere. A hideous monster was attempting to eat his tongue- and he didn't even object, or seem to notice. I tried to save him by sucking this monster's brain, but she shape-shifted, turned to crunchy-spicy kracken beneath my tentacle. The monster fell back. I was puzzled by the other god's form. I reasoned that perhaps taking a human form is a good way to trick the local peasants into trusting you long enough to eat them, and we chatted about this and that. He seemed very startled when I told him that the prophecy had several gods dying in the upcoming battle to decide the fate of the world, and broke off contact.

Later I ate a scout, and tasted in his eyes the Arco army. It was then that I realized that this human form was no dream-shape, no facade. This is just a tiny human with a sword that is bigger than he. In vain, I summoned scout after scout, trying to find one who tasted like he had seen a god. The northern scum have acquired several beings of power- a queen of the air, a few tartarians from beyond the gate. There is one blue skinned fellow with many arms who is a legitimate (if weak) god. One of those karmic-the-universe-is-a-cycle-I'll-spend-my-time-seducing-milk-maids-and-eating-butter-rather-than-conquer-the-world types. I doubt he'll even remember to show up to the final fight.

And so I head back to the Caves of Passing time, and stare glumly into them. Is there some other god who will come- unforeseen at the last hour? When Pandokos sees the force that I am assembling on the isle he will turn in fear and not fight. But even if he does fight, his tiny army will barely wet the field of conflict; while the prophecy speaks of rivers of blood and death of gods. I do not think Man has a god left. The vampire of the west, and the spider-king of the east are both busy and far from the isle. Even the birds, who keep my armies so busy in the south, are a long way from the isle. I have not met their pretender- but all reports taste that he is merely some unwilling ghost, dragged back from the grave by power-hungry priests.

So if the prophecy is right, there is someone I'm not counting on. Perhaps from outside of this dimension? Some greater being who will storm through in two month's time? Seize the isle and the caves from me? Hold possession of it for the long hours of May Day as the ancient fires burn and this world spins in a favored part of the time-stream? Attract the attention of the beyond through the blood of the battle, master time, stop time, end the world as ruler of all?

I must consult my books, I must gather my forces-- too long I have toyed with these humans. Something deadly is coming and I must be ready.

[Sedna]

Wheee... I'm going to kill you all!

Hey, CuriousCat, were you interested in playing in Yarnspinners 2? We have a cool new wiki for it:
Yarnspinners 2 wiki

and sign-ups are in this thread

It's gonna be pretty fun.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 59

Whoever invented the game of parchesi anyway? It's stupid, and mindless, and there's no way that lobo guard should have been able to beat me.

I'm just not one for book-learnin' I guess. A few hours of pouring over ancient prophecy trying to divine the ultimate fate of this world and myself and I'm thinking about squid sandwiches and octopus smoothies instead of the upcoming apocalysi.

And how can a busy god be expected to keep one's mind on the task at hand? Everywhere my empire is fighting, struggling against these other pretenders to my crown. The birds are particularly annoying. Some magic spell has enabled all their troops to go underwater without my permission, and they have being taking advantage of this to sow dissent. In retaliation, a loyal sea king of mine has ordered the waves to rise and cover the infidels, flooding the coastal provinces everywhere and bringing fresh blood down to the hungry, hungry depths.

Sammy claims that this could be considered a possible fulfillment of the following scrap of prophecy: "And two moons before the end of the world, the air shall fly under the sea, and the sea shall cover the lands."

But I call this a radical interpretation of the text. It's clear that the above is simply a metaphor for the fall of the Babylonian empire. Crazy human kids are always reading so much into prophecy. I mean, the same thing goes on to say: "Spring will turn into an ill winter, and the giants will awaken to stalk the earth", but you don't see that happening.

I threw a horde of ghosts and a bunch of devils at Pandokos, trying to scare him off, but he's pretty well protected by those mages still. And now he's camped just across the river from my headquarters in the Caves of Passing Time. Tonight I plan to send a single lobo guard across the river ever half hour. Hopefully, the alarm will be raised every time and the foolish mortal won't get any of that "sleep" that such weaklings require. Oh- and that punk who beat me at parchesi? First across the river...