MP Game - Yarnspinners

[Tuidjy]

Caelum, Turn 2


I had hoped that I would find in Caelum the peace that I was denied in the
grave. It was not meant to be. Our little nation is an island of calm in the
middle of a sea of turmoil. As my self-proclaimed prophet spreads the word of
our achievements, pilgrims from the nearby provinces flock to the temple. They
bear grim news. Ruthless warlords, fanatic tribal chiefs, and hedge wizards
have gathered bands of brigands and unemployed mercenaries, and have
proclaimed themselves lords of nearby lands. They take anything they like from
the small folks, and drown any protests in blood.

Not a day goes by without some dust-covered traveler asking for our help. The
stories are similar, but every new one makes it harder for me to ignore the
pleas. I am not sure why, but I am starting to feel reponsible to those who
place their faith in me and my followers. The Prophet feels the same, I think.
He is preparing for a journey to the south – he hopes to sway the local warlord
into aligning himself with us. I am worried about the boy. He is taking only
a few warriors as an escort, fearing to give offense or to appear threatening.
He says that his faith will be his shield, but I know that I am no deity, and
am very glad he is taking his ice aegis with him.

While he is gone, his place in the library will be taken by an Arch Seraph that
recently joined us. He is very old, and remembers the glory days of Caelum. I
think he offered his services because he thought that we have a chance to
restore order and peace in the former imperial lands. Somehow, I appreciate
his trust a lot more than any blind belief, no matter how ardent. I am quite
impressed with the old guy. He is a master of air magic and quite comfortable
with water and nature. It is strange, though, that once he manages to teach me
any spell, I am able to cast it with less strain and more power than he does.
He is firmly convinced that I have great potential, and insists we concentrate
on Alteration spells. Supposedly, these will help keep me around long enough
to come into my power, which he insists is considerable.

Unfortunately, I am not the only one. All across the world, beings of unusual
power have arisen, and are expanding their spheres of influence. Liches,
vampires, ancient gods and ambitious titans, they all seek to forge empires.
Maybe I am worrying for nothing - they may be driven by their believers’ best
interests, and yearn for peace and prosperity, just as I do.

I certainly hope so...

[Sheap]

Late Spring, year 1.

One thing about spending a couple of millenia in the tomb, you develop a little different perspective on things.

This month my tax collectors did their best to fill the treasury with gold and silk. Here in Machaka, of course, we have plenty of silk. But gold is always in short supply.

A tribal queen, the Sorceress Nusurika, was enlisted to assist in this activity, as well as rituals of dark magics, dust and smoke and bones. But while preparing her kindling for some magical experiment, the tinderbox fell on the urn of incense, shattering it and spilling the magical essence across the floor.

Now, everyone knows the thing to do when you have a magical spill, or some other sort of spellcasting misfortune. And what you specifically do NOT do, is run out into the main market, making a scene, and berating the poor potter for his shoddy workmanship. Especially when it turns out that the urn in question was intended only for storage of incense of the ceremonial, not magical, variety. Over time the energies built up and it is no wonder the urn shattered at the slightest provocation. Remember, always store your spell components in the original container, use a child-proof cap, and read the label!

The next thing you know, the entire marketplace had heard of the magical blunder. And thus the word spread, throughout the province, that the wielders of magic in the capital could not tell the difference between ordinary pottery, and the thrice-fired, magic-resistant, ward-inscribed variety.

Back when I was alive, things like this would really get me worked up. But now they pass by. I expect many such things will occur in the future, but wish to expend no energy fighting them. Life, or lack thereof, goes on.

As a final note, the Fates have intervened. The Sorceress was cursed, as were her assistants, for failing to take heed of even basic magical precautions.

[Sheap]

Early Summer, year 1.

The events of Last month have reminded me that matters of the spirit are just as important as matters of the arcane. Especially if, as it may happen, there's not much to you BUT spirit.

Those who believe in me have spread the news of my return far and wide, even over the water, and have encountered no believers in rival faiths. But my ravens and parrots have told me that, in fact, there are prophets of false gods afoot in the world, new ones rising every turn. To counter this, Oginga, Voice of the Lord, shall go forth to seek out these false prophets and defeat them by virtue of his eloquent preaching. Or, failing that, by virtue of his eloquent dagger.

This month's focus on religious studies has quieted the populace after the unfortunate events of Last month. However, a fight broke out among some of the more devout templegoers regarding how many Lammashtas can dance on the head of a pin, and whether they would want to. Unfortunately in the ensuing chaos, one of the participants was slain. But because of his great devotion, his spirit was reborn, and will fight to advance the cause. For the record, the answer is six. Hey, a god's got to entertain himself somehow, and it's not like they buried me with a Game Boy Abacus.

I am glad that the people in nearby provinces are so willing to accept the true religion. If only they were not so violent and well-armed.

[Alneyan]

I know I am not exactly in advance. *Kicks silly connection*

The Kingdom of the Vale, Spring:

"All archers, draw!" Silbertain, the commander of the Vale forces yelled at his troops. His only merit in the eyes of Ilneoa was his mighty lungs, hardly enough to secure a position as officer by her standards. Still, she surmised his powerful voice would be more helpful to carry out orders or galvanise the troops than the wits he must have left in a cup of ale.

"Fire!" The first volley of arrows flew towards their intended target, but the bowmen were already busy reloading their weapons. "Draw! Fire!" Again the bows sang, but this time more than a few projectiles were off course. "Fire! Pull back! Draw! Fire!" More soldiers failed to send their arrows with any accuracy, and a few could not keep up with the hectic pace imposed by Silbertain. Truly, it did not bode well for the outcome of the battle.

As the archers finished emptying their quivers, Ilneoa came among her defenders. "This is your Last day in the Fair Land; at dusk, you are to move southwards, for the defence of the Vale requires your arms and your strength." Her crystalline voice rang clearly in the camp, but there was still a hint of worry in her words. "But today, you are free to rejoice. Let the feast fill your hearts with gaity, as you deserve no less." Her troops cheered at her proposal, and already drinks and meet were shared freely.

This evening, they would still be spring lads, but on the morrow they would have to face an unknown foe. The southern lands they were attacking were run by a minor lordling, a vassal of the Earl of Syzran. Rumour has it that his county had been overrun by the savage warriors thriving in these barren lands; either way, his estate was surely weakened and unable to repel a major offensive. Thus did her good hearted-men walked at twilight, leaving the bountyful Avalon for the hostile Kostroma.

[Karacan]

Ermor: Turn 3

The attack on Gali went excepetionally well. Rolf Magnus and his mercenaries were worth the investment, as a crossbow bolt immediatley sent one of the defending captains to a wounded retreat. The heavy infantry was made up of braver men than expected, but my fearless followers held them long enough for the crossbowmen's work to be done.

The ritual I cast was a success, and a powerful elder mage named Simith has followed my call to service. He shares my conviction of bringing the ultimate enlightenment into the world, and I will have many a task for him before this is done. For now, he shares the library with me, for there is much lost knowledge to uncover.

Angmar obviously distinguished himself greatly during the battle in Gali, and is now feared in the whole world as a hero and slayer of such.

Seeing that my troops had little difficulty with the heavy infantry , I send them directly to the north, to conquer another promising looking farmland province defended by a mere few slingers. Sometimes I wish I had studied under the ancient forebears of Mictlan, for blood has a powerful attraction of its own, and blood and its otherwise useless vessels are plentiful in my newly formed realm.

Speaking of my realm, I have decided to raise the ancient flag of fallen Ermor as a symbol of fear and power. And so I announce to the world: Ermor has risen again in all its splendor, for I am Noth, Prince of Fever.

[Cheezeninja]

-Abysia turn 3-


Well my military commanders tell me that they have achieved some sort of victory over a great army, no doubt a small group of rabble even more poorly organized than they. Small matter to me i suppose, i have been putting all my energies towards advancing my studies in the arcane arts so that i will no longer have to rely on the frail abilities of mortals to expand my empire. Already i have started forming a small cabal of hedge wizards and diabolists to aid me in my causes. Things go slowly, but they go well, and i posess more than enough patience for the task at hand.

-exerp from the personal writings of the Queen-

[YellowCactus]

--Mictlan-- (3)
(Once a Prophet....)

The old god had many prophet. In point of fact Sethra the Lustful Mother was one for ages. Here in the Northern Forests of Mictlan there lay little in the way of Order. Devout cruisaders patrol the lands, bringing all within the yoke of Sethra. Some say the Lustful Mother asks nothing of those within HER dominion. Others feel this growing dominion of Mictlan's Goddess is simple nature at work. One thing is certain...blood pours upon the alters through night and day!
-Yc

[Zapmeister]

Magnate has kindly offered to take over the administration and judging of this game. If no-one objects, I'll hand over the reins at the weekend.

[magnate]

Zapmeister said:
Magnate has kindly offered to take over the administration and judging of this game. If no-one objects, I'll hand over the reins at the weekend.

If no-one objects, I'll happily take them.

So, scoring is 2 for a decent report, 1 for a report that is too short or long (or dull?!), and 0 for no report. I'll try to be as consistent as possible and not piss anybody off.

I won't actually mark down for errors in grammar or syntax, though the temptation to do so is strong! You'll just have to bear with me on that, it's my favourite subject. (In my country they suddenly stopped teaching grammar in most schools about 12-15 years ago, then they forbade examiners to dock marks for poor grammar or spelling in all subjects other than English Language, then .... [/i][ramble, drone ....][/i])

AFAIU, you've had marks for turns 1 & 2. So I'll be dishing out marks for turn 3 and on .... can somebody tell me which days of the week the turns run? I guess I ought to allow a couple of days for people to write up, and then award the points just before the next turn.

Let me know if that sounds ok ...

CC

[Sheap]

Everyone is supposed to have their story for the current turn done by the time the turn hosts, currently set to twice a week (84 hours). Not sure exactly when the next generation is, I think it is tomorrow.

Currently we are on turn 3, and everyone should have their third chapter posted before the next turn generation.