MP Game - Yarnspinners

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 21 ----

We were overtaken by a messenger about a mile outside of the warrior-women's village. (It is known as the Sinking Land, though whether in reference to the ankle-deep mud everywhere or to the sinking feeling one gets in one's stomach on realizing that one will be spending time here, I do not know.) The lad, perhaps a dozen years old, had clearly run a long way through these swamps, which is no mean feat. I offered to let him ride the rest of the way into town on one of our horses, but he refused. "There's been a battle, a glorious victory, and I must tell the Lady Amshula." Lady? I thought. "But wait.. what battle?" Outside of the small island we had been ordered to conquer (before we were ordered not to conquer it), there wasn't a hostile province for many leagues, and the kid, though tired, was no Phaedippas.

"It was magnificent," he said, brightening. I have observed a strong correlation between how broadly a local smiles, and how outrageous the next words out of his mouth are, and this trait is evidently acquired quite young. "I was laying down logs for our cows, so that they would track less of the precious mud into the house, when I heard a sound, like a dozen fish flying through the autumn leaves," he began, reciting the story he had probably spent hours crafting into incoherence. "So I tied an onion to my belt, and I ran into the village, and saw the one of the color of sloe, as if on the backs of two pigeons, and he was smiting our oppressors, and my people sang out with joy, and we ran for our swords and churning sticks to join in. The important thing is that I was wearing an onion on my belt..."

Seeing as how there was no hope of getting a Version without pigeons and flying fish, I told him that perhaps he should just wait until he was in town, and therefore only have to tell his whole story once, at which point he immediately ran off again. "I wonder if he saw Hermes?" said Andromache, excitedly. "He has wings on his feet."

"What makes you think he saw a god?" I asked, though the locals seem to see gods everywhere. "Because," she explained, "blue is a divine color."

I laid aside a few questions that sprang to mind, such as Why would Hermes be blue?, and decided to stop asking questions for fear that I would receive yet more nonsensical answers. There was only one blue-tinted village liberator in these parts, and he was, mercifully, dead. I'd heard there had been a large funeral pyre after they had finally conquered Skeldmarsh, which some of the soldiers I was traveling with had even been at. And even if those reports were completely false (always a strong possibility), there was still no earthly way anyone could have travelled through the vast tracts of swamp more quickly than Balachandra and the troops he led, and they had seen nothing in the way of blue pigeon-footed individuals. This is what comes of settling swamps, I thought. Hallucinations and madness...

When I got into the village, I noticed that Amshula had decided a proper fortification requires twenty spindly little towers for every arm's span of wall. Since this quickly used up all of the available stone, there were large gaps in the walls, and no one paid any heed to which were supposed to have gates on them. I was searching for something suitably caustic to say when Divikar rushed up. "I have just had word that we must leave tomorrow, to fight in the east," he said. "They say that skeletons ride there, and nobody will live in their land."

Skeletons. Thmybre. For some reason I turned to The Collected Sayings of Pandokos the Prophet:

And Lo, Pandokos, who had wandered many moons in the southern marshes, met death in the east, but was unafraid. He recalled the words of banishment uttered by Navnit at the mountain pass, and vowed to study them well, and memorize this incantation so that he should not join the dead, but rather continue to protect this valuable book, and provide witty sayings for it to print...

I don't know why I bother reading this book. It's clearly more a work of fiction than an accurate account of my "sayings", and I've never met anyone called Navnit. There are men to organize into formations for battle.

---

[deccan]

Thanks for the dramatis personae, Puffyn, it's a nice touch. Keep up the good work!

[Sedna]

Turn 21, R'lyeh

I do appreciate my peoples' love. It's touching to see hordes of young people picking up sticks and kitchen knives, worshiping the darkness, and skipping to join my army. Unfortunately, in the part of my kingdom where this has been prevalent of late I rely on human generals to forward my cause, and they ignore my requests to stop feeding the punks—which costs a lot of money. I have two options. The first is to find the mythical "World's Largest Turnip" and make turnip soup for everyone. The second is to send them to fight Folke, the vampire count. It's the strangest thing. My human commanders have no problem sending young persons-of-militia to certain blood-sucking awful death, but they refuse to withhold food from them. I'm not sure I like this. Perhaps I'll order all the commanders to lead from the front of the battle lines. That way I'll be rid of them too.

My fort in the Lake (I think of it as my summer cottage) is finished. I'll just clear the shoreline of some more pesky human villages and then I'll have a cozy little spot with gorgeous panoramas. If only I had a Mrs. soul-sucking-dreaming-mad-elder-god-bent-on-destroying-the-world. Winter really is the time for love. I pressed a young maiden into research duty to keep Sammy company, but apparently she's the sort of magical researcher who keeps skulls and dead animals in her desk, and Sammy was scared of her. So I got him another (human lives are cheap change to order and dispose of at my will), but this one's too fiery for poor, timid, contemplative Sammy. Ah well, third time's the charm I suppose. Eventually, I'm sure Sammy will appreciate his harem in aggregate, even if he doesn't like any of them in particular. This is important, since Farol is going off to <strike>die</strike> fight against Folke, and who else will gently guide Sammy back to his desk and mysteriously melted chains which keep him safe from the monsters in his closet?

The center of the world is an interesting place these days. My scouts, wandering on secret paths beneath the waves, report that great empires are moving and may struggle soon. Altantians of course, but also the men who love nature and fire, the sickening death, and strange winged creatures. The world is so full of marvelous things. I think I should be happy as king.

If I am to descend into the seas again, I would do well to acquire some immunity to poison. There are a great number of tritons down there, and although I love their taste, their nasty spears make me sick. For now I will rely on the garrison which recently finished the fort to rid the waves of their kind. But soon, soon... I've been above the water for nearly two full years now, and I long to return to the darkness, the depths.

[CuriousCat]

Machaka: Turn 21

Spirits were high as the army marched into battle. There was the feeling that as long as the King was with them, the warriors were invincible. Karo even managed to put his worries about the high priests out of his mind as he once again left the King without an escort to fight the battle.

Cetewayo prepared for battle. He was anxious. He had to continue winning, increasing the size of the nation. Winning battles also won him adulation and heart felt approval from his soldiers. The soldiers' approval would spread to their friends and families and thus throughout the country. The high priests would have to learn that HE was the god in this equation and that they served him. It would not be an easy transition. The priests enjoyed the power they wielded. They would not give it up easily. Of course, he didn't want all of the priesthood to be out of power. Indeed, he would need most of the priesthood to convey his wishes to the populace. However, the high priests of each of the priestly orders would have to sacrifice a bit of power... hmmm... interesting word, "sacrifice".

The battle began. This battle promised to be more difficult than the Last. Instead of lightly armored footmen the enemy here was heavily armored infantry and even more heavily armored knights. There was another of the foolish priests who served no god. The archers fired great flights of arrows into the enemy infantry and scored quite a few hits. Meanwhile the knights engaged the Machakan hoplites. The battle grew quite bloody and some hoplites fell. Just as things began to look grim Cetewayo joined the battle. He began slicing into the knights' flank. After a great deal of butchery and blood the enemy turned and fled. The men were in a frenzy and chased the fleeing army down and slaughtered them to a man.

Cetewayo was happy. His plans were beginning to bear fruit. However, the army had suffered significant losses in this battle. Could he risk fighting another so soon?

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 22 ----

The sun rose this morning. I sit in my tent, long after the sun has set. My candle will soon burn out, and still I am trying to write sense. Still trying to figure it out. Still trying to find the words that might forestall the death of all my veteran men and the locals who employ us.

The sun rose this morning, and my butter was missing again. We had made camp outside of a tiny village in Vorgunmarsh (the entire region has only a few hundred inhabitants), and stayed up too late listening to their ghost stories about the dead riders who come to steal the souls of men so that they are never reborn in the eternal cycle these folks believe in. A year ago I would not have credited these tall tales, but since then I have come to understand that every tale has some grain of truth.

The sun rose this morning, and the village was gone. In its place was a silent horde of undead on skeleton horses. We rushed to battle formations: silver shields and hoplites in the center, horses on the flank. Long we stood in the chill morning air, and stared at death. Without a warning, without a sound, they charged and I saw it all again: the charge, the faltering of our men, the sudden death of my world. Something snapped. I cried to Apollo, god of the sun, god of light. I cursed Hades and the underworld for taking my love and demanded vengeance for his fallen servant.

The sun rose this morning, like it does every morning, but then it did something it had never done before. The sky grew dark, except for a single ray of sun light, which burnt one skeleton until oblivion. I had no time to wonder at this, for Andromache was shouting some words I heard Thymbre use, once, at that other battle. And suddenly... though I cannot recall them now, I knew them, and shouted them as well. And at each cry we saw some of them disappear, vanish. Only a few reached our lines. A lucky thrust skewered Divikar, and then our cavalry was at their rear, and out line held in the front. Normal sounds returned to the world, and all sign of battle was gone from the field, save for a few dead of our men.

The sun rose this morning, but as if cursing us now in this hour, it disappeared behind a thousand arrows. Knowing that death had not yet despaired of taking us that day, we turned toward the archers and charged again. It was then that my day got really strange. I saw amongst the archers a blue giant. He kicked, and archer bits flew everywhere, and bombardment of my troops stopped as they turned to focus on him. I urged our men onwards. I saw the giant fall with a thousand arrows sticking in him just before the first troops reached his side. I realized with a sickening feeling that the indomitable phalanx was plowing into lightly armored men not undead, or lizards, or even bandits, but upstanding men with fair faces and bright uniforms, who stood valiantly and unafraid, although they wore no armor for close fighting. Many of them, keeping together and helping their wounded, escaped to the safety of the nearby woods.

The sun rose this morning, and now its rays shown upon a ground littered with bodies. As we searched for the wounded to try to help those who we could, and speed the hopeless on their way with a coin for the boat-man, Andromache and I uncovered some odd objects. I picked up a short sword which weighed almost nothing, but she uncovered a dagger with a snake (a real, live snake) coiled around it's blade, and a pair of boots, which were clearly designed to be imitations of the boots of Hermes. But when she put them on, she flew above the battlefield, shouting like a giddy school girl, "Whee! Hey, everyone look at me, I'm flying! I'm flying!" Then her snake dagger got caught in her impractical priestess robes and she tumbled to the ground in a heap.

The sun rose this morning, and that is now the only thing in the world I am really sure of. The locals claim that the giant, blue-armed thing was actually Limmy, brought back from the dead (though I feel I am missing some nuances of their strange beliefs about death). There was no body, and we had all been under much stress, so a hallucination seems more likely, but then I cannot explain the odd items we found. We tried to heal a few of the archers, but all passed away before nightfall. One spoke the local language a little, and through multiple translations I realized that they were troops in the employ of the empire of Man, which distant scout reports agree is the largest power in this part of the world. I must write to their leaders as soon as possible. My villagers cannot afford to have a war started with so mighty a people because of such a silly accident.

The sun rose this morning. I hope that it will again tomorrow, and that it will look with more favor upon me, and my small band, so far from home, in a land so mad.

---

[Sedna]

Turn 22, R'lyeh

God, it's been really dull lately. I never thought I'd get bored of sucking the brains out of terrified, lightly armed peasantry, but the thrill just isn't there, y'know? A deity's got to eat, but they don't say variety is the spice of death for nothing. Is it too much to ask that the light infantry hereabouts slather themselves in tasty sauces before heading out to battle? Once in the Orion sector I devoured the inhabitants of a small moon whose war paint tasted of horseradish and onions - that's the sort of initiative and creative thinking I wish more people on this world would come up with. (Though perhaps it also explains why none of the soul-sucking-dreaming-mad-elder-goddesses-bent-on-destroying-the-world would have anything to do with me...)

My minions have been so boring. What do I care that they crushed another bunch of weak fish without losing a slave? Sammy keeps whining at me that this third girl I encouraged to take up the life schoLastic dresses all in black and writes depressive poetry all the time. The most exciting thing to happen was when Cthugul impressed some formless spawn he found floating his bathtub into my service. One of my star children wrote to me all excited about seeing a big rock and getting lost in a maze, and it just made me feel depressed. I seem to recall crushing everyone who stood in my path to be a bit more exciting than this...

There is one bright spot in my drab existence, which is this forum that I joined recently, the Illustrious Lords and Ladies Waging Incredibly Nasty Total Extermination of Races. I don't go to the dinner parties much, since there's more "I say, old sport, jolly good fight you put up there, better luck next incarnation" than I can put up with, and it is impolite to suck the brains out of fellow Illustrians. But they put out a good newsletter, and some of my fellow powers-that-be write the most amusing accounts of the travails of godhood. None of them are as awesomely incredible as me, but who can pass up a good incompetent-minion-who-nearly-ruined-everything story? And sometimes you can pick up useful tips on ways to strip subordinates of their will to oppose you. ("Wizard W"... pure genius...) It's also a good way to curry favor with other would-be gods, so that they don't attack you before you're ready to fully annihilate them. I was thinking about this the other day, and my mind kept returning to this delicious yellow-curry that my palace chef came up with, with fresh basil and butter-drenched clams. (Mmm-mmm. I have got to get back to a place with proper kitchen facilities...) And I thought, just because I will one day crush them all is no reason not to share this wonderful recipe with some of my new friends who amuse me ever so with their little tales. At least with the weak ones who are unlikely to be able to turn on me anytime soon. This one fellow keeps going on about butter, I'm sure he'd appreciate some culinary tips. And that other chap has been after me for my steak sauce ever since we Last talked...

[Sedna]

Turn 23, R'lyeh

My northern army has run into a spot of trouble. They had been kicking around this shallow, brackish bay. Scouts reported that the next province over was a beautifully deep, cold, sound, held by some more wimpy tritons. When they arrived, the shoals were choked with the dead bodies of Triton warriors, males, females, and spawn. Searching in the deep canyons turned up piles of Icyhtyid steaks. Such aggression against peaceful dwellers of the deep is my right alone, and we soon found the culprits, a horde of those annoying coral guards Atlantis normally has. We slew them from a distance, mind-bLasting them into the abyss.

There were such high-spirits amongst my killers after the battle. But I told them, no, I said, don't go attack Atlantis. Go north against the Ichtyids there, and bring me back some sashimi. I don't know if my prophet will listen though. He has a mind of his own. Unlike most of my sturdy slave troopers.

Count Folke died. That's a good thing — but the dratted militias didn't! My anger shall surely split the world! Oh, sure, one or two of them will probably rise again, and another few fell to the pitchfork rabble, but many of them turned tail and fled at the first sign of battle. Even the ones who were able to overcome their fear of death by thinking about their fear of me are annoyingly still getting paid. I'll send the whole lot north toward some pesky mountain provinces which have eluded my rule thus far. I hope they will stick around long enough to die. If not, I shall have to laboriously lead them under the sea and then abandon them there to drown.

I have returned to beneath the waves and, in preparation for the fresh fish my troops promise me, have begun construction of a new kitchen with granite countertops, a professional range, and a walk in freezer. It is a true steal at 200 gold after I ate the contractor's first- through third- born. I'll stock the shelves well with magic ingredients too, in case any of my magic Users get hungry in the middle of the night and want a nice eye-of-newt sandwich.

[CuriousCat]

Machaka:Turn 22

The battle had gone well. However, the aftermath was less impressive. The territory was a wealthy one, crowned by it's name sake city. As the Spider Army entered to take what was rightly theirs arrows came from hidden locations. There were still those resisting the might of Machaka. Karo led the unit dispatched to deal with them. He found the site from which the arrows had been fired, but the perpetrator was long gone. Luckily he had skilled trackers. There were some who were as skilled at tracking in this urban environment as others were at tracking in the jungle. The locals found the sight of an odd looking little man with his "little pets" crawling over his body and in his hair disturbing at best and horrifyingly nightmarish at worst. Of course, they were not Machakan. They did not hold these little brothers in quite the same regard as one of the true people. In time the locals would see that eight legs could be quite valuable.

The little brothers performed well. They led Karo's unit to the resistance safe house. Unfortunately the resistance had plenty of warning. They prepared an ambush from the surrounding building and some booby traps that caught Karo and his men by surprise. The Machakans had won the battle, but Karo had been badly wounded. Two of his men had been killed outright. Karo berated himself. He should have anticipated such tactics and been ready. The healer had given him mixed news. Karo would live, however he might never regain use of his right arm. Without his arm, he would be retired from the army. How would he survive? How would he support his family? His life had been soldiering. He knew that he had the combination of physical ability, intelligence and savvy that could take him far in the army. He also thought that he had gained the notice of the King. Now it might all be gone. What would he do?

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 23 ----

Tense negotiations with the kingdom of Man have left us in control of Vorgunmarsh. They sent a small task force to check out the place and came to the sensible conclusion that it is probably the worst province in the entire world, and if we wanted to rule over the handful of scrawny inhabitants and scores of mosquitos, more power to us. The inhabitants provide us with pretty minimal resources (belts for our hoplites), but surprisingly it makes a difference.

We have also had first contact with a bizarre power known as R'lyeh. Apparently they live under water— like Plato's story of Atlantis— but also claim to be from another star. I presume they are just crazy. They provided us with a clam; perhaps it is a token of friendship? It must be a fish thing. I guess I'll carry it around in my saddle bags just in case an ambassador shows up and it turns out that the slimy gastropod was actually the leader's one true love. It better not stink up my butter.

Amshula's castle actually came together rather well. A bit drafty though. She's recruited a few of the local warrior women to help her ("To do what?" you may ask. You may indeed). I'm not sure how I feel about that. These are, after all, the same bloodthirsty old women who felt that it was appropriate to use innocent young girls in their twisted rituals. Still, Amshula promises that they are loyal to us now and will obey our rules about appropriate things to do with virgins.

Perhaps they have just been corrupted by our neighbors to the north. Everyday we get more refugees swelling our little encampment here. Mostly they are girls who have escaped from the vile priests (all men, who would have guessed?) who live on human blood. One of the priests from the temple of Apollo has raised a new temple here in honor of Athena; that should provide the refugees with a strong role model. Hopefully, if word can spread that some of the most powerful gods are female, the slaughter will abate. In my heart though, I know that we will probably be forced to go to war in order to bring justice to that land.

Am I turning into Alexander? One battle after another, each following of necessity from the Last? Will I end my days delusional, believing I am a god? Will I eventually lead my men into strange and terrible lands and abandon them there? Or, perhaps, if the world is round (as some of our philosophers back home believe), my never-ending conquests will eventually bring me back, Odysseus-like, to Pagasae, my home.

---

[CuriousCat]

Machaka Turn 23:

The men had enjoyed the respite from battle. A month on the sun drenched beaches of Dash Kaz'maal could brighten anyone's outlook. The peaceful sound of the waves, the baking heat of the sun and sand, and the cool refreshing wetness of the wind coming off of the water together cast a relaxing and renewing spell over the entire army. Of course, the entire month hadn't been spent basking in the sun. Some of the time had been spent tracking down the deluded trouble makers who were resisting their city joining the Machakan Empire. The units assigned to patrol were careful not to create too much collateral damage. The goal was to integrate these people into the greater empire, not to oppress and abuse them.

Cetewayo was pleased that he had managed to kill two birds with one stone. The army had recovered from their battle weariness and the populace had been somewhat subdued. The natives had also begun to become accustomed to the presence of the Machakan empire. A small garrison would remain behind to continue the Machakan military presence along with the Machakan bureaucracy which would continue to integrate this wealthy new city into the empire.

Now, however, it was time to get moving. It would not do for the men to become too comfortable. There were many lands that had yet to be claimed, the army would soon find more fighting. As Cetewayo prepared to give the orders to break camp there was a sudden commotion among the men who were sporting in the water's edge. They were charging out of the water. Behind them strode a nightmarish figure. It walked out of the water. Some of the men had retrieved weapons and began to approach it menacingly. It looked up and found Cetewayo in the crowd.

As he looked into the creature's eyes, Cetewayo recognized it. This was the trusted messenger of the Master of R'lyeh. Cetewayo quickly called the men back and allowed the creature to approach. It genuflected and grasped an amulet at it's throat making odd noises. "Hail the Great King Cetewayo!" a voice said in their heads. The surrounding crowd was beginning to get very uneasy. Cetewayo exerted the force of his personality to calm them. He knew that, for the time being at least, they had nothing to fear from the forces of R'lyeh. The creature continued, "A small token of esteem from my Master." Cetewayo was impressed with the medallion that was allowing for the conversation. He would have to order his magical researchers to produce something similar. The messenger held out his hand and in it was a beautiful shell. It was some sort of shell fish. Cetewayo would have assumed that it was some sort of ritual gift from the underwater folk. However, he noticed that the beautiful shell had an otherworld glow to his preternatural senses. Could this be a mythical Clam of Pearls? Indeed, Cetewayo was sure that it was. He conveyed his great appreciation to the messenger. With that, the messenger turned and strode directly into the waves.

Later Cetewayo bemusedly watched the men break the camp and prepare to move out. The little episode with the R'lyeh messenger was exactly what he needed to reestablish his position with the men. When word of the encounter got back to the high priests they would have to take at least a moment's pause.

[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.

---

[CuriousCat]

Machaka Turn 26:

Karo's loyalties were not really in question. He had fought beside his King. He had observed the King's prowess and strength. He had also quite grateful to the King for finding further use for him after his wounding. Karo pondered these issues as he waited for the audience with the Voice of the Lord. He had been summoned at first light. Karo had been torn about what to do with the Clam. He had to get it to the King's magicians. However, he had to get it to them in secrecy. Karo was afraid to leave the Clam unprotected since it was obviously of immense value. However, he was more afraid of bringing it with him to the interview with the Voice of the Lord. Who knows what sort of powers the man had? Of course he wasn't as powerful as the King, but Karo did not want to test the Voice's powers of perception by bringing a powerful magical item into his presence.

Cetewayo could sense an echo of Karo's anxiety. He was fairly certain of its cause as well. He knew that it was about time for the wounded to have reached Balakavo. Karo was no doubt nervous about his upcoming encounter with the priesthood. Cetewayo was pleased with the past month's events. His forces had conquered another mountain province. The past few months had gone as well as could be expected, however the army had suffered small losses at every battle. Cetewayo decided that he must wait for reinforcements to arrive. The respite would give him time to search the rugged territory for magic sites. Before he began the ceremonies to sensitise himself to the magical emanations of such sites, he would attempt to strengthen his connection to his agent Karo. He had prepared Karo for the upcoming encounter with the priesthood, but perhaps there was more that he could do.

Karo continued to get more nervous as he waited. He was almost certain he had made the right decision, leaving the Clam with his kit from the road. He was still concerned that the Voice of the Lord would ask him questions that could cause him problems. Finally, he was told that the Voice of the Lord was ready to see him. He was escorted into a large, luxuriously appointed office. The Voice of the Lord, the most powerful man in the kingdom was sitting at his desk. The Voice dismissed the young priest who had escorted Karo into the office. He then rose from his desk and locked the door. Karo felt that his heart was about to explode out of his chest. Why had he locked the door?!? Surely the high priest would not torture here in his office?! The Voice of the Lord walked over to the wall and did something that Karo did not see clearly. Suddenly a panel swung open and a dark figure stepped out. The High priest turned, smiled a cold self satisfied smile, and uttered the first words spoken since Karo had entered the room, "Now we can begin your 'interview'".

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 28 ----

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


"They came for our holy girls," said the woman of Tolk. "We wept, for their sacrifice would be in vain, but we hid a few away so that our priestesses would not face Ma'era empty handed."
"They enslaved the spirits of warriors who perished defending our lands, a dozen tree-lives ago, and caused them to turn on us, and chase us out of our homes, until the land was populated only by ghosts," said the old man of Vorgun.
"First they took all the girls, holy or not, and killed those who were not useful, except a few of us who hid," said the young maiden from Horslund. "Then they came back and took anyone who could work, leaving the old and sick to die because there is no-one left to till the fields or chop the wood or churn the butter."

And Pandokos of the impressive range of facial colors grew very stern..."


There is a holy marsh here, where the corpses of people killed in battles do not decay, but float beneath the surface, unable to leave the swamps even in death. The people light candles here, which burn for months, whenever there are new corpses. There are a lot of lit candles, and there would be many more if there were anyone left to light them. If I were in better humor, I would find it amusing that the first time I have left the marshes for a year and a half would find me returning again and again to this one patch of swamp, in what is otherwise a fine land of tall oaks and and evergreens.

I am not amused.

When Balachandra came to me Last week, with another ragged band of half-starved refugees, his eyes could have melted stone. These people, though they seemed more dead than alive to me, were from the north, where they had lived peaceably on the edge of the forest and the swamp before the raiding party wiped out their entire village of thousands. This is the third group this week, raged the inferno in the eyes of my oldest friend in these lands. This has gone too far, rumbled the avalanche. Balachandra is always such a mild, reasonable man. We must act now, roared the tempest. I wonder how Amshula would have implored me? I wondered, idly, before giving the orders to march. We left by nightfall.

There are very few people here, at least who dare to show themselves, though I suspect there are many more hidden in dark, forgotten corners of the woods. Far too many villages are entirely empty, food left half-eaten on dinner plates, here and there a pool of dried blood, a charred corpse. In more than one burnt shell of a house, there are whole families clustered together around the fireplace, with no signs of violence, sometimes holding hands. In a low voice, Andromache explained that it is better to die quickly with the ones you love. She alone walks through the villages without a look of dazed horror on her face, as if she had seen this sort of thing many times before. She probably has.

At Last we came to a village where the corpses were still warm to the touch, and found what we were looking for, scuttling down the road to the north. We quickly slew the band of slavers, and rescued half a dozen villagers, most of whom were too dazed to be able to give a coherent story. But one man told me that I should go see the old woman who never left the sacred grove. Outsiders are not permitted to enter, he said, especially not military men who lack respect for life. But she would talk to me.

And indeed, though I had never seen her before, she greeted me as if picking up a conversation we had left off the Last evening. "I was waiting for you, Pandokos."

---

[Sedna]

Turn 27, R'lyeh

The hammer falls...

After eating all the tender bits off the casualties, I was dozing behind a giant rock when I chanced to hear two of my generals:

"So, didn't we offer the Atlantians friendship?"

"Indeed we did. Just Last night we were working on plans to attack the coastal provinces in these parts, and then He showed up."

"Oh, did he give any reason for the change in plans?"

"None at all. He just ate the bodyguards, waved his tentacle 'round the conference room and then spoke into our heads, saying, 'South. Ugh'."

"Huh, I hear he fancies himself a poet, or at least a writer of some repute."

"Yeah, I'd heard that too, but in the flesh he's not very loquacious."

"Ah.... I can't believe what we've started here today. Granted, the Atlantians are weak, but what if they have friends?"

"I know, I know; it keeps me up at night. We have a huge long border with Abysia, Ermor is always capable of attacking our underwater provinces, and there are a number of other empires who could cause us a world of trouble, but did old tentacle face contact any of our neighbors about this attack? Even ask them what they would feel about turning the entire Atlantian race into fish sauce?"

"I take it, from your rhetoric, that the answer is no."

"It's his new magical items, that's what it is. He feels all powerful just because he has stuff to strap on prior to battle."

"I knew it was a bad idea to let the spawns back in the lab make that stuff for him. Overnight he's gone from a useful asset, quickly expanding our empire on land, to a liability, dragging us into this foolishly under-prepared war."

"There are others who feel the same way as us. Remember when he ordered that nutso Mr. Flibbles to attack that basically undefended Man province? And then acted all put-upon afterwards? Well, I was talking with X... (squelch)"

I know, I know I should have listened just a little bit more to discover the names of these other traitors, but talking about Mr. Flibbles that way just made me so angry. Mmmm... and their brains were tasty. That's what comes of thinkin' so much an' plottin' agin me — ya get et.

[Sedna]

Turn 28, R'lyeh

And behold I saw under the stars that the race was not to the swift, nor the strong, but to me! And, actually, I am both swift and strong. Although not as strong as I could be, mutter mutter, stupid k-nig-it mutter. The straits and the angry sea are now mine. The kracken hides in his little cottage, afraid to come forth onto the sea floor and challenge me for supremacy — and thus I wipe out the provincial defense. While some keep an eye upon the forsaken grotto, the rest of my forces fan out to collect taxes from the Atlantians who have not made it into the castle. Some may die, but you can't make a fish taco without their dead bodies.

My other force, executing the second piece of a classic pinchers attack, rolled through with nary a resistor (at least nary a one that mattered. Less than an ohm anyway...) I hear that my researchers are getting along quite well, working on the secrets of summoning magical creatures to swell my armies. I shall be glad of it. These meteorite guards are so weak and pitiful and slow. I could really go for adding a few of those coral guards to my army. Their poison-spikey armor is neat! But, they seem to all be pretty loyal, worse luck.)

And the coral guards eat so much too. Not as much as the bloody useless tritons, but still...

The rest of the world seems to remain quiet, undisturbed by my... kindness in putting these fishies to sleep. The empires of Man and Vanheim have being bragging about summoning the air to help them fight. Hah. Fat lotta good that'll do them under the waves. Under the sea... da di di dee.

Hmmm... I thought war would be more interesting. More death and destruction. More world ending in a bang and skies torn apart and moon splattered red with the blood of mine enemies. Sieging couldn't be more dull, especially since my useless troops don't seem to be able to get their fishy fingers through the cracks in that kelp fortress. Maybe if I eat a few of their tasty fingers (lightly breaded, with a delicate tomato-vinaigrette sauce) the rest of them will be motivated to siege a little faster...

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 29 ----

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

And Navnit, while wandering, met the holy woman in the woods. This was early in the days of the Days of Blood when there were still many villages, but parents were beginning to weep for missing daughters. And Navnit, on seeing that nobody stood up for the villagers, spoke of Pandokos of the men with very long pointy sticks and the pleasantly affordable rates of hire.

"I do not hold with deathbringers," said the old woman. "I know that there is no life without death," she continued, pouring a cup of warm fragrant herbal beverage for the wanderer. "But each death is still a loss."

"Yes," said Navnit, idly staring through her cup as she swirled her warm fragrant herbal leaves. "But sometimes what is lost is even the certainty of death."



The old woman nodded at me again. "I thought you would be here sooner," she said. "And now that you are here, I see that you are in a hurry to be gone. Good. I do not like deathbringers in my woods."

As greetings go, this ranked highly among the oddest. I stated such, and discretely insinuated that the old woman should cut back on her herbal beverages.

"Leave this place, oh favored-of-Hermes. Travel into the dying sun, and free the people there, for Navnit's sake."

Oddly enough, the only portion of that sentence I really understood was Navnit, which I have learnt is the local word for butter. Well, that, and "Leave this place", which seemed like good advice, since the woods were exceedingly creepy.

We journeyed to the open ground west of the wood, and by the side of the river there we encountered a large force of blood-hunters. Most of their army were shrivelled husks of men, clad in rags, and armed with little more than sticks. They were clearly unwilling conscripts, and I gave orders that any which attempted to surrender should be given quarter. None did.

The battle was short and dramatic. The mystics clustered around Balachandra and his nephew and sort of joined hands. The two men in the center seemed to draw strength from those clustered around them, and conjured up many strange sights, the strangest of all was when large flaming rocks fell from the sky and crashed into the ranks of the enemy. The blood-hunters broke and ran almost before my men reached their lines, and so we suffered no casualties, although I did notice Amshula limping afterwards, and most of that family seemed more lethargic than normal after the battle.

---

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 30 ----

The locals call them the Steel Ovens. In the side of the mountains there are natural crevices where magna bubbles day in and day out. The hills have an abundance of iron ore nearby, and smiths there have outfitted the natural oven with all the tools necessary to make armor and weapons. Freed from the yoke of the blood-hunters, the smiths volunteered to work with us. One of Balachandra's kin wasted no time in immediately constructing a laboratory at the base of this mountain, so that the mystics and smiths could confer more easily about matters alchemical.

I have spent the past month wandering this province, and the fair city which is perched on high cliffs overlooking a fast flowing river. It is sad to think that this clear stream from the mountains is destined to become a brackish, muddy mess in the swamps to our south. The people here have been less terrorized by the blood hunters, or rather, less willing to put up with random virgins being dragged into the night to satisfy the twisted logic of some dark god. While they were nominally loyal to the blood suckers, their city gate developed an annoying tendency to become badly stuck whenever the collection agents came around. My message of freedom and hope for a better future unburdened by such foul superstitions fell on welcome ears, although they have replaced it with some bizarre ritual in which they spread butter on themselves.

As I was training a token local defense squadron in case the blood-fiends return after we have sallied forth, I came across Amshula, Sadhana, and some other mystic (whose name I do not know). They looked tired and dirty. Amshula in particular looked worse for wear. Her hair was singed and wind-blown, her limp more pronounced than ever, and her fancy purple clock was ripped in many locations. They confessed that their foray into the wild parts of this province in search of sites of magical power had been entirely unfruitful. I suppressed a smile, offered my insincere condolences, and escorted them back to the city.

There we found Balachandra in the city arena showing off his muscles to a crowd of bored hypaspists and an almost-swooning Andromache. The young lad has become supremely strong lately, and was besting all comers in wrestling. I challenged him, and after some hesitation, he agreed. Perhaps he felt that I was too much like his mentor. Perhaps he felt I was too old. In the first round, he was clearly not trying his hardest, and I had him quickly on the ground before he knew what was happening. I heard Andromache's silver laughter at the sight of Balachandra lying on the ground. And the next round was very different. The lad was super-humanly strong. I could easily avoid his grasps, or twist out of his grip, but my own attempts to get him off balance came to little. I simply could not move him against his will. After several minutes of this, I feigned tiredness. I let him grab me, and as he shifted to throw me to the ground, I slipped out of his grip, gave a little shove, and allowed his own motion to carry him to the ground.

Andromache approached, carrying Balanchandra's cloak, which she tossed him with a look of amusement in her eyes. I went off to a well-deserved meal of fresh river clams drenched in butter.
---

[magnate]

Happy New Year folks! Hope you're all well. Still only three spinning yarns, but they're excellent. I'm on tenterhooks waiting for the outcome of Karo's interview ...

Turn 25: Arco 2, Machaka 2, R'lyeh 2
Turn 26: Arco 2, Machaka 2, R'lyeh 2
Turn 27: Arco 3, R'lyeh 2

Totals after turn 27:
Abysia 14
Arco 58
Atlantis 2
Caelum 6
Ermor 20
Machaka 46
Man 17
Mictlan 6
R'lyeh 43
Vanheim 4

All the best,

Chris
P.S. I presume nobody has any problems with me awarding points once a week now ...

[Sedna]

Turn 29, R'lyeh

The siege continues.

Word comes that there is to be a competition of heros in some distant arena. The prize is cursed, and injury is certain for anyone sent, but Farol has been moping around the northern provinces for too long. I'll confess that, honestly, I'm just a little tired of the guy.

Olug and his band of thugs have begun their push down the southern fjord while the greater part of the southern force has come to join me at the siege. Food could become scarce for the besiegers. Those sharks eat a lot when there are no enemies to crunch.

Up north, the Alvarik force has regrouped for another push against the barbarians. It's such a lot of both, but rumor has it that the caves contain great magical power, and the lives of humans are worthless to me.

I got the cutest postcard the other day from the spawnlings at my coastal fortress. There are almost a full score of them now. Each unique and precious like a delicate snowflake. They've been keeping a close watch on Sammy, who grows more invaluable every day. Thanks to his tireless efforts to probe the arcane world for a way to escape my grasp (and lead to freedom some of the lady sages he's been... collecting), the mighty empire of R'lyeh is no longer picked on in school for being the stupidest kid in the class. My propaganda department has come up with the slogan "We're not quite as utterly pathetic as Mictlan" (tm), and I've ordered that the new fall wardrobe for all my troops bear this symbol.

That should help with... that thing... you know... like good v. evil. Rocky and Bullwinkle. Morals! That's it. Moray eels? Whatever. When the revolution comes, they'll be first against the wall - those treacherous little- whoevers with their, whats-cha-me-callots. Shallots?

[Sedna]

Turn 30, R'lyeh

The siege continues.

I am hungry every night now. My troops continue to be well fed. Well, sand and seaweed fills stomachs anyway and stops em from complaining for a while. The sharks don't seem to like it so much, and have definitely been eyeing up their riders. But I! I am the supreme ruler of this land. I need fresh blood! I need sacrifice and pain, or...

The walls are everywhere. Stretching high and tall, impenetrable, impregnable, impervious. There is no where to hide. Just one victory before the thousand googly eyes. One fight on the blood stained sand, and he could be exalted, praise, lauded, treasured. When he died, preserved, not eaten. But the obsidian sword knocked aside his shield, and drew blood, and he knew fear. He gazed into the eyes of his foe, a young lad, for whom this contest would mean so much. While for him, returning to slavery, as a lower being in the new world order. And when the black sword came again he welcomed it.

A motley force, a few brave arrows, and thundering over the plain, a score of madmen with blades as long as your leg. They threw themselves over the spear, over the tridents, and swords. They wrenched crossbow bolts from whence they lodged themselves in their limbs and hacked until the pieces were too small to get back up, covering the grass in slippery red.

There once was a race of tall men, who built towers on the shores of the sea.
And they dwelt in these towers, over the sea, and watched for the death that would come.
But the men in their towers grew lazy and rich, and abandoned their watch on the sea.
And the storm when it came, on little cats paws, buried their world 'neath the waves.

[Sedna]

Turn 31, R'lyeh

The siege continues.

There is some good news though. For the first time, a foray by the tritons tore off a piece of the kelp wall large enough that the defenders inside cannot repair it without being exposed to attack. A first chink in their armor, into which I shall insert my tentacle and pull their world apart. Furthermore, the generals back home have sent up a magic item they believe will hasten the siege. This "Wall Shaker" is the result of some trade with the bird people to our south. My mind, which had been planning on a nice vacation somewhere southern–probably with palm trees and coral reefs and little brightly colored fishies–has apparently decided to postpone this trip in the hope that the battle at the castle will be interesting.

Once I destroy the Atlantians I will allow the catfish to take over the ruins of the castle. Their spawn will play by seaweed hedges in the inner keep, while the old catfish will lounge in the outer courts, sunning and cleaning themselves.

Olug has finished his march down the southern fjord, which is now clear of all Atlantian influence. Reconstruction will probably be a bear. He returns, ever so slowly. The slaves have seen the weekly defended shores of birds and men and long to tear their best-laid plans astray. But I tell them, "One war at a time." Also, "MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS SLAVE OR I WILL TAKE PLEASURE IN GUTTING YOU!!"

Cthugul writes from the void:
Attacked by Thing that Should not Be. Stop. Safely home thnx to pearls and returning spell. Stop. Send love to Sammy for that. Stop. Acashic Record found sites magic power. Stop. Mages take all clams. Stop. No Linguine. Stop.

[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... http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/wink.gif )

-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.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 35

One: Sssh, don't wake him.

Two: The fat one is asleep in his own food, you really think a little noise will disturb him?

One: I... I don't know. But I do know that Zag'mi was the last one of our little group who decided it would be a good idea to make its thoughts available to the world, and we all know what happened to it.

Two: Shudder I'm still picking bits of it out of my teeth.

One: So keep it quiet. Now, what next? I hear that the Atlantians still have a fortress on the shore of this strait. Will we be ordered to leave behind the tritons, scramble up through the sunlit waves and die, gasping for air, as sharp metal pierces our bodies?

Two: If I know the fat one he'll spend an eon or two sleeping off the octopus before doing anything useful. X has already been organizing all the recovery and repair operations; hopefully, we'll all be following its orders until fatty recovers.

One: Hiss Will you stop calling him that?

Two: Why should I? He's grotesquelly overweight after eating that much tentacled-matter.

One: I know, but even for a mad elder god it's so disrespct... Quiet! What was that?

Two: Your over-active imagination.

One: Pauses Maybe. Now look, X doesn't like the daystar any more than we do. It's organizing expeditions up the rivers to take over the rest of this world's lakes.

Two: Shudder Fresh water fish. It's so brackish and muddy and dull.

One: It's better than dying in a hail of a thousand arrows in some high, forgotten, blighted... meadow. Who's that?

Ten: Greetings

One: Relief Greetings

Ten: I bring a gift. Reveals

Two: They look like ordinary pearls.

Ten: But they're not. S claims they've been imbued with the light of Epsilon Eridani and that by placing them on Cthulu while he dreams he will be carried back to that system.

One: Awe But will it work?

Two: After all, S is a warm-blooded, air-breathing, toothed freak.

Ten: I don't know. As always, it's your call One. But I do know that Cthugul has been successfully summoning again. It's can't be long before the great purple comes into the world.

Two: And I hear that the northern air-breathers who are so loyal to fatso have built him several new temples and have finished consolidating his power up there.

One: Musing Foolish mortals... it doesn't matter what happens here, they all just die eventually. Decision Let's do it, we've only our lives to lose. Two. Do the honors.

Two: Okay-dokey. So I guess I just place them here...

Nothing

One: Hmmm... that's odd. Was Two supposed to vanish like that also?

Ten: Uh, I don't think so.

One: No great loss. Well, Ten, I guess you're the new Six, congratulations on your promotion

Six: Submission It is a pleasure to serve.

[magnate]

Turn 28: Arco 2, R'lyeh 2
Turn 29: Arco 2, R'lyeh 2
Turn 30: Arco 2, R'lyeh 2
Turn 31: Arco 2, R'lyeh 2
Turn 32: Arco 2, R'lyeh 2

Totals after turn 32:
Abysia 14
Arco 68
Atlantis 2
Caelum 6
Ermor 20
Machaka 46
Man 17
Mictlan 6
R'lyeh 53
Vanheim 4

Very disappointed that we've stopped hearing from Machaka - what a cliffhanger!

CC

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 34 ----

They attacked out of the fortress with another motley band, and we swatted them down. Many of their slaves died, though many more ran and fled. We suffered no casualties, save only for one of the priests of Apollo, who fell to a regrettably well-aimed large rock. Actually, our numbers increased, since for the first time a few Mictlanians came to their senses and begged us to accept their services in the fight against their cruel former masters. Balachandra was most pleased at this, and said that he and the rest of his clan had been working on a way to "project inner calm" at the enemy and "release their inner chi" in order to "free their minds". I'm just going to put it down to a sudden and unlooked-for case of common sense breaking out.

There was a quarrel in the mystic camp after the battle, though I don't know what it was about. For the past several months, Amshula and Tushar have been in charge of marshaling the other mystics and directing their mystical incantations that (they claim) are the reason we have lost so few troops. Tushar's Blade Wind, in fact, has earned him a reputation far and wide as a powerful magician with lightning quick reflexes (the better to step out the way of stray blades), and he tends to accumulate a following of awestruck young lads and swooning maidens. (Except for Andromache; after battles I've noticed that though she tends diligently to the wounds of all the injured soldiers, she spends more time than is strictly necessary around Balachandra's tent, admiring his ever-more-impressive muscle tone.) But as I was walking past the camp in the early evening, I heard Amshula's voice raised passionately, and caught a few words.

"... not fair, who cares about fair? ... risk our lives just so someone else can play the hero... "

Several mystics spoke at once, drowning each other out. I heard elder sister Sadhana sharply rebuke Amshula for not being properly respectful, and several of Tushar's brothers arguing heatedly about something. The argument ended abruptly when Amshula shouted out, "You can all be seeyems for all I care, if you think I'm just in it for the glory." She then stormed out, which would have been more impressive if not for her limp. It seemed to be troubling her more than usual. As she hobbled past she caught my eye and said, furiously, "Their precious protocols and traditions are going to get us all killed, but do they care? It's just a big stupid game to them..." I couldn't think of anything to say to that, so I let her walk past and went to inspect the defectors.

One of them, a bowman, claimed to be from an indigenous tribe in the province that had long been repressed, and whose members were forced to serve in the military because their skills with projectile weapons went beyond throwing rocks. He was more than willing to fight against the bloodfiends. The other defector, a common warrior, said that he had heard only the day before, from a cousin to the north, that the forces of "blue and butter" had liberated them, and that he had been confused about what to do with this information until, or so he claims, he saw me march out with the troops. As he was missing an arm and quite dazed from blood loss and hunger, I don't really know what to make of his claim, except that I have heard other rumors that the province to the north has revolted, in our favor.

At present, we are digging in and preparing for a long siege, though it is hard to say how long that could be. News from the south is not good -- the triplets continue under siege, and Vorgunmarsh was seized -- but it is far more important for us to continue here. If we can break their stronghold, then the rest of their forces will crumble and fall.

---

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 35 ----

Yesterday's sortie from the castle walls came within a spear's thrust of defeating us. Nearly a third of my troops fell, and several bands were scattered into surrounding areas; there are only a handful of troops still camped around the city walls. If their next attack is as strong as this one, we will be in trouble. Fortunately, it seems as if many of their leaders came out and fought, and few returned to their blood-stained homes.

I think they had finally realized what a threat we pose to them, because this time they attacked with far better troops than the masses of rag-tag slaves we have encountered before. A flock of giant poisonous bats flew directly toward the mystics, who were fortunately surrounded by many brave hoplites who sprang to their defense. That left the vinoghers to meet the bulk of their forces, which included several evil looking spiny monsters. All the while five priests stood at the back with dozens of young girls; by the time we reached them, not one was left alive. There was much bloody fighting before we finally prevailed. I did note with some curiosity that Sadhana and another mystic whose name escapes me led the mystics this time; yet the troops seem to have rallied around Amshula and Tushar, because they believe them responsible for the lightning strikes that helped drive off the bats.

As the few remaining priests finally began to flee, three of their tribal kings suddenly "freed their minds" and joined our side, unfortunately without bringing their warriors also to our side. One of them said that the Prophet Huehueteotl had come himself to watch the fight, but was among the first to scurry back to the castle; it was the former king's opinion that there would be much blood-letting tonight in the wake of the devastating defeat, and he would rather be outside the castle while it was going on. Since we have so few troops assembled here, I have assigned all of the defectors guard duties. I do not suspect they will betray us, since they are unlikely to be greeted with anything other than open knives should they return to their city, but I have instructed my troops to remain cautious around them.

I leave at dawn to collect wayward troops. Had they been veterans, seasoned warriors, who had fled, I would have left them to wander. The phalanx would have been strengthened by the removal of the weakest elements. But most of them are fresh recruits from the south -- more boys than men really, and we desperately need more hands to maintain the siege. It is unlikely that Mictlan will attack again in force before I can return, which is why I will risk it. Besides, tensions among the mystics have been high ever since the battle. I suspect there is another argument brewing, though at present Amshula is so exhausted that she has slept ever since the battle ended, nearly two days ago. I would like to be gone from the camp before she awakes.

---

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 36 ----

I have just received news that Huehueteotl was not content to wait until he had built up a stronger force, and instead he attacked out while I have been rebuilding my strength and my phalanx out in the northern forests (which are indeed completely loyal to our cause, though no one will give me a straight answer for what prompted this welcome rebellion). The attacking force was not large, mostly slaves and large poisonous snakes of the sort I have seen far too many times for one lifetime.

As I hear it from the messenger who was sent to fetch me, our forces quickly routed theirs, though we again failed to catch Huehueteotl. But even after the forces had broken and were madly scrambling back toward the city, Sadhana and Nihar kept "raining down death from the heavens", as I am told, and otherwise calling upon the other mystics to put forth great efforts to pick off a few of the retreating foes. While Nihar was chanting an incantation to give all of our forces the strength of giants, the better to run down the stragglers, Amshula collapsed from the strain, and never woke up. Nobody else was hurt.

I did not expect to take her death this hard. We fought constantly, and she was ever confounding my plans with her incessant searching and her inability to take commands (from me). But she did not deserve to die this way, ill-used by her fellow mystics. Too many have died senselessly in the last three years -- Amshula, Divikar... Thymbre. When will it end?

The messenger is relating other news about the battle, such as how the Mictlan deserter who was missing an arm has been magically healed, and how Limmy himself was spotted in battle, flying like a bird, but I do not have time for such folly now. We are still two days' march from the encampment, and we must reach it before they are attacked again, or I fear there will be yet more evil.

---

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 36

I dreamt I slept upon the empty folds of space, slid down potential wells, and danced amongst the twisting, coiling fields which wreath the elemental orbs.

I dreamt of stepping through the stars, between dark portals of far years. I traipsed across the trackless wastes and watched the lights whirl overhead.

I dreamt of kingdoms, raging wide, beyond the reach of mortal ken. O thousand souls in bondage lay, and thousand corpses floated free!

And then I woke, and felt the old, familiar pull ... of gravity. And there before my tentacle lay many men in garb most strange. But as I sucked their weary brains, I learnt anew of wretchedness. Then knew I where my blind eyes fell, upon the face of this dust ball, and not amongst the friendly stars.

I killed them all, and used their bones to pick my teeth.

But now confusion reigns supreme, within my godlike frame. How came I to this weary place, where dull blue sky scrapes near the earth? Dared these fool peasants summon me, and pull me here to eat their brains? Or does the fulsome answer lie with other powers in the night? My enemies, my friends? Would they have hurled me thus? Back to my home, then down again, and why just here, and this?

My only clue, a piece of fish which fell from dull blue sky, and splat upon the blood-stained rocks and covered them with goo. It was a Starspawn's robe no doubt, though what was once therein, was dashed to pieces far and wide, and had no form to tell. Yet tentacles are chewy things, and some survived the fall. I sat right down and sucked on it — it tasted like the Straits.

I see bright lights toward the east, some hamlet there may lie. I'll eat their brains, and search to learn exactly where they die.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 37

Xlikloth must die.

I ate the most interesting neurons the other day. For some reason, the villagers in this land, wherever it might be, had the notion that there was a new power in R'lyeh. "I thought the world had changed," an archer thought, as I split open his skull and feasted on the juicy, juicy goo inside. "I am never going to listen to a word my cousin in Abitopolis says again," ran through the mind of a militiaman. (At least he was being realistic about his ability to communicate with his loved ones after being et.) Really, I was quite puzzled as I ate my way through their ranks, because I kept sensing that they weren't expecting to be eaten! I mean, really. How long have I been taking over the world now, 3 years? 4? How many neighboring provinces must have sent out word of the terrible sucking death that awaits all in my path? I do try to pick off most of the stragglers when I eat a town, but I find letting a few get through releases a lot of adrenaline in the villagers in the next town over, which adds a nice complex undertaste. But these people... they were positively shocked to see me!

It all made sense, though, terrible terrible sense, when I ate Turioc. As a commander, his neurons fired just a bit more quickly than his dullard troops, so I managed to get a more coherent brain-wave pattern out of him: "I thought Xlikloth was in charge under the waters, and that this fiend had been sent back to the hell he came from." Xlikloth? I thought. My loyal Xlikloth? Wherever could he have got that idea from? But no: his fellow officers had similar thoughts, as did their wives and children when I reached the village for a bit of dessert. They all seemed to think that I had been killed/deposed/sent far, far away, and that Xlikloth was now the ruler of the Benevolent People's Republic of R'lyeh.

I tend not eat Starspawns, because they get touchy about it, but no one can deny that I am within my rights to take care of this disastrously failed business plan. I don't even care if I don't get to suck his brains out personally, that's how annoyed I am. (And Starspawn is so tasty with paprika and dill...) I am posting a description of the traitor, so that any of my loyal minions who love me enough (which should be all of them!) will know what to do with him. Some of them may die trying to take him down (he is distressingly powerful and admired), but what do I care? I just want him dead. Dead dead dead dead dead. Mit Torte.

http://67.19.30.83/threads/uploads/327966-Wanted.jpg

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 37 ----

At night, the grounds around the walls of Mictlan are a depressing place, littered with a hundred broken things. Although it is late spring here, the air is as bitter cold as in the depths of winter. It is as if there is some presence to the land that sucks all of the life and warmth out of every living being. And yet, amid all this decay, I have never felt more at home, more at peace in this strange land, then standing by the side of Amshula's funeral pyre, singing songs with her family. The fire leapt and curled high into the sky, where the sky was brilliantly clear, and the stars close enough to touch. A playful breeze from the south brought sweet forest scents to cover up the battlefield stench, and little gusts fanned the flames to even more daring acrobatics as they carried that incomparable spirit across the final river.

The next day, our force was attacked again by the rapidly dwindling, and very smelly, blood-hunters. We emerged from the battle only stronger, as we lost no one, and three more poor warriors joined our side, and brought with them two great horned serpents. These truly magnificent beasts are much used by Mictlan, but in battle one never gets a chance to examine them properly up close. In the hands of their trainers they are quite docile, indeed, almost friendly once you get over their evil-looking fangs. We will soon put them to good use, for after the battle it became clear that the defending forces no longer possess the wherewithal to keep us out; we will at last storm the gates of hell.

I hope Balachandra is all right. I know he blames himself for Amshula's death. I think he sees in her death a deep failing within himself. I do not see it though. His sorrow for a fellow warrior's death is the mark of civilization, rare among these people. I am glad that he is now bedding Andromache (this gossip can no longer be denied), for she has a remarkably level head after her own troubles and will help him through his self-inflicted torment. And who does this leave in charge of the mystics? A newcomer, ... well, it seems strange to write it, but here it is... Odysseus. No, not just someone with the bad sense to take that unlucky man's name, but someone who actually claims to be that famous king of Ithaca. It is odd: apart from this fairly serious flaw in his mental state, Odysseus is an extremely intelligent man. His rhetoric has done much to bring Mictlan deserters to our cause, and he likewise gives no credit to the persistent rumor that Limmy magically appears to fight by our side on the battlefield. One thing is certain, this man is Greek, and knows Ithaca and its environs well. If he were not mad, perhaps we would become fast friends. But is madness even that much of a handicap in this place and time?

Wlde, who has joined the siege, is very much not Greek. Impatient and bitter, she daily advocates abandoning the siege and marching south to relieve her sisters in the Sinking Land. The last we have heard from them, a local mystic had attempted a magic spell to repair the crumbling walls (it is not well to speak ill of the dead, so I shall refrain from pointing out that it was at Amshula's insistence that we build the walls from the local rock, which is little more than dried mud), but the spell, like most such things, had failed utterly. I do understand Wlde's desire to rescue her sisters, but the war's victory is nigh. Their last city vanquished, we have only to march a league south, where Sethra hides in the woods with a smattering of followers, and an end will be come to Mictlan.

---

[PashaDawg]

How is this game going? Looks like you guys could knit some wicked nice sweaters for a Jotun army with all the yarn. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif

[Sedna]

Yarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrn, there be stories in them thar giants.

[puffyn]

Hi PashaDawg,

Always good to hear from a loyal reader http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif The game is going pretty well, so long as you're not Mictlan or Atlantis right about now... For your viewing pleasure, I'm attaching some of the more relevant score graphs (provinces, gem income, research, and army size). I suspect that with all the wars breaking out now these rankings are going to fluctuate wildly, so stay tuned.

<img src=http://www.shrapnelcommunity.com/threads/download.php?Number=329111>

[puffyn]

<img src=http://www.shrapnelcommunity.com/threads/uploads/329112-gem.jpg>

[puffyn]

<img src=http://www.shrapnelcommunity.com/threads/download.php?Number=329114>

[puffyn]

<img src=http://www.shrapnelcommunity.com/threads/download.php?Number=329115>

[Alneyan]

And if you are Man, things are going well, thank you very much. For the moment that is, as I am more than a tad bit concerned about the future, with R'lyeh and Caelum as neighbours, and Arcoscephale not so far away.

(This message was incidentally not too useful, but also acts as a check of the "read pointers" thing on the forum)

[PashaDawg]

Sounds fun. Let me know if you ever decide to start a new Yarn.

[puffyn]

I'd certainly be interested in another yarn... after this one is finished. Two narratives per week are just about all I can manage http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 38 ----

The castle's defenders must have realized that the gate would soon give way; the few starving survivors rushed out and flung themselves on our spear-points to end their misery. Huehueteotl, the prophet, managed to escape, but there's really nowhere for him to hide. We took possession of the fortress and wandered through numerous temples, freeing the slaves, and washing the blood-stained stones. After working through the first three temples I had to get to somewhere without the stench of blood, and I let Wlde lead the clean-up crew into the last, and largest one: the high temple of the sun.

The other triplets send word from the Sinking Land that Limmy appeared to defeat the defending army. Belief in his return is widespread, even among my own troops, and Odysseus and I agree that we will soon have to have a meeting with this pretender. It's not that a little blind faith is so bad for the men (and vine-things and horned serpents). It's just that I would feel better knowing a little more about this warrior's intentions.

Luckily, this mission coincides nicely with my other task: hunting down the crone, Sethra, where she hides in the vast Horslund Forest to the south of this fortress. The mystics will stay here. They plan to rededicate one of the minor temples to the memory of Amshula, and although they remain uncomfortable sitting in the ribcage chairs in the keep's library, I know it is only a matter of time before the sheer number books of magic there will overcome any lingering distaste they may feel about turning pages made of human flesh.

Andromache will come with me. Many of the men who defected to our cause are still wounded, and require her care.

Rumors grow that the rest of the world is at war. I know that the Vanheim to our west are engaged in a mighty battle against the Kingdom of Man. I have exchanged letters with both those leaders, but refuse to get drawn into their squabble. There is another brief note from the Sinking Land to say that the strange creatures of R'lyeh have settled in the lake beside the castle. As we have no use for the lake, and they seem to shun the land, I see no reason why we should not get along. But they are very odd... Still, I will send a messenger to them, offering them peace. Even more distant and fantastical rumors arrive daily. I hardly know which ones to credit. If you believe everything, the residents of the lost island of Atlantis are just about to be wiped out by magma men and these same R'lyeh creatures, and some dark empire of undead is slowly falling to bird-men who wield power over lightning. Like I said, it is hard to know what to believe is really going on.
---

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 39 ----

Sethra's reign of terror is ended. We tracked her down to a small copse. Her once mighty army had dwindled to a score of slaves, warriors, and archers. Their slings and short bows bounced harmlessly off the phalanx, which plowed into their lines and tossed them aside. Sethra, at the front, was also hurling stones, but again with no affect, and I watched her get sliced open and her body be trampled into the ground.

I should mention that Limmy managed to show up to this battle also, although since it is easily two month's march through the forest from the Sinking Land, I can only conclude that the triplets were wrong in their belief that he was there just two weeks ago. And yes... I believe it really is Limmy. He's still oddly blue, and he sounds just the same, and he knows me very well — knows the adventures and disasters we shared so long ago in the mountains. As for the rumors that he was dead? Limmy, crazy local that he is, insists that reincarnation is the most natural thing in the world, and that he was merely fortunate to come back again in his same form, and not a pig.

I think a more likely explanation is to be found in the scars he carries all over his body. Andromache, who examined him after the battle, said he had a particularly ugly chest wound which had been festering for quite some time. The trauma of so many battles, and the infection in his chest have probably combined to make him a little more crazy than normal, to the point where he has believed the own rumors of his death. Still, crazy man with delusions of godhood or not, it's good to see him again.

The empire of Mictlan is nearly vanquished. A lone mercenary captain and his single sidekick have also been hired by Mictlan to cause trouble in the south. I trust that even the nearly incompetent triplets can deal with two bandits. Huehueteotl is apparently attempting to storm the walls north of here all by his lonesome. The mystics, cowards that they are, have demanded that I come deal with this grave threat, and so I turn north again.

Andromache insists that Limmy is in no shape to go anywhere, and will be attending to him and the rest of the wounded here. I am not worried about leaving them. Now that the shadow of Sethra is lifting, these woods are quite peaceful. The whole world feels like a much happier place: it is as if all our pains and troubles are being drawn away from us and the freed inhabitants of this land. I feel more fit and relaxed than I have in ages. Is this what victory is really like? Just last month I remember worrying that conquering these lands would just mean more work; that every day we would uncover new horrors lurking in forgotten corners, and even that we might become corrupted by the lingering evil here. Now I worry no more.
---

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 38

Memo: Attn Glorious All-Powerful First Citizen of the Benevolent People's Republic of R'lyeh (GAPFC-BPRR) Xlikloth

As per instructions, another overwhelming victory for the people in Skyfall Lake. Sent many tritons to re-education camps on the shores. Also, twenty more Martyrs of the Purple this battle; sent official award, medal, fruit-baskets, largest available body part(s) to families. Lands nearby all dead, no living soul walking the earth seen for miles. Heading back because of creepy cold feeling running down the backs of our spines. Plan to advance the Glorious People's Rebellion on other fronts.

Xi Mi, Comrade-in-arms

* * *

Cthugul knew he was close. He could smell it: like overripe octarines. He was pleased, because C'thulu would be pleased. He reached out with his mind to entice the Great Purple closer. But when it was still just beyond his grasp, his concentration was broken by the thundering sound of two greater othernesses frolicking in the void. The Great One disappeared. Cthugul sighed, and turned his mind toward the intruders. He was very patient. The purple would come when it came.

[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

http://www.shrapnelcommunity.com/threads/uploads/334035-Turn42.jpg

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 43

Hmmm, it is as I feared. Man-ish forces make no distinction between the forces of Xlikloth, which are ravaging the land, and myself, who is only trying to find and kill that upstart punk. I wandered across the beautiful old library by the riverside, and was attempting to communicate with the local garrison the only way I know how (by sucking out their brains) when a group of Illithids showed up. The humans got all uppity and tried to stick metal into things, and before you knew it many of the best volumes in the library were blood splattered.

Anywho, the commander of the R'lyeh force, Ahu'yhuala, is loyal to me. Or, at least hates Xlikloth, which is the same thing. He was upset that he had to leave his sand castle under the sea to come fight. We found a magic lab next to the library, strewn with odd human magical equipment (apparently they think magic is done with paper, quills, lanterns, and a surprising number of human skulls). The skulls make me hungry. But I digress. Together, Ahu and I used the lab to make contact with Cthugul back home. He was very glad to hear from me, since he had feared the worst since my disappearance. The old boy is getting slow in his old age though, and is thinking about retiring to spend more time with the spawn, and letting one of the other priests venture into the void.

Argh! Off topic again. This is what happens when I get hungry; those militia were barely more than a snack.

Cthugul says that most of the Elder Starspawn remain loyal to me, but are afraid of Xlikloth's power. If I can just remove the head (literally) of this rebellion, the rest will fall in line. And Cthugul knew that the traitor was directing the assault on the castle at Starko, only a few leagues south of here! But the journey there will not be easy. Great armies of Man are roving along the coast, and will most unfairly try to kill me. One force in particular, is rumored to have dozens of fire mages, and some nasty fiery snakes. And me without my fire-proof night-clothes! This will not do, so I have ordered Cthugul to ship me something fire-proof right away so that I can get close enough to these mages to explain the subtle distinction between Xlikloth (the lunatic terrorizing their lands), and my godly self (Lord of Nightmares, He Who Lies Dreaming, Great Elder God Who Will Destroy All Their Minds And The Very Foundations Of The World).

So, until that magic gear comes in, I'll spend some time here, perusing some of the Man-ish books. Oh, "How to cook", that looks good.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 47

Well, gosh, if that wasn't the oddest thing. I've eaten a lot of things in my time, some of them strange enough they would blow your mind, but I've never tasted Death before. He was a nice enough chap. Kind of ticklish and brackish.

Tricked out with a new shiny magic toy or two, I was close enough to Xlikloth to smell him. Then the memory becomes somewhat disjointed: I know I ran into some two-bit general with a horde of undead under his command. Undead indeed, what is it the empire of R'lyeh coming to? Although, I guess I should drop that bias now. Blah blah blah, chitty-chat, and then suddenly there were Manish mages everywhere and giant flaming snakes. They hit me with spells and froze me in place, and I stood helpless as they cut my divine flesh. I tasted my whole life before my tentacle: cup of brains, cup of brains, almost got shagged, cup of brains...

And then I was dead, and then the prayers of my faithless slaves pulled me back to the mortal coil. I am relieved to discover I lost only a few months. Being dead gives one a certain intaste into the universe. And while I wouldn't say there is immediate cause for panic, let's just say that I won't be investing in any bonds with a time to maturity of more than about a year. I see that old Nothy-boy is no longer verber of nouns, and Vanheim is looking a little green behind the ole gill-slits.

So now I'm in a difficult position. Caelum, to the south, has grown extremely strong, and Man, despite having mostly triumphed over Vanheim, has been sorely hurt by Machaka and the cursed rebels. I would love to turn my army south, but to do that I would have to reclaim it from the upstart. And, much as I hate to admit it, I'm not really in any shape to go anywhere. I mean, it's only a chest wound. The limp? I've had worse. Look, your whole arm's off! No it isn't. But that pesky Never Healing Wound. It's not so much the physical pain, but the mental trauma of such an injury. Never Healing. It sounds so final, doesn't it?

Anyhow, it's been a long time since I've been this close to the Void. And Cthugul's here and is rather chatty, and really, I'm just not feeling that well-disposed toward Man to want to go teleporting all the way across the world to reign in some trouble-maker who believes all surface dwellers are part of some vast air-breathing conspiracy. I'll just sit here and watch my enemies kill each other for a while. In fact, maybe I'll take up knitting. I hear you can do some interesting and amazing things with alpaca.

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 44 ----

I have a newfound respect for Andromache's ability to use these flying boots. It is remarkably difficult to keep your balance when your feet can be blown in wildly different directions by even the slightest breeze. If you then add in mountains or looming tall trees... I must have set down six times already, with varying amounts of control, to regain my balance (and recover from the slightly sick feeling I get from traveling at such great heights), when I realized that the clearing I was resting in looked familiar.

"Come to crush my arrugula, deathbringer?" I heard a voice say. I would almost say its tone was friendly chiding, but I remembered well the odd, hostile way in which we had parted. Still, there was no denying that the old enchantress seemed to be almost smiling as she spoke.

"Well, there's no helping who you are, I guess," the old woman continued. "But perhaps your Navnit was not so far wrong when she spoke well of you. Have some warm fragrant herbal beverage with me."

As much as I had always felt ill at ease in her presence, I was not about to refuse the offer of anything warm. I could barely feel my nose and fingers after many hours' flight, and I gratefully gulped down the mug she placed in front of me, and the warm biscuits and generous amounts of butter. Perhaps I had been mistaken in taking a dislike to this odd woman who never left her grove of trees.

We spoke for a while of the war with Mictlan, and she broke into a real, unmistakeable smile when I described the fall of Sethra and Huehueteotl, and the rebuilding of Mictlan. But mostly she just shook her head when I spoke of all the fighting, and seemed particularly grim on hearing of Amshula's death and the growing factions among the mystics. "You are walking on the edge of a knife, Pandokos," she said. "There is some sort of turmoil hanging over your future, wherever you are. You should leave now, so that it does not perhaps overtake you here, where we have already suffered far too long." But this time, on ordering me to leave, she also prepared a basket of biscuits (and butter) for me to take with. Some people are just naturally brusque, I guess.

She eyed me a little bemusedly as I fumbled with the straps on my boots, then again as I immediately fell over when I tried to hover a few feet off the ground. I have found that my quick reflexes are sometimes a hindrance in keeping my balance while flying, causing me to overreact and tumble more than I should. But finally, I righted myself.

"Be careful," said the old woman. "The land is cleaner now than it has ever been, but there are still some pockets of evil intentions, especially where you are going. Perhaps you are one of the rare deathbringers who does not seek only death and glory at all cost; but I suspect many of the other sort will be drawn to news of your conquests and undo the peace that you have helped bring."

As I was flying off, she said, "Search carefully among the friends you think you know, the roads you've walked a hundred times. Perhaps you will find something that surprises you; and I hope not for the worst."

---

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 45 ----


All that flying was for nothing. The Firbolgs led the hypaspists and a forest of vinoghers out of here just a few days ago. They are now somewhere in the swamp between here and Oast Hills, but the thick cover of slimy leaves which hangs like a sullen blanket over that part of the world will probably defeat any attempts to find them from the air.

Meanwhile, I have another crazy person to deal with. You gotta respect a guy who thinks he's Odysseus, especially if he is manifestly sane. But when some local mystic decides it's not good enough to worship at the temple of Athena, no, she has to be Athena, that's plain crazy and a transparent power grab amongst locals who actually do believe that gods become people and fruitbats and orangutans and large chunks of... Still, I should talk to her at some point and make sure she's happy-insane, and not dangerous-insane.

I received the most odd report from our southernmost scout this morning. The lands south of here are all aboil with this new war between Man and the squid-beings. It doesn't look like things are going well for Man. In the wastes of Ryazan, where it is common for men to eat the dead bodies of other men in times of extreme hunger, one brave waif has stood up to the cruel policies of their Manish overlords and led a revolt, demanding some degree of autonomy, freedom of religion, and lots of brains (which are a delicacy amongst these barbarians). Our scout was on hand to witness this individual lead his motly band against the local militia. And though there were equal numbers on both sides, and the rebels were armed only with their bare hands, Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains (for that his the closest I can reproduce the local dialect in Greek) led his men to victory with almost no loses. A fine tactician obviously. I shall ask our scout to keep a close eye on further developments.

It is interesting to note that while I have been gone, Ulde, Wlde, and Vlde have only grown in stature among the citizens of the Sinking Lands (although they are not all here at the same time, and it is exceedingly difficult to discern which one you are talking to). Remember that these were the same women engaged in the hateful blood sacrifices of the loathed kingdom, whose defeat is even now being celebrated; yet they meet with many smiles and small gifts whenever they walk around town. Perhaps it has something to do with their successful handling of the seige during the war, though since I have learned the precise number of troops they faced my only wonder has been why it took them so long. There is a dark cynical voice that says they meant it to, so that the people would be grateful and rally around them; but that leads to other dark thoughts about what they intend to do with these loyal citizens and the troops they keep amassing. I do not want to see this province become another police-state like the one I just brought down.

---

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 46 ----

In the Odyssey, Homer tells us how Pallas Athena, Guard of the Armies of Zeus, Hope of Soldiers, Thirdborn of the Gods, takes the form of a small girl to lead Odysseus into the palace of Nauskiaa, and greets him home in Ithaca disguised as a shepherd boy. And Odysseus did not recognize her, but she revealed herself to him:

But come, let us talk no more of this, for you and I both know
sharp practice, since you are far the best of all mortal
men for counsel and stories, and I among all the divinities
am famous for wit and sharpness; and yet you never recognized
Pallas Athene, daughter of Zeus, the one who is always
standing beside you and guarding you in every endeavor.

I do not claim to be as tricky as the real Odysseus (and I left the fake one up north, so I cannot ask his advice now), but wouldn't it be the ultimate disguise for a goddess to come to earth proclaiming herself openly, but taking on so unlikely a guise that none would seriously believe it were her?

Heh. I have become a mystic myself in my old age. Still, for a moment, as Athena led me through the rough-hewn gateways of a temple more ancient than the hills themselves, and drew down the starlight into the perfect shimmering pearls, I almost believed that I saw the halls of Olympus in the this local woman's beautiful grey eyes.

From the depths of the temple, she drew forth a fine staff of ivory which entwined a huge sapphire.

"This is the Winter Bringer, O wanderer. An ill-winter is near at hand, and the end of all things gathers: storm clouds across a wine-dark sea. Use this well and bravely, and perhaps in the deepening gloom your song will slice like a ray of light."

I took the staff (which is truly beautiful, but otherwise apparently useless) and my wits, and walked back into the city to meet with the triplets and a Golakana shaman (can you believe they're letting people-of-Golana become magicians now?) and iron out a few laws for this place before heading off on those cursed boots again in the morn.

---

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 47 ----

Usually, when you leave a muddy little village that has been your home for many sad, sorry years, and set out on the road, having many great adventures, surviving one dangerous peril after another, only to return victorious months or years later, the place seems a bit small and unimportant. The village elders seem a little less mysterious and powerful, the local priests less authoritative, your own former fears and anxieties less real after all the dangers you have faced and survived.

Usually. While I have been gone, Oast Hills has transformed itself from a village into the capital of an empire. Everywhere I look tall, new buildings have been erected, among them no less than eight gaudy shrines to a certain blue-limbed pretender god (whom I have yet to encounter). The village elders now wear dark black robes and are followed everwhere by an honor guard wearing a strange rune on their shoulders. When I asked Anemoreia, a young priestess who was once a slave alongside Andromache, what the rune was supposed to mean, she said, "That was your idea, don't you recall? We are all one people now, the people of Arcoscephale; and that is our sign." But somehow when I devised my ideas of giving a downtrodden conquered people some sense of hope, this was not what I envisioned.

There does seem to be less mud, though. The streets have recently been paved with broad stones, just as I had often proposed to a complete lack of interest. Special attention has been paid to the roads near the mystics' quarters and the soldiers' barracks, which I appreciate. There are only ten new recruits stationed here, but they have been drilling constantly, and are much too keen to hear stories of the Mictlan wars. Eh, over-eager lads are nothing new, I suppose... but their enthusiasm for battle is a bit discomforting.

One thing that has not changed: it still took weeks for me to arrange a talk with the village elders. I would have thought they would be interested in the state of their empire to the east -- we have, after all, nearly tripled the size of our holdings since I left -- but they seemed almost bored by my accounts of turning the blood-suckers capital into a prosperous city. Instead, they wanted to know everything about how the mystics had fought in battle: what incantations they had used, and to what effect. They were especially curious about the vinoghers. But my concerns about the triplets and their power over the eastern swamps held no interest for them, nor did they care much for my accounts of the battles I had heard were raging between our neighbors and my opinion that we should tread carefully lest we get drawn in. "We trust you will remember that your contract does not include informing us of how we may act in affairs of foreign diplomacy," was how one of them put it.

I grew more uneasy when I was ushered out of their presence after only a quarter of an hour, only to see Vlde enter, and be greeted warmly. Nirmai, who arrived before I, told me that she has been in constant meetings with them for the past week. About what, I can only speculate, and my thoughts are all bad.

I was pleased when my desire to take the recruits on an extended training exercise to the small village to the west was approved by the elders. This city is starting to give me the creeps, and I welcome the chance to return to the quiet little town where Thymbre found a library and built a small place for studious types to engage in quiet refelection. I could use some time for reflection myself.

---

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 48 ----

And when Pandokos of the quick feet and the cold shivery stick at last glimpsed the city toward which he was traveling, he became much confused, thinking he had accidentally turned back toward Oast Hills. In his infinite wisdom he turned to me, "The Collected Sayings of Pandokos the Prophet, Vol 1", to look at my array of useful and informative maps; but he seemed to expect more than a blank sheet with an X and the words "you are here!!" written on it, and in his snootiness slammed me shut before he could read any of the helpful advice written on the next pages... [passage ends abruptly]"

From The Collected Sayings of Pandokos the Prophet

This is what comes, I thought, of letting people into libraries. The next thing you know someone's built a huge fortress to house all the would-be scholars pouring in from the hinterlands, and they're charging ridiculous amounts for lodging and stables. I wonder if Thymbre knew what would happen to this quiet village when she tarried here an extra month to prepare the scholar's quarters, before joining us on her last campaign... I suspect she might just find the huge crowds and the constant magical bickering (and occasional flying sparks or sharp stones) to be amusing.

At least I was able to find the firbolg. Had I been looking for a lesser man, it would have been difficult, but Todd stands out in a crowd. He has the face of a young boy, and the same sheepish manner of speech, though it is whispered that he is millennia old. Certainly he is taller than any two men. But for all his affability, I was disturbed by his news. The first thing he told me, for instance, was that we were at war. "At war?" I said, naively placing stock in my nominal position as supreme commander of the Oast Hil... sorry, Arcoscephale forces.

"Yes, Rod marched out several months ago, and has been having a jolly good time on the high plains," said Todd seriously. "Only I can't go until Orokestes gets back." His eyes brightened. "Did you hear there was a huge battle, and everyone died, except the mystics? Now Orokestes will have to come back, and I can march out with him, and we can retake our ancestral home."

I realized, with dismay, that the news that several divisions of troops -- including many Greek veterans -- had been sent into battle without my knowledge, did not surprise me. Weren't we at peace with Vanheim? I thought. Didn't they trade away Thymbre's grave so that we would not have to fight this war?. Too late for such thoughts now.

Todd was eager to march forth immediately, for death and glory, and my stupid young recruits beamed eagerly at his words. But I insisted on speaking with the runner from the battle; and from his words I realized that we needed a plan. We faced even worse things than nightmares now, and this time I would not fail my troops. I ordered everyone to stay within the castle, and for news to be sent that any soldier or mystic afield must return, so that we might better plan how to face this foe.

But I found it impossible to think within the confines of the city walls, so close to terrible memories long since buried. At night I would dream that Athena was calling to me, telling me to meet her in the mountains. After a week of this, with no sign of friend or foe on the horizon, I decided that if going up into that mountains would get me a good night's sleep, it was worth it, goddess or no goddess. So accompanied by a young mystic who refused to let me go alone (I think he was itching for a chance to search for mystical sites, but dared not disobey my orders to stay within the castle), I marched out to the near hills. I sit there now, two nights later, watching the dark mountains I marched into with my love, unable to leave. It is not yet time, I know, though I cannot say what it is I am waiting for.

---

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 49 ----

On the eighth night, just as a thin sliver of moon began to rise, Pandokos heard a voice behind him. "You," he said. "I thought you were in a swamp down south." There was a voice like silver and thunderclaps, and she said, "But I am the goddess of battle strategery, and you are in need of a plan." And she spoke many wise words with him, which although they were not wise enough to have been in the Book in the first place, were nonetheless wise enough to be included now...

From The Collected Sayings of Pandokos the Prophet

"Do not tarry," Athena said to me. "This world is breaking beneath the fires of war. In less than a year you must have completed my work for you here - you must have forged these people together and trained an army strong enough to beat back the forces of chaos. Ride out into the mountains as soon as you can. Meet the invaders head on, and in my name you will triumph".

I'm not so used to being addressed by goddesses. I feel that my speech lacks the proper iambic beat which the gods seem to expect of their confidants in all the old poems. But military strategy I can deal with.

"That's foolish. The walls of this fort are strong. If we wander into the passes which they know so much better than I, we'll just lose again. I've lost a battle in those mountains, Orokestes has lost a battle in those mountains... no, it's better to wait here."

Athena smiled. "But this time you won't be going alone." A wizened old man appeared at her side. His hair and clothes spoke of far too long in the wild, and his smell of far too long since he had had to stand among other people. "This is my priest, Karl. He has tended the grave of Thymbre in these mountains for the past three years, spreading my name among the animals and plants here, in preparation for this day. He will guide you through the hills, and his friends will protect you from ambush. Now, give him your weapons."

Thinking that she must mean that pretty (but useless) Winter Bringer the old woman in scene twenty-four had given me, I turned it over to him.

"And the other one."

Muttering that it was typical nonsense for a god to expect a man to fight empty-handed, I reluctantly turned over my lance also (the men will be disappointed, they regard it as a token of good luck).

"Okay, now what?" But Athena was gone. Without a word, Karl wandered off into the woods, and I followed him back to the city.

At the gates I at last met the fabled Orokestes. "Balachandra sent this stuff for you, from the forge out east," he said by way of introduction. In the package was a pair of beautiful blue boots with amber buckles, an amulet with amber stones, and a belt with a single huge piece of amber (Blachandra must have gotten a good bulk deal on amber). "Oh, and a strange woman left this for you."

It was a sword such as I have never see. Massive enough to require two hands, it crackled and hissed as it flew through the air, and sparks ran down its surface. It is a thing of deadly beauty. I suppose being chosen as a pawn in the games of the gods isn't always so bad after all.

---

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 48

Dear Diary,

Our revolutionary struggle continues apace. We are advancing inexorably on all fronts, even those in which our advance is in a backwards direction. Our forces triumphed so completely in Heaven's Hold that it was considered unwise to spread ourselves too thin to pursue the stragglers of the evil Man army, so we left the battle field in victory and left their few survivors holding it, convinced they had triumphed. The fools! Do they not know that we have the historical imperative on our side? Do they not recognize that theirs is a decadent bourgeois society doomed to fall? Why then must they throw their lives away on such a pointless struggle? If they would only surrender, I would personally see to it that the class traitors were executed as humanely as possible, and that the ordinary soldiers were sent to forced labor camps close to their homes, so their families, if they survived the purges, could visit them and provide them with food and blankets and other things they should be grateful to be permitted. I am merciful, unlike certain tentacled oppressors who shall remain nameless. For that is the will of

-Xlikloth

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 49

It is so dry here, but I have found a way to keep moist. The fish in this place are very stupid and hug the bottom when they swim, so it is easy to chase them down and replenish myself from their waters. I do not understand why they don't fly away when I dart among them, but then there is much in this strange tenuous dry sea that is a mystery to my. Why do the fish here think that sharp sticks will do aught but pass through me? Why do they hurl small fires at me when these will easily be quenched upon my skin? And why do they make choking gasping sounds when they are suddenly enveloped in life-sustaining water?

If not for the assurances of my sister, who has long voyaged above the waves, I would have laughed at the emissary from the strange sucking tentacled beings who fancy they have conquered the oceans; but Limne insisted on hearing her out, and showed me how to use the strange devices they provided to leave the waters. C'thulu is no great friend of ours, but neither is he our foe: and I do not like to see any creature of the deep hurt by surface dwellers as much as he. Besides, the strange fish with their green cloth banners are quite easy to trample underfoot, and it is marvelous to see how they've adapted to the terrible absence of cool comforting water all around. Too long have we queens of the sea ignored this dry place; it is good that I am here now, to ensure the safety of all the little creatures who live in the deep.

Thalassa, Lady of the Undines

[PashaDawg]

You guys are wacked out!! http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/biggrin.gif

[Alneyan]

I am quite wacked myself, because of all those squids and the silly Machakan who won't let me take their forts without a fight. Was this game supposed to be "Call of Ctuhlhu", and actually a game of survival? http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/wink.gif

Well, good luck to the remaining players against the rise of R'lyeh (and don't forget your astral magic, will you?).

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 50 ----

We met them as the day died on a high, windswept plain, between the Braegen Marches and the pass over the Godsgraves. Two small battalions of hypaspists and Vinogres stood before our mystics and priests. Another squad of hypaspists formed my personal guard, and a fourth guarded Orokestes, who now leads the mystics.

http://improbable.org/yarns/images/Us.jpg

Across the way, the sharp-eyed amongst us could see the invaders. Many were human: a score of elite huskarls, nearly as many men armed in wolf-skin with great two-handed swords, a squardon of archers on the right-flanks, and a group of the evil death sorceresses who had lead the ambush that killed Thymbre. There were trolls, massive creatures with great clubs. There were dwarf-mages, each cunning and ancient and cruel. There were nightmares on the left flank, their spears red in the setting sun, stained forever with Thmybre's blood. There were other wonders: an immortal fay boar, a gargoyle, animated into life... and then there were the Vans. More beautiful beings I have never seen, and the eye danced around such wonder, unable to comprehend what it was seeing. And the greatest of these sat on the world's largest horse. This is the One-eyed Bully, Lord of Frost. Ancient and terrible, with a horse swift as the wind. It is easy to see why he is a worshipped as a god.

http://improbable.org/yarns/images/Them.jpg

The sky turned dark, and a freezing rain fell. Behind me, the mystics began to mutter their spells. I raised Athena's sword to point out the terrible wight which lurked at the back of the foe's army, and watched in amazement as heaven opened and smote the foul thing with lightning. I shouted a warning about the danger posed by the trolls on the flanks, gestured, and a thunderbolt fell among them. Again, I pointed, this time to the smoking ruin the blast had made, and again the sky struck the earth. One last time I raised the sword, and suddenly three men who stood near the boar vanished in a shower of light.

The nightmares charged, and the archers let fly, as my men obeyed orders and held their ground. The death-priestesses shouted foul incantations and curses to scare our forces into attacking. Praying that Athena might avenge Thymbre, I pointed my sword at them - lightning thundered down all around them - and they died with a horrible scream.

http://improbable.org/yarns/images/Revenge.jpg

Todd now charged, heedless of my calls, far beyond the safety of the spear line. A terrible whirlwind of death descended upon him, and a frightening apparition, but he dodged the blows, struck back, as if his sword could tear the magic sinews of these charms. The nightmares had almost reached our lines, so I called out for a charge and ran forward with my men. A hail of blades fell over us. My men caught most of them on their shields, but one struck me in the arm, and I began to bleed profusely. And it was all for naught, for just as we reached the nightmares, they vanished in a hail of magic.

http://improbable.org/yarns/images/Nightmares.jpg

Now I heard shouts of alarm from the mystics. The one-eyed bully charged the length of the battlefield in a blink of an eye, skirting our phalanx to attack Orokestes. "Oh boy, I can lead the troops now!" Todd called, across the din. "You should go make sure he doesn't get stabbed or else I'll have to go home." So I went. A heavy mist had fallen now, and weapons seemed to be thrusting out of it even when no foe could be seen. The enemy must have somehow flanked us with a small force, who now roved among our unprotected magicians. I cut my way through.

http://improbable.org/yarns/images/Oneeyed.jpg

Then the fog cleared a little, and I was face to face with a horse that towered over me, and danced like a storm at sea, or the face of the mountains. I called for Athena, and lightning struck around my foe, but hurt him not. Grabbing what courage I had left, I slipped amongst the thousand hooves. They flashed through the air more quickly than the eye could see, yet I was always quicker, and as I thrust my sword up toward the towering giant, lightning flew from the tip and danced over him. Suddenly he became clear, no longer a thousand images of himself. I tried again, but could not get past his spear. Orokestes called out in a loud voice, and for a moment, my foe was still. "Thymbre!" I cried, and drove towards him with my sword; Zeus' light flashed again, and the gods claimed back one of their own.

http://improbable.org/yarns/images/Firstblood.jpg
http://improbable.org/yarns/images/Backtohell.jpg

They broke soon after. None surrendered, but none escaped back to sing in the halls of Vanheim. Afterwards I came across one of the Vans. His body was crushed, but his noble face which had welcomed a thousand thousand new suns in the east remained unscathed, gazing up onto the dark, brooding sky- the last it would ever see.

---

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 50

Heh-heh, suckers all.

Man is disappearing into the waves with pleasant abandon. I'm a little concerned that the rebels up there may start to think that Xlikloth is a competent general, so I've called forth the water queens, equipped them with the finest array of magical items, and sent them onto the land. They are such beautiful killing machines that I'm sure the troops will worship them instead of the false prophet, and thus return to the sea. And Man is still fighting Machaka too, oblivious to my hordes seething outside their cities and fortresses.

Caelum was gullible enough to send me the chalice- some religious token I've never understood the importance of. Oh yes, I said, I'll send it back in a few months after I've been healed. So far I haven't seen any of its mystical healing properties, but it makes a pretty good spittoon.

Cthugul has been busy. Upset with the slow pace of the Void Gate, he collaborated with good old Sammy (I'm surprised Sammy isn't dead yet. Every other pet human I've had has died really fast) and worked up a spell to directly call an abomination. I love abominations. Almost as much as the great purple. The spell seems to damage them en route, and so they end up a bit mindless, wandering around, bumping into things, killing slaves, and ripping apart the fabric of the universe. Sammy comes through again in the pinch though, with a very helpful book called, "How to give your Abomination the gift of reason". Evidently, you can either hit them repeatedly with the book or you can shot them with nature magic, right there above the eye.

I'm going to give this one a cute name, one of those cute little frosted unicorn heads, and something to fly - and then unleash it upon an unsuspecting world. And then Cthugul will get more, and more... Sure, the spell takes a lot of magic pearls, but it's better than relying on the void gate and its endless string of Othernesses and Things.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 51

A small set-back this month. I had ordered the garrison in Vankara sound to secure the city on the cliffs above. This is the home of the Vans, a rapidly vanishing race thanks to the genocidal efforts of Man and Arcoscephale. I thought their capitol might have some useful toys, and anyway, I certainly couldn't leave it in the hands of Man. I guess they had insufficient arrow fodder, or Man had too many magic users or something, because we were repulsed back into the sea. Ah well, I'll order them to try again.

The rest of the Manish war goes well. The trees are rapidly disappearing from the eastern lands and Machaka has recently broken the Man army in the south. In fact, a scout reports that this loss left one of their troublesome air queens stranded with a small army in Syzran. My death sorceresses up north have been constantly cursing men into ghouls in distant lands. Useful enough, but a mighty force of ghostly cavalry works much better against air queens.

The bird-folk, my last real competition in this plane of existence, have launched an ill-conceived war against the fire-humans. Perhaps they will be successful. Both sides have certainly had many years of peace in which to develop, but the birds cover much more of this world. Still, it a perfect opportunity to strike. While the fiery devils of Abysia distract the fluffy-ones, I'll quickly raise a couple armies in the deep places by their shores and then march to another swift and certain victory.

I long to join them, but this blasted chalice thing seems to be broken. Perhaps it was a mistake to use it for drinking unicorn blood mixed with baby brains. The first Abomination is all set to kill things though. I dub him Mithridates (Mithy, for short), and send him to test the strength of the birds in one of their newly conquered lands.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 52

Thuella the air queen lives, but for how long? My ghost riders struck, slaughtering two mages and slew of archers, but the cowardly Thuella flew away. At this point, her few remaining troops are more of a liability than an aid.

Mithy did fine against the birds. They have this annoying enchantment which strengthens their local defenses, but not strong enough to stop an abomination! Mwhahahah...

Every city of Man is now under siege. We'll break into a few of them soon. I'm especially interested in pillaging their homeland in Skjomen's Steps. My lovely Limne will be directing that battle. After that, I'm going to quit fooling around with Xlikloth. I've carefully arranged things so that his army is stacked with those loyal to me, and at a single word they will slaughter him, all for the greater glory of me.

At last we have been able to summon Bathusma, queen of the deep. Most of her magic gear is ready to go, but I'm still waiting for the one item I outsourced. There is a very reasonable individual within the empire of Arcoscephale who was willing to forge a dread blood thorn for me for a fair price. That should arrive shortly, and then Bathusma will bathe in the blood of those who oppose me.

[Zen]

OOC:

I have to say this has really turned into a fantastic type of game. A little long in the running, but now that I've seen it to near completion I really like the idea. I enjoyed quite a few of the different aspects of the game.

Particularly: Puffyn's posts as well as his "Dramatis Personae" really illustrate his position in the world.

I wanted to say that for the next Yarnspinners, I'd like to join and have the entire set of Players post on (perhaps an entire website for the game) a Dramatis Personae or Index.

Have any of you that have been playing this game thought about the next game and ways to make the game more enjoyable (as mostly an AAR) for the viewers in terms of website logistics?

[Sedna]

Hi Zen,

Thanks for reading. I've thought quite a bit how to make this game better, because it's been a great deal of fun, but big improvements are possible. Obviously the biggest problems has been people dropping out. I myself am a replacement - and I think only Alneyan and Puffyn are original players. The flip side of this coin is a lack of yarns.

One solution would be to decrease the number of yarns while increasing the pace of the game. I feel that the slow pace (~2 turns/week) lost us a lot of the original players. But it's extremely difficult to post interesting, informative, or funny yarns even twice a week. I think an optimal solution might be to have just one yarn per season (thus every three turns). We could then play 48 hour turns and yet need to write only approx. one yarn a week.

This might make for long yarns in the late game if people want to report on everything that happens, but it would help with the slow pace of yarns at the beginning of the game. Let's face it, after a little bit of character development and mood, the first many turns are going to be: "Yep, we killed more independents". I get bored just thinking about writing those yarns.

I think this type of game really requires it to be PBEM. If you need to review past turns to write your yarns (which you will, at some point), it's much easier if you have an e-mail archive of them. And it's pretty easy to just rename your old Yarnspinners folder to Turn51, and slowly dump the really old ones into another folder to keep your in-game menus reasonably short. So a PBEM host as wonderful as Alneyan is also a must.

As for motivation: the point scheme clearly Zap originally proposed clearly failed. The only benefit I've received from writing yarns is that people seem to have been reluctant to attack me, for fear that they will no longer be able to read my deathless prose. Or perhaps that's just because I attack everyone before they get a chance to attack me.

I believe that the motivation to write yarns should be tied directly into the game. I'm not familiar with the possibilities of modding, so perhaps this is impractical or there is an easier way: what if PBEM host was not directly playing? He/she could maintain a neutral empire of one province with a large astral income (and no dominion). Each yarn submitted would be rewarded with one astral pearl. Again, the incentive would be greatest at the beginning of the game. Once everyone is emotionally invested in the game, I think they will keep writing. The details of this suggestion could probably use more thought.

Finally, it would be great to be able to see more pictures and maps and graphs as the game progresses. I know AARs with maps are the only ones I really bother to read. Puffyn plans to post maps for this game after it's done, but it would really help keep an audience to have them as we go along. That audience, in turn, provides more motivation to keep writing. Again, the host could play this role: a simple screen shot of the map each season (or year) with just the race banners displayed. Secrecy is all very well and good, but it can't be maintained if it interferes with the game, and good yarns are going to reveal some useful information anyway- playing with full knowledge of the map evens the playing field and allows everyone to write more honest yarns.

Oh, and baby brains. Lots of baby brains.

[Alneyan]

I concur with all the points Sedna offered (especially the one about Alneyan being such a great host; feel free to send me your prayers, gifts and firstborns).

- A quicker turnaround and fewer yarns would help keep the interest of the game high: we all, to various degrees, failed to keep up with that kind of pace, while quite a few players dropped from the game: Puffyn and myself are indeed the last ones, so Puffyn will be the only player having made it from turn 1 to turn 60 (hopefully).

- I feel a public map would be better, perhaps by adding a neutral nation with the Eyes of God enchantment as well (making it easier to take a screenshot of the map). Borders should be clearly visible, but perhaps scores should be off with this sort of setup (or made available every five turns or something along those lines).

- A nation giving gifts should not be difficult to implement, and would not have to be handled by a third party. This nation could simply be visible for everybody (it won't affect the game), so everyone would be able to check for astral gems mysteriously disappearing; it would also work well with the Eyes of God option above. In modding terms, this nation would start the game with a 0 pearl Wish spell, and would thus create a few hundred astral pearls (Wish would go back to the other nations afterwards).

- Something else I was thinking of: what about implementing a political aspect to the game, limiting the number of provinces that may be taken in a single war? The purpose would be to help those nations that are much weaker; in Yarnspinners, wars end only with the slaughter of the weaker nation (Mictlan, Atlantis, Ermor, and now Vanheim and Man collapsed, though I must say I underestimated the might of Machaka. I didn't make any such mistake with R'lyeh though). The specifics on how that would work are left as an exercise for the reader. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/wink.gif

[puffyn]

As you can probably tell, I've been enjoying this game immensely, and it's great to hear that there are other people interested in another Yarnspinners game. Count me in...

That said, I'm all for reducing the number of yarns. I'm pleased to note that there should be no problem finishing this game -- R'lyeh doesn't scare me, and enslaved Starspawn make such cute pets -- but it's taken a lot of discipline to not miss any of my yarns, especially when I've been travelling. Lately I've been writing my turns in bunches of 2-4 at a time because I'm often too busy during the week to give my story the loving care it deserves. And I agree with Sedna - there are really only so many ways you can say "this turn we recruited another mystic and three hoplites and Limmy died against independents, again".

I like the idea of an independent nation dispensing pearls for yarns. Would we vote on the number of pearls distributed, or have an arbitrator like magnate?

The best parts of this game have been the interactions with other nations, and it's unfortunate that so few regular yarners are left to give reports on both sides of the great battles. (What great heroes lie unsung from the Man/Machaka wars?) I think the large early turnover in this game (aggravated by hosting problems and the delay when we switched to PBEM) would be lessened if we (a) had a smaller map, so first contact came quicker, and (b) had quicker turns.

As for wars leading quickly to extermination... Mictlan was of course AI, so there was no chance to negotiate. If, of course, Vanheim were writing yarns, begging for mercy, there might be a narrative necessity to stop short of killing them. Though I dunno if C'thulu would be stayed from his madness even by a well-placed yearn... Perhaps other incentives should be devised, too.

[puffyn]

Oh, and Zen, about you post:

Glad you like the Dramatis Personae; I've fallen a bit behind on updating it, but maybe that's because it takes more to become an important enough character later in the story (just like in the Hall of Fame...)

How fancy a website are you thinking? My original idea for my site was to take everyone's yarns and post them on pages by player (so you can read a story all the way through) and by turn (so you can see what was happening each turn). Then I realized I'd have to crawl through the pages of this thread and extract all the story posts, being careful to keep the fancy formatting, and I got lazy and just went with the Dramatis Personae.

Perhaps for Yarnspinners 2: The Vengeance, players could submit their yarns to whoever was maintaining the game webpage, and the webmaster could add them with minimal formatting (UBB is easy to convert; I use HTML mostly anyways) to the appropriate running pages. For example, Arco's report for Turn 42 would be on both turn42.html and arco_yarns.html. Players could also send text/pictures for a Dramatis Personae at, say, arco_personae.html, as desired. (If we go with astral pearl-based rewards, perhaps you would get one every 5-10 turns if you kept your character list up to date.)

The game page in the forums could either have duplicates of the turns or not, however we want to do it, but would also have links to the external page. That way people playing wouldn't have to know how to maintain a website, but people reading it would have a lot easier time picking up in the middle and keep track of what was going on. Plus there might be more pictures (since it's a pain to upload more than one per post to the forums).

[Zapmeister]

puffyn said:
And I agree with Sedna - there are really only so many ways you can say "this turn we recruited another mystic and three hoplites and Limmy died against independents, again".



Actually, I originally anticipated that the yarns would not simply be reports on the events of each turn. I hoped that the story-writing aspect would overwhelm the gameplay aspect, and that the gameplay would provide the setting for rather than the content of each yarn.

If Yarnspinners 2 happens, I'd also like to participate as a player.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh doesn't scare me, and enslaved Starspawn make such cute pets



Dem's fightin' words!

[CuriousCat]

As much as it may not look like it, I've really enjoyed this game. In fact, the yarnspinning is the part that I liked best. Unfortunately I haven't been as disciplined as Puffyn or Sedna. I did well for a while but RL got busy, I lost the thread of my story, and I never managed to regain it. I am very interested in participating in another yarnspinning game. I'll do my best NOT to drop the ball again.

Also, I echo the thought that Alneyan has been an awesome host.

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 51 ----

We are marching on Godsgrave Mountain, but everything is different this time. It is early summer, and we have taken the southern route, which was closed before because of bandits. Later these lands were claimed by Vanheim and the One Eyed Bully; but Tushar and another band of mystics, along with Todd's brother Rod, passed this way some months ago on their way up north, and every village we've passed through so far now swears fealty to Arcoscephale (though this far west there are no signs of butter-dances, for which I am grateful).

As I write, we are encamped for the night near the foothills of Mount Isen, and we can see some of Man's spoils from its own war with Vanheim, including lush farmlands and the distant spires of what was once the Bully's capital city. Since his death, there has been very little resistence, and I do not expect the mountain fortress we are marching toward will house more than a few ragged huskarls. But I will not underestimate these mountains again: my troops are well trained, and there are more of them; and the mystics keep proving themselves useful in battle. If we had just had Tushar's blade wind three years ago...

It has been warm and clear the past few weeks, though dark thoughts are never far from my mind this close to where I lost my Thymbre. It is hard to think these gentle rolling hills bursting with wildlife are so close to the cold, dark, icy mountain that still plagues my nightmares. Perhaps it is a simple omen that things will go better this time; but sometimes when I watch Andromache and Balachandra laughing together, my blood runs cold and I wonder what might have been if we had not tried the mountain pass.

Balachandra may feel this too. He and Andromache and a cousin named Bindiya arrived at -- I should say flew into, for all three had pairs of those cursed boots -- our camp three nights ago, fresh from scouting out the mountains. But word has come from the capital that now there is an accute winged boot shortage, and would someone please return one of the pairs that disappeared mysteriously from the mystical labs? (I would not put it past a certain young priestess to have appropriated extra boots to show her lover, and forgotten to return them.)

The mystics conferred and decided that Andromache was least essential to the war effort, and would have to return with the boots. She protested mightily, but oddly enough Balachandra did not take her side, and instead quietly agreed that perhaps it would be best if she returned the boots, and rejoined the army after the battle. She walked off in a huff, and I have not seen her since this afternoon; perhaps she has already left.

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 52 ----

There is a wall at Godsgrave Mountain. From a distance it is nearly invisible against the backdrop of the range, but up close it is clearly the work of some master craftsman, though the blocks, each as large as a house, bespeak the work of giants and not men. When we first entered the valley a heavy mist hung between the peaks, and the wall seemed to stretch on forever on either side.

"The Jervellan Wall..." breathed Todd in reverent tones, "At last."

Rumors hold that the Vans maintain a stronghold behind the wall, and one of their temples. The same whispers in the night say that the Vans sometimes sacrifice human women upon their alters. This curse of blood seems to lurk in the shadows everywhere. (There is even word from the Sinking Lands that a blood hunter has been caught there, attempting to revive those evil ways. I am uneasy leaving his justice in the hands of the triplets, but I cannot dictate policy everywhere in the empire.) Yet we have seen no sign of Van since we arrived.

Limmy has been here alone for several months, and clearly felt the solitude and whispering silence of this vale. He greeted me as his best friend in the world, and insisted on entertaining me in his quarters (a ramshackle lean-to against the cold blocks of the wall) with the finest foods in the valley (fried snake, and something I can only hope was bunny). He wanted to see my sword of course, which I've named Tempest, and hear the story of the battle with One-eyed over and over again.

It is odd to have his respect. I guess he has always admired my ability to win battles, but for would-be gods like Limmy, the ability to take and hold ground, the value of winning without fighting battles, and the subtly of maintaining an army months in the field in unfriendly and unfamiliar terrain - all these pale against the glory of one on one combat on the battlefield. And so at last I earn his respect, thanks to the aid of... Athena... or whoever really gave me this sword. Respect, and even a little bit of fear perhaps- with a little laugh Limmy showed me his special breastplate and said that it was protection against lightning. "Not that you should try here!" he was quick to reassure me.

I suppose I've gained a little respect for Limmy's own brand of crazy heroism. The Jervallan Wall is unscalable and totally indestructible. The mountains on either side are death for those who venture there, and the wind, which whips down off the frosty peaks, forestalled his attempts to fly over with one of those thrice-cursed pairs of boots. So Limmy has singlehandedly dug a tunnel underneath the wall. He must have moved several tons of earth, and is almost done. "Tomorrow!" he boasted, "we will finally break through. And then..." here his face turned reflective, "I will go somewhere without dirt."

That'll make Todd happy. We'll reclaim his ancestral home, all will be forgiven and forgotten between these two peoples, and I will stop fighting this dying race of seafarers. Stop fighting them, and then what? I am not a bloodthirsty warrior. I have no dreams of conquest. But I do not fool myself into believing that the future holds peace for me.

In the west, the world is burning. Smoke rises every day, and waves of broken and starving refugees have been staggering into our borders with tales of horror and destruction. The forces of R'lyeh have risen up from every deep place, and stained every beach in blood. For what mad purpose none can tell, but I know in my heart that I will march that way also, and fight this rising tide for as long as I can bear arms.

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 53 ----

The space behind the wall was empty. We burned the blood-stained temple, and I appointed Karl to raise a new one in honor of Zeus. This high to the roof of the world, that seemed the judicious choice. I would have thought that Todd would be happy, but apparently this was only his ancestral summer villa, and Rod is getting all the glory up north taking back the real Firbolg fortress, and we must march there straight-away for he longs to walk those halls again, and climb those towers that once he climbed when the world was fresh and young and blah blah blah.

But the concerns of the Firbolgs pale in comparison to the menace of R'lyeh. Some Firbolgs themselves understand this. Although I've never met her, Maude (apparently the women Firbolgs are also naturally huge) sounds like a pragmatic warrior and a fine leader. Her weapon is known as the Sickle Whose Crop is Pain, so she clearly has no problem administering swift justice against miscreants. She writes me with disturbing news from the Sinking Lands. Ulde has been secretly trafficking in blood slaves again, hoping to discover new powers through the outpouring of innocent blood. She has even been defiling the steel ovens, using virgin blood to temper weapons which she sold to R'lyeh, for who knows what promises. Perhaps even worse, she has held the army there in check while the otherworldly spawn have ravaged the lands of our friends and neighbors- Man.

At last, Maude seized control of the army, imprisoned Ulde, and led a force out to try and relieve one of the few castles still controlled by Man. The battle before the gates of Madderein must have been epic, with hundreds on each side. Maude led the phalanx and mystics to decisive victory swiftly enough that one of the elder Starspawn (these are the main magicians of R'lyeh) even defected to our side, deciding that the tide had turned.

So I must leave the south in her large, capable hands. There is still a force of Man clinging to life on the edge of Vankara Sound. Todd and I will lead the troops there immediately and pray we are not too late. Limmy will fly ahead to confront a local count who has been aiding R'lyeh and attempt to convince him to join us, by force if necessary. The mystics have discovered wonderful things in the hidden valley, and I am inclined to allow them to browse their old books for a little while. We will need all their skill against this slippery foe, and they can join us later. Meanwhile, I send note after note to Rod up north, begging him to leave off his crazy pursuit of the last few Vans and join us against this much larger foe.

But there has been no word from him, though plenty of time for a message to get back. Either he is dead, or completely drawn into his mad quest for vengeance. Either way, for now it is just Todd and I with some 50 hypaspists against all the horrors of the deep. But I do not feel alone; Thymbre lives on in this place - in every sunrise and cool breeze I hear her voice and know that she is at peace. This time in the mountains has cleared my thoughts and left me ready to face whatever the last days of this world hold for me.

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 54 ----

The news this month is all favorable, and I am worried. What storm waits behind this lull?

The storm is here already, of course, gathering force; it seems to manifest itself literally in the late summer thunderstorms that I would swear have been following me around. While patrolling by the river yesterday, we were attacked by a small band of emaciated soldiers of R'lyeh, who kept taunting us about eating our braaaaains and sucking the blood from our veeeeeins. They were not lightning-resistant, however, and I had but to raise Tempest and watch them fall, crackling. But there are more, far more, that we shall have to face.

Todd received word that Rod was victorious, and has spent so much time waxing rhapsodic about the glories of his ancestral home that I've been avoiding him. He keeps cheerfully muttering nonsense, like "Now all that is left is for the final gathering at the Isle, where shall be determined who shall rule the world, or be damned to hell for all eternity..." and I can only take so much pseudo prophetic mumbo-jumbo before feeling ill. Fortunately, there are other matters to attend to. Our brave scout Celarim, a veteran from Alexander's army still skulking with the best of them, somehow persuaded a small village of Vanheim to join our side so that they would have some protection against the coming tide. Limmy also was persuasive enough that the count (the count's daughter) came over to our (his) side without fighting. In other words, the north is almost at peace, and with little bloodshed.

Maude sent word that the Mannish castle was manned only by a few longbowmen, without even a commander; mostly they were men too old or too young to have been at the slaughter of the regular armies. The citizens of the castle were so grateful that a real army of men had come to defend them that they threw down their arms and welcomed us in. Apparently, they were afraid they would all have their brains sucked out if the forces of R'lyeh had broken through instead.

I do not know much about the strange dwellers in the deep: once, long ago, I received a clam from them, though I have since mislaid it. On occasion we have made small diplomatic exchanges of gems or trinkets, though I never thought we would sink to Ulde's level and traffic in slaves. I know that the creatures of R'lyeh are deeply feared: in the presence of the high Starspawn, it is said, you cannot hear your own thoughts, and your mind burns at the sight of them. They are led by a strange being whose names sounds something like "Thuloo" or "Cuthloo", who eats his foe on the battlefield. Their armies are legion. They say the very oceans of the deep fight for them. In dark times, I wonder what can men do against such reckless hate.

And then I remember the strength of the wind, the grandeur of the stars, and the gathering storm.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 53

Xlikloth has gone too far. He found some ancient temple in Man-lands and has decided now that he can pretend to be a god. I have enough loyal followers in his camp now that they will easily exile him from the army and send him fleeing into the sharp pointy-ness of Man.

The Arcoughphelae have marched a cute little army out against my forces in the east, breaking the siege on one of the last Man castles. They've always proved a pretty reasonable race, and have never been too great a threat, so I'm not overly worried. Still, it seems prudent to insert a spy to keep an eye on them. A brave starspawn has volunteered. In battle he pretended to be so influenced by the pitiful human magic that he offered to join their side- and the humans fell for it! If they like that I should try to sell them a wooden horse in Brooklyn.

I have ordered my smithies to whip me up some gear to replace the stuff I lost when I died back in the summer of aught 4. I've enjoyed my time here, recuperating in the depths, but I feel that great things are afoot and soon I shall have to again journey the sunlit lands and sucks brains. The only real threat left to me is Caelum, the bird-folk. They fester like a festering fest on the southern continent, and if they succeed in their little war against Abysia will rival me in strength. Time to strike now, while the metaphorical iron is still non-icy. But first... more armies... more leaders, more money. It was simpler back in the old country, when all you had to do was trigger supernovae in nearby stars to obliterate whole planets.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 54

The Vanheim used to be a marginally important race in the north, and are still kinda uppity about it. They snuck deep in lands held by me in a last ditch effort to make a difference before they are snuffed out forever. I believe I will just have to go up there in person. I have another reason for journeying into the dry place. Rumor has it that the Sleepers have awoken, and we all know what that means.

What? You don't know? Don't you ever read?

Actually, you can be forgiven, it's one of these silly human prophecies. Something about awakening for the final cataclysmic battle to decide the fate of the world. Which is all fine and dandy, except that they've taken up with the Arcos. The god of the Arcos is called Pandorkos, and he runs around with a sword that shoots lightning. My spy has been reading his letters to the Sleeper in the east: "Now all that is left is for the final gathering, where shall be determined who shall rule the world, or be damned to hell for all eternity..."

Sammy was very excited at this snippet or information, but was unable to tell me where this final battle would be, or why it might be so important. Somewhere on the eastern shores of Vankara sound, was all he could say. Luckily all that land is safely in my hands (barring a few tasty Van snacks). I've taken control of the northern fortress, I have another one to the south, and two (two!) in the sound itself. Ain't no way nobody gets through to fulfill their prophetic duty. But, while I'm above the waves I might as well take a look around and see if I can find any signs saying, "End of the world, this way. (5 km)"

[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 (http://yarnspinners.improbable.org)

and sign-ups are in this thread (http://www.shrapnelcommunity.com/threads/showflat.php?Cat=&amp;Number=347377&amp;page=0&amp;view=collap sed&amp;sb=5&amp;o=31&amp;fpart=1)

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...

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 59 ----

If I still clung to the hope that this war, though great and terrible, is just another campaign against mortal armies like my own, it is gone now. We left Stavang in the early morning mist and were set upon by a horde of riders, pale and thin as ghosts. Inded they were ghosts: the archaic swords, the ancient battle raiments, the barbaric war cries from tongues long dead... as if they rode out of a battle from before the world began. A ragged mercenary captain named Gynter was leading the way; he was trampled by eighty pairs of hooves as substantial than dew on the grass. Yet we stood against the ghosts, and we fought them down.

By midday we had been attacked again by another unholy horde, this one from hell.

Tell me this: if the devils sent to drag your soul into infernal torment instead surrender, and offer their services in exchange for your protection, is this a bad sign? Does it mean that I am on the wrong side? Or is the hell toward which this world is spiraling such an exceptionally bad variety that even demons fear its coming? We left the three of them behind; no man would stand guard over them, and no mage would dare try to control them.

Stavang is a port city; we are by a wide body of water now, too wide for a proper river, too narrow for a sea. I can see white sails on the horizon, and on a clear day, the spires of castles unlike any I have seen till now: and there is smoke rising from them. I am told that way lies Abysia, a fair sized realm that has repelled the concerted advances of both R'lyeh and a race of flighted people far to the south. I am told that Man lingers still, has erected a fortress even, and will not give in to the tide of darknesss. I am told that the spider people still have a small enclave and have been almost untouched by the conflict that roils my part of the world. I am told this means there is yet hope; but I cannot feel it myself. It has been too long since I have seen anything but stormclouds, even in my dreams. Except for the one where I was dead.

We have made our camp by the water, near a small glade of trees. The land is deserted except for our ever growing armies: people know that a terrible battle is about to burst forth. On a small hill nearby, in a clearing, there are seven tall pillars, built in a previous age, impossibly white though etched with wind and sand and several ages of man. The pillars look like once they used to reach to the clouds; but the tops are all broken now. It is painfully clear how short they fall.

Limmy had a hammock strung up between two of them. I heard giggling voices disappear into the woods as I approached and from the disarray of goods around his clearly under-used tent I guessed he had been here a long time. He greeted me warmly, like a beloved brother, and invited me to share some food with him. I was surprised to note the bread was still warm; he laughed and said, "If you think that's good, you should try some of the freshly churned butter the milkmaids left." Limmy is like the old gods in stories -- content to string up his hammock and toy with milkmaids as the world ends around them. It's a somewhat irresponsible attitude I feel, but it does have that advantage of producing some top notch churned-milk product.

There is an island just across the water; there used to be a bridge to it, but it seems to have disappeared. Nobody likes to look at the isle for very long; you travel enough with Todd and phrases like "and on that blessed isle shall there be the death of hundreds, and the world besides" tend to rattle around your mind until you learn how to let your eyes slip past the uncertain motions on the distant banks. Those tentacles you imagine you see are only overgrown vines...

I had been here three weeks before I noticed Maude. I would have thought this hard to accomplish; Maude is taller than the two younger Firbolgs. But the camp keeps swelling, as more mystics trickle in, some leading small forces of hoplites and vinoghers, most with only a few tattered scrolls in hand.

"Oh, there you are, Pandokos," Maude said. "My boys have been telling me so much about the great adventures they've had with you. I hope they haven't been filling your heads with the silly nonsense they're so fond of spouting." I was about to say something about how nice it was to meet someone who didn't buy into all that prophetic mumbo-jumbo, when she went on, "They're always making a big fuss over the little things, like reclaiming ancestral homes, and forgetting the little details on which the world turns. 'Then shall the waters rise from below and fall from above to reclaim the earth, and the imprisoned shall break their chains, on the isle of a hundred dreams...'"

I guess there is no such thing as only believing in the sensible bits of prophecy. Either this was all written down a thousand thousand years ago, and we are but acting out our parts... or some theatrical hack is making a lot of money on false old scrolls. Actually, I've seen at least three apocalyptic-scroll vendors lurking around the camps. They always have a crowd.

[Sedna]

R'lyeh, Turn 60

Auluddh has come.

To me, this has more import than world freezing over as the giants awake. Auluddh is the leader of the Aboleths, whose empire once spanned the Persei arm of the galaxy, before it was brought low by a stellar collision with their homeworld, which I don't know anything about that and at which time I have several eye witnesses who can provide me with an incredibly solid alibi.

If any deus ex vacuuma was going to appear and challenge me for supremacy, it should have been him, with a legion of shock-troops at his back. And he should have appeared here, at the caves. But instead he wandered through the void gate, somewhat lost. There, he cowers under the sieging force of birds, led by that erstwhile god: ghost-of-the-wingless. I will have my priests drag him out of his cave- use his raw power to smash the feathered ones, and make sure Auluddh also dies in that struggle.

And so... I must accept that Sammy is right. Tomorrow, before sunrise, Pandokos will march across that river which separates the isle from the mainland, claim his right to fulfill the ancient prophecy, and challenge me to combat. And I shall issue forth from my cave with a thousand spawn and slaves at my back, and score upon score of evil tentacled things from the void, and a hundred woefully misguided humans who think they are fighting the infidels who insulted their god, and a gaggle of starspawn for magical support, and two queens of water, and an ice devil (captured in a distant land)... and if the prophecy holds we will both die tomorrow and both time and the world shall end, but whichever side wins and maintains possession of the caves from sunrise to sundown during the carnage- that "god" shall return from death and rule this world and countless others as God.

And what of this human? What madness drives a mortal to attack a god? What twisted belief system causes a wanderer, far from home, to lay down his life in defense of strangers in a strange land? What love or hate causes him to struggle against forces he cannot possibly comprehend, much less control? And when did humans acquire the permission of the gods to challenge the order of things- to imagine a different world?

It scarcely matters. The world ends tomorrow. And no matter what happens, Pandokos' frame cannot possibly survive the transition to god-hood if his side should (by some miracle) win. But I have become quite attached to these caves, and the glimpses into forever which they provide. This has been my home now for some months, and I would hate to see my home broken into by another with his hands full of butter and the salesmen... those men! and their -- sales!

For now this is my house. I shall lie here until dawn, dreaming...

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 60 ----

The waters are rising every minute, and every hour it gets noticeably colder, though spring is long overdue. Scouts from the north say that giants have awokken there and are rampaging through the lands unchecked. The river which separates us from the isle is choked with the tentacles of random spawn-things which have been constantly harassing our army. Their ichor turns the once clear waters black as the Styx.

The symbolism is not lost on me. Tomorrow, Maude tells me, I must cross that river before dawn and seize control of the isle, or the world will be lost to the gibbering madness that crouches there. I will not be alone. My army has been reinforced several times over by mystics who suddenly started walking out of the laboratory with phalanx after phalanx of troops. I tried to get in there to talk to Balachandra and figure out how he had managed to pack so many men into such a small building, when the doorway was shattered with a deafening roar and a long string of elephants wandered out and started munching on the grass. I decided I didn't really care to know.

Anne (a magician from the Sinking Lands who I had not previous met), ran up to me, sopping wet, with shellfish and seaweed in her hair, and clutching a pair of those blasted flying boots. "The army in the sea has arrived, Pandokos!" she exclaimed with a huge smile, as if I would be glad to find myself talking to a crazy person. I attempted to smile and back away slowly, but she grabbed me, and dragged me down to the shore (which was even closer than I remembered). She pointed out into the chilly, crystal clear waters, and it seemed as if I could see men moving under the sea in full armor, along with some huge, ghostly giant.

Maude startled me when she snuck up behind us. "For is it not written, 'and, in an hour unlooked for, those who took the paths of the deep shall arise and claim their part on the isle'?" To which I could only reply that if it was "written" no one had ever showed it to me, and it seemed mighty convenient that I was only ever told about most of these prophecies after the fact. Maude looked at me with a little sadness in her eye and told me in a soft voice that I am going to die tomorrow.

I already know that.

I feel it in my weary bones, which have marched on too many rugged, dusty paths, too far from home. I see it with the eyes of an old soldier from the great campaign (may you have found rest Alexandros, though I did not) when I look at the scuttling opposite shore and realize that everything there waits to kill us. I smell it in the chill sea air, harsher and piercing than the warm waters of Pagasae. I hear it in my dreams, as Thymbre urges me to come home to her. I taste it in the butter - does this pinnacle of food exist on the other side of the river Styx?

I will bury this book, along with the "Collected Sayings" before marching tomorrow. At least then it will survive, though for what hope I do not know, if we should fail. At least it will have the proper burial I will be denied. Yet these is some solace... Andron epifanon pasa gi tafos... For heroes, the whole world is their tomb.

But these are unbecoming thoughts. I have the finest army of friends in the world to lead tomorrow. My sword lies gleaming beside me, ready for battle. And there is still one last sunset to watch, and one more loaf of freshly-baked bread to spread with the finest butter.

[djo]

+10 pearls to both for the last few turns. The sense of doom has been palpable.

Would someone please post the turn file for the apocalypse?

[Alneyan]

I will post this turn (and all turns from turn 6 onwards) as soon as the game is over. Once I get the turn files for Arcoscephale and Caelum, it shall be over, and Cthulhu shall rule over the world. Bow down to the Elder Ones!

[Alneyan]

We have now reached the Restaurant at the End of the Universe. The score file has been attached to this mail, and I will upload all the turn files later, if my connection behaves.

Points given for the ranks:
- Provinces: R'lyeh, Caelum, Arcoscephale
- Forts: R'lyeh, Caelum, Arcoscephale
- Income: Arcoscephale, Caelum, R'lyeh
- Gem income: R'lyeh, Caelum, Arcoscephale
- Research: Caelum, Arcoscephale, Man
- Dominion: R'lyeh, Arcoscephale, Caelum

Which would give us the following totals, for ranks alone:
- R'lyeh: 4X20+1X5=85 points
- Caelum: 1X20+4X10+1X5=65 points
- Arcoscephale: 1X20+2X10+3X5=45 points
- Man: 1X5=5 points

[Alneyan]

All the turn files from turn 6 onwards are attached to this mail.

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 61: Epilogue ----

It is said, about the final battle of some-or-many armed persons against the some-or-many tentacled things, that the tentacles won the day, and few persons escaped alive, with or without their arms. It is said that when they saw the battle turning against them, the persons of spear did not flee, preferring to die in battle than turn and forsake their friends. But earthworms, in addition to being slimy and having little respect for an important historical document such as myself, do not make the most reliable of sources. Even the most cunning chronicle scroll must wait patiently in such circumstances until whichever side has won realizes their sore need for the brilliant insights of a quality book of collected sayings, and then I will be dug up with much fanfare and charged with writing the history of that epic battle.

A few worms tell a different story, that some men have escaped, like the crafty Odysseus and the lizards-of-many-names-starting-in-Golan. They whisper that even though the rest have not come out of the cave, yet they were victorious (but not in the winning-the-battle kind of way that one normally thinks of as victory): the mad god was turned to stone (some say also to mist and to fire and to frost, but others say that was the other god, who spilled butter on my pages, and who could probably use some time as a statue to atone for his errors). Thus, they say, mad-tentacle-god was prevented from reaching the exact right spot in the caves before the window closed, and failed to gain ultimate power. The worms were unclear why there should be a window in the depths of the caves, but such informants are my lot for the foreseeable future.

I am a very patient book of collected sayings, although spending so many months buried next to the scroll of the sayings of the prophet Sokodnap makes me long to give someone a good paper cut. He likes to go on about how his prophet carried him into every battle, and how he was there at the very last; that he felt the spear thrust that felled his prophet. I say the blood stains and jagged holes make him a much less helpful and informative scroll. The worms say of Pandokos that he stood his ground in the center of the storm for the twelve long hours of that final day, guiding and comforting his troops and friends as they fell one by one, and slaughtering in turn a hundred foul-tentacled-things before the spirit of the river arose and dragged him down. I am sure the mystics will be grateful that my pages were not ruined by the river water when they come to dig me up.

... Hello?.... Is there anyone out there?.... Important book, down here!....

... guys?

(From the lost work The Collected Sayings of Pandokos the Prophet: In his final incarnation)

[Alneyan]

Silly me, I have forgotten to give the master password. It is hoohah; most players should already know the master password, but not our other fans. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/wink.gif

[magnate]

[embarrassed cringe]

Sorry folks, I seem to have disappeared into RL for several months, during which time the game has finished. Sincere apologies for this, though I at least have something to show for the busy period (I'm getting married!). Thanks for all your restraint - I was expecting a load of "where the hell is magnate?" posts!

Congratulations to Sedna on winning the strategic element of the game. Shall we leave it there, or would you like the rest of the yarns scored? Sedna has finished 40 points ahead of Puffyn but Puffyn was quite a long way ahead in yarn points, so it could be close ...

Let me know. Apologies again,

CC

[Sedna]

Hey, no worries. Congratulations of your engagement. I don't think there's a real need to score the remaining yarns. In one sense, everyone who finished the game is the winner.




(In another, more accurate sense, I think Cthulu won no matter how the yarns are scored).

[magnate]

Indeed - and congratulations to all of you on Yarnspinners 2, and the website and all that. It's looking really good.

CC