Happy New Year, New Game, New Players (Finished: Dojango/Mictlan Wins!)

[Excist]

Welcome all. This will be an RP game on llamaserver with CBM 1.92.
Map and victory conditions will be decided after number of applicants are determined. Most settings at default.

RP means after nations are set I'll request each god to be provided with a short backstory that should add some flavor as well as some indication of where they fall on the archetypical alignment compass Lawful, Neutral, Chaotic and Good, Neutral, Evil. These should be indicative of what other gods can expect in dealing with your god when it comes to honoring diplomatic agreements (lawful vs chaotic) and how helpful they will be to their neighbors and allies (good) and how self-centered or power-hungry they are (evil).

Diplo should be RP-based but all trades and missent gems/items should be handle honorably and in good faith regardless of alignment. Political backstabbing can be justified but Nigerian mail-order scams cannot).

Corre and trades should be negotiated between prophets and/or gods or a suitable surrogate when no god or prophet is available.

Having fun is the goal and I'm looking for people that enjoy an element of atmosphere with their strategy gaming. With that in mind, no fun-ruining game exploits like mail bombing useless magic items.


Excist - Agartha
Immaculate - Helheim
Nosantee - Tir na n'Og
Dogged57 - Marverni
Torgon - Fomoria
Iron Duke - Arcoscephale
HoleyDooley - Hinnom
Tigercub - Niefelheim
Dojango - Mictlan
TigerBlood - Pangaea

Map: Shadowshore

[Immaculate]

IN- i love the RP aspect of some games.

[Nosantee]

****in' in. I play D&D and would love to try this out.

[Dogged57]

I'd love to get in on this.

[Baldr]

Count me in. Will have a think about nation.

-Baldr

[Iron Duke]

I'm in too, will be taking Arcoscephale...

[Excist]

Okay, we've hit the minimum number I wanted to start with, so I'll give another 24 hours for open applications and then set up the map on llamaserver and request pretenders to start being sent in. Good to see some like-minded players on here.

I'll take Agartha.

[HoleyDooley]

Sounds good. I'm in as well. Get back to you shortly re a nation.

Dooley

[HoleyDooley]

Hinnom for me thanks.

Roughly how many words are you looking for re the nation write up?

Dooley

[tigercub]

ok put me in....

Tiger:)

[Nosantee]

If we're choosing nations at the moment I'll take Tir na n'Og

[Baldr]

I'll take Helheim.

[tigercub]

ill take niefelheim

[dojango]

I'm in; I'll play EA Mictlan.

As for a map, I'd suggest shadowshore; it's got a nice RP-ish flavor to it.

[Immaculate]

i didn't realize we were picking nations yet. My impression from the first post was that we would wait to see how many players we had and on what map we would play.

Anyway, 1st pick is helheim. 2nd is sauromatia. And 3rd is yomi. In order of preference.

[TigerBlood]

If you would like another player, I am interested.

My nation picks would be

1. Pangaea
2. Lanka
3. Fomoria

Chaotic. Maybe Chaotic Evil depending on the nation.

[Excist]

Just got back from a holiday party late and almost 3 here, so I won't be making a final choice on the map until the morning. Here's some answers to some questions in the meantime:

HoleyDooley: As far as I'm concerned if you exceed the maximum number of characters in the forum post then that's probably a little overboard for this, but let's say that it should include as a minimum:

How they spent their life prior to ascending (or being chosen) to become a Pretender.
What their motives are for becoming a Pretender (or the motives of their followers, if they are thrust into this)
An indication of where they fall on the Good/Evil Axis
An indication of where they fall on the Lawful/Chaotic Axis

Short essay format is preferred and if it is hard to discern any of that information then, don't worry, we can single you out publicly :)

I was planning on having mine completed quickly this weekend to have up as an example, but this weekend is turning out to be considerably more busy than I had anticipated and I have not chosen a Pretender for this game yet.

[TigerBlood]

Natural Selection

Survival of the fittest. This philosphy pervades all aspects of Pangaean society; in the home, in trade, in revelry and especially in warfare. To the Pangaean, existance is not a fundamental right. Existance is an incessant struggle; only those with advantageous traits and the ruthless determination to use those traits to their fullest are deserving of survival. All others exist only to service the strong until they are discarded or predated into extinction.

Every citizen of Pangaea lives each day as though it may be their last, for it may well be. Prior achievements and social obligations mean nothing. Any open display of weakness is an invitation for exploitation by your peers. Today's champion can easily be tommorow's sacrifice, and Pangaea's need for sacrifice is great. All blood spilled in the name of Natural Selection strengthens Pangaea. Each new generation is more ruthless, cunning and physically capable. Once all trace of weakness has been stripped away from the world, the Pangaeans will be as gods.


I hope this OK. Not set on the name of my Pretender yet. Natural Selection will probably be fine though.

[Excist]

TigerBlood: Your nation concept is good, although slightly more focused on fleshing out the nation than the Pretender as I had originally envisioned. I am getting a strong Chaotic Neutral or possibly even Chaotic Evil impression from the description which is kind of what we are aiming for rather than specifically stating Chaotic Neutral/Chaotic Evil (since sometimes the descriptions can describe how those chaotic decisions are going to be made) To use your nation description as an example: as a player I will get the impression that the strong and independent will find a stalwart and fairly reliable ally in your nation and the weak that cannot stand on their own may find their support evaporate at the time its needed most as your nation helps cull the weak to benefit the strong.

Perhaps the only edit I would recommend is to add a little bit more into your description on how your God came to be worshiped by this cult. Is it his impressive strength that has drawn their worship or is this an entity that manifested itself as the very embodiment of the ideals that this nation had so fervently believed in. Or perhaps this is some mortal philosopher that has taught this concept to the once peaceful Pangaean citizens and has shed his birth name in favor of the very ideal that he has coined when they chose to worship him.

[TigerBlood]

Fair enough. I can't figure out how to edit my previous post, so I'll just tack this on.

Natural Selection

Survival of the fittest. This philosophy pervades all aspects of Pangaean society; in the home, in trade, in revelry and especially in warfare. To the Pangaean, existance is not a fundamental right. Existance is an incessant struggle; only those with advantageous traits and the ruthless determination to use those traits to their fullest are deserving of survival. All others exist only to service the strong until they are discarded or predated into extinction.

Every citizen of Pangaea lives each day as though it may be their last, for it may well be. Prior achievements and social obligations mean nothing. Any open display of weakness is an invitation for exploitation by your peers. Today's champion can easily be tommorow's sacrifice, and Pangaea's need for sacrifice is great. All blood spilled in the name of Natural Selection strengthens Pangaea. Each new generation is more ruthless, cunning and physically capable than the last. Once all trace of weakness has been stripped away from the world, the Pangaeans will be as gods.

Natural Selection is the embodiment of an ideal. Perhaps it is just an exceptionally cunning Pangaean, manipulating the nation in order to bring about it's own personal evolution into the position of Pantokrator, caring nothing about the ultimate fate of the Pangaean people. It may also be a primal concept that has been made manifest via the collective will of a nation and thousands upon thousands of blood sacrifices. None can say for sure. The only certainty is that Natural Selection acts with a singular drive and purpose, sometimes calculating, often uncomromising, always without remorse.

[Excist]

Very. Very. Cool.

[Immaculate]

So what map? start date?

[dojango]

In the beginning, there was chaos. Gods and demons fought for aeons, creating and destroying without regard or malice.
Eventually, the Maker, Tepeu, formed the pillar of the world out of the roiling waters, and set forth life upon the worlds.
Where the sweet water mingled with the new formed earth, the Maker mixed cornmeal with his blood, and formed the first men; six men and six women.
The six tribes of the people spread over the face of the earth. Jaguar, Eagle, Quetzal, Deer, Serpent and Vulture.
But the world was an evil place, and demons and monster and giants hunted the people, and slew the leaders of the tribes, all except for the leaders of the Jaguar and Deer tribes.
The people hid in the mountains and wastelands and starved. They cried out to their maker, who had abandoned them on this cruel world.
The twin sons of the Jaguar king took up their clubs and went on a great journey to find the Maker and plead with him to save them.
After a long and arduous journey, fighting demons, escaping evil giants, travelling through the terrible haunted forests, they found the Maker.
They saw that the Maker was fighting a terrible battle against the unending forces of Chaos, keeping them from devouring the earth.
When they asked the Maker to save them, he gave them six gifts, and told them to use the gifts to save themselves.
The secrets of obsidian, the way of corn, the codex of the law, the nature of the gods of the sun and the moon and the earth, and the way to harness the primal power of the jaguar.
Finally, he laid the mantle of the king on the elder brother, and told the younger brother the secret of using blood to protect the people and provide sustenance to the god.
"For if I fall in combat, the world falls," said the Maker.
The brothers returned to where the people were hiding and showed them the great gifts they had been given.
The people hailed the elder brother as the king of legend.
The younger brother took the elder of the Deer tribe, one of the first men, and made from him a great sacrifice to strengthen the god.

Many ages passed. The people warred against the demons and the giants and the monsters of this earth. They sacrificed their foes and their childern on the altar to strengthen the god.
But the people grew lazy and decadent. No longer the great armies went forth to gather tribute for the people and the gods. The altars decayed and fell silent.
The people fought amongst themselves, the great cities of the people knew no peace and hailed no king. The people had failed their Maker.
And so, once day, the Maker fell silent. No longer were the omens and signs felt by the priests. No longer would the blessings of the Maker be felt.
Now, the people of the city of Mictlan turned to their guardian spirit, Xtapolapocetl, who had been bound by blood to watch over the city in ages past, and begged him to defend them against the hordes of chaos.
And he answered. The armies of Mictlan are marching forth, desperate to find the power to set Xtapolapocetl upon the throne of heaven. For if he falls, the world falls.
And the hordes of chaos will descend upon the world again.

[Immaculate]

good RP posts both of you!

[Dogged57]

Chalk me down for Marverni.

[Excist]

I am leaning towards the Cradle of Dominion map (its about the size to nation ratio that would be good for 10 nations), but I wanted to check out Shadowshore first, but wasn't able to find it in the maps section. Does anybody have a link for it?

Also, I would like to get this kicked off this week. As soon as the map is finalized it will be hosted on llamaserver and Pretenders may be submitted.

The only non-standard setting will be score graphs off. Any intelligence will have to be gathered manually.

[Immaculate]

I thought we were starting in the new year- hence the name of the thread. I am away for christmas and won't be able to game- if you plan on gaming over christmas i have to drop out and will pick up the next RP game you launch.

[dojango]

Link (http://z7.invisionfree.com/Dom3mods/index.php?showtopic=491) is here. It looks like an old map, I believe the landmarks have a higher chance of magic sites, etc.

[TigerBlood]

I like the story of Mictlan. It starts off as the heroic struggle of a people to establish themselves in a hostile world, but the end of the story hints at the tragedy and desperation of a great civilisation on the verge of catastrophe.

I think I'll read it again!

[Nosantee]

As much as I would like to start soon myself I have to go with Immaculate and would prefer to start it after the new year (X-mas exodus woo)

However I can start this week or anytime really if necessary. Plus it'd give me some more time to come up with some kind of backstory.

[Excist]

Where does everybody else fall regarding the start time? To be honest I am flexible and the soonest I can see this getting started considering the current pace and Xmas vacations is the few days between Xmas and New Years. If we all want to start this game off with a new years day hangover I'm down.

[dojango]

I am open about the start date; just got eliminated from a couple of games so I'm itching to start a new one, but then, I also have regular internet access over the holidays, and I understand that a lot of people might not.

[Baldr]

I'm fine with starting after the holidays. Consider me flexible.

[Excist]

Okay, judging by the trend I'm seeing developing I am going to rephrase the question to: does anybody object to holding off until 1/2/2012 for getting this started?

Also, keep those nation/pretender descriptions flowing in! No reason not to have this ready to go before Xmas even if we won't actually start until after the break.

[Dogged57]

The second is fine for a start date. Working on pretender and write-up currently.

[Iron Duke]

It's ok for me as well, I'll write the background soon enough.

[HoleyDooley]

The Hinnom may be tall of stature but it is to a diminutive creature they bow their heads in prayer and obedience.

Alvira, Lord of the Hinnom earned this lofty office through the power of his mind. He spent his valuable time as a youth in the learned halls of the outcast mages in lands long since gone. This time was well spent and he emerged from his studies a mage of incredible power and knowledge.

His travels amongst the lands of the people led him to the Hinnom who were obedient to Tangst the Strong Arm. In a battle lasting little more than 30 seconds Alvira cast down the giant Tangst with a powerful mind blast and took his place as the new God of the Hinnom.

Once his position of power was secure he set about building an army of giants backed by a solid core of magics provided by many willing students of his arts. Alvira has promised his new congregation a return to their powerful status among the earthly. A promise the Hinnom were eager to accept.

Thus it has come to pass that the time of reckoning has arrived. Alvira has embarked upon his quest of world domination but he knows that force of arms will not be enough. Diplomacy and subterfuge will also be needed.

A man of his word, Alvira will seek willing allies whom he shall reward greatly for their assistance, but in the end, there can be only one!

[Excist]

These are some very cool introductions to nations and Pretenders!

[Immaculate]

Sauromatia

It began with a voice, slithering, serpentine, between the overhanging moss and vines, quietly, predatory, along the mist-crested waters, gently stroking the minds of beast and men alike as it spread.

It came before the sun, as the darkness only began to give way, sulkily, to the grey-violet of tomorrow on the horizon. Its whisper was slight, barely perceptible amidst the drum of each of our thoughts, our worries over our family squabbles, the daily hunger, our nets, traps, and bows. And as quietly and imperceptivity as it came, it was gone, the waters still but for the ripples of a serpent amidst the reeds as the mists began to burn away in the early morning sun.

But not all of us were deaf to its silken whispers. Amongst every tribe a select few, awake at the early hour, detangling our nets or sharpening our arrows, or feeding our infant children felt the quiet voice and in the clearness of our thoughts, heard its message: “It” had come. “It” would unite us, lead us, teach us the ways of our ancestors and future children. Those that heard were the first of its disciples.

Over the months and years, more and more awoke before the dawn, sitting quietly in small groups, preparing tea or gruel, waiting for the stillness in the trees, the hushing of the frogs and bird, and the quiet, a sort of pre-battle dread, that would descend upon the swamp before “Its” coming. We learned to clear our minds and be patient, to strain a sort of ear within us and to listen, truly listen. And as we did, day after day, we were united, we were taught an ancient law that would first be taught to our grand-children, we learned to share the wisdom of the departed and the very plants and animals of the swamp whispered their secrets to us.

Days, months, and even years went by. Our hunters learned to milk the white viper who swam only under the full moon. Our warriors learned to tame and even ride the great grey lizards the hid in the deep swamp. Even the many-headed wyrms of the great choking bog were brought under our sway by the whispered secrets. We learned not only to make the best of the swamp’s bounty but of our own. Our enemies we flayed and eviscerated. Their viscera we mixed with viper venom and grew in clay pots buried in the deep reeds until the mixture grew foul and putrid. These we dipped our arrows in and those scratched would die a painful agonizing death. The skins we raised, untanned and bloody on great standards to bring terror to our enemies and courage to ourselves. Their flesh we feasted upon that we might grow strong and many. After death, even the spirits and bones we learned to master, calling them back to serve us in death as they did not in life.

The Whisper that Came Before the Dawn called to us, bade us forge a great machine of war that was our people, the Sauromatia.

And we heeded that call, the Voice.

[TigerBlood]

Spooky.

[Nosantee]

Tir na n'Og

Forgive some impossible things that can't actually happen in game, I'm telling a story con-sarnit!

The tide of the war had turned, and the Tuatha found themselves slowly overwhelmed. Their God having left them, blamed for the loss their faith left undone and hanging. The final retreat was forced as the Sidhe fell out behind the fleeing Tuatha. The Formorians biting at their feet every step as they forced to retreat to their frigid isle of mist.

Relief came in the form of a horned serpent, powerful beyond imagination. It came from the forrest void and spoke to them, to aide them and bring spiritual balance back to their cause. For months the Tuatha battled along side their new general whom protected them, sheltered them and brought might and fury back into their hearts. Slowly the flow began to return to them as every slither closer to them it took was like a wave of victory rushing over the people.

Horror befell the people of Tir na n'Og when the nightmare occured. Traitorous Firbolg and Nemedians revealed the secrets of their lands, weaknesses, and ways to home. Quickly surrounded the information abused, their path to retreat cut off, the Army was left in the heart of enemy lands. Soon to be slaughtered, honour determined. Giants approached with the stench of death following. Fear and panic spread, but The Serpent would not allow his people to fall. To him they turned, halo glowing and benevolence humming The Serpent raised his body. "Pray unto me and give me strength, I will return." Unaware what was to come they stared wide eye'd as their God's form faded and the world became a blur. The forest seemed to move itself around them, the earth beneath their feet carrying them.

They were back home on their blessed isle. Army intact but no Serpent in sight. Left behind to fight the Formorians with the last of its power.

Many were outraged, bereft, and utterly crushed. Others, ran and gathered the cities, all men and women. Together they forged helm and spear. Tuatha raised and Sidhe called.

The Prophet of The Scaled One rose. Mist and lightning surrounded him, a heavy wind blew and carried his words across the land to the ears of all many provinces and countries away.
"We are coming, oh Lord!"
The people cheered

[Dogged57]

How's the map search going?

[HoleyDooley]

The Saga Continues......

Alvira knew he was mortal and that there would come a time when he would depart this world for the next. His long years of studies had revealed to him another possibility other than death.

Thus it came to pass that he did indeed breath his last just as his plans for the Hinnom were coming to fruition. He had however left strict instructions with his most trusted and gifted acolytes as to what should be done with his remains when the time came.

His acolytes prepared their masters remains in accordance with his instructions and thus it was that the Hinnom were not left without a God, but indeed beheld a new and more powerful version of their lord.

He pulsated with life and they could feel his power, not only emanating from him, but within themselves.

They bowed their heads in awe and wonder at his new magnificence, the Blood Lord.

[HoleyDooley]

The Saga Continues......

Alvira knew he was mortal and that there would come a time when he would depart this world for the next. His long years of studies had revealed to him another possibility other than death.

Thus it came to pass that he did indeed breath his last just as his plans for the Hinnom were coming to fruition. He had however left strict instructions with his most trusted and gifted acolytes as to what should be done with his remains when the time came.

His acolytes prepared their masters remains in accordance with his instructions and thus it was that the Hinnom were not left without a God, but indeed beheld a new and more powerful version of their lord.

He pulsated with life and they could feel his power, not only emanating from him, but within themselves.

They bowed their heads in awe and wonder at his new magnificence, the Blood Lord.

[Baldr]

Hey All,

I have to drop out of this game. I have recently begun planning a vacation that will put me away for awhile soon after the game starts. Sorry about this. I think you all still have plenty of time to find new person if you want.

Happy Holidays,
Baldr (Helheim)

[Immaculate]

switching to helheim

[HoleyDooley]

Groundworm, you need to change the heading, we need one more player to recruit.

[Torgon]

Hey,

If you're still looking for another player, I'll take fomoria.

[Torgon]

Where is the game being hosted? Don't see it in the initial post? Llama Server?

[Torgon]

Was the is price of victory? Balor and the Fomorians had defeated invasion after invasion into their once beautiful homeland. Now the land was ravaged, their people nearly destroyed. The dark magic required to defeat the vile armies of the Tuatha had interacted with the old power of the curse in unpredictable ways. Now even more of the children of Fomoria were born with horrific afflictions and monstrous appearance. The kingdom had emerged victorious, but at what price. One more such 'victory' and the blesses giants would not survive into the new age.

The sages saw the worsening of the curse and despaired, seeing it as an sign of the end of all they had fought to preserve. Only a few among them held out any hope for salvation. Balor, king of the Fomorians, was one of the few leaders who believed that salvation for his people was possible. He began a desperate search for a new power, a power that could turn aside the evil of the curse, and return the land of the giant to fertility and prosperity.

His hope was answered in a vision of a new god. One night, while walking through one of the dying forests, he heard a call. A call that brought him to a temple deep within the ancient wood. The temple was deserted, an place of magic dedicated to an old god. The god was unknown to the Fomorians, since any worship had stopped ages ago, even before the time of the Partholonians.

However, Balor heard a call. A soft urging, a hope that he could free this god from its prison. A prison constructed by an evil power ages ago in another war for supremacy. The god that called Balor was a god of healing and mercy, a power that could deliver the Fomorians from the curse that afflicted them.

[Excist]

Game is hosted on llamaserver under NewYearsNewGame and Pretenders can be submitted (just in time with 30 min to go before actual New Years EST).

Shadowshore map has been finalized as the best RP map (and awesome suggestion btw!)

[Immaculate]

link to map?

[Iron Duke]

If it is ok, I'd like to focus more on the nation and less on the pretender(just slightly less) for the backstory, and I intend to enrich it with more stories, or maybe AARs.. Not decided about that yet, though if I do write extra stories and you get bored, be sure to tell me.

[Immaculate]

Helheim

Born from magic and fed upon the dead as they past through Gnipahålan, the creature was a simple bird, meant to feed upon the dead, return to its master, one of the Hanged ones of Helhanna, and there be sacrificed for the essence of the dead it carried in its gut. But for this grey headed raven, something went wrong. The spell was wrought, the ravens were woven of the mana of winds and they were sent, by the greedy Hangadrott to the place, surely, where there would be the most essence of death to feed upon, the the great stone cave of Gnipahålan where the dead passed through on their way to Hel, but then the spell began to unravel. Many of the ravens lost their way; some their mana unraveled and they became nothing at all. For a select few, they reached their destination only to be swallowed by the great cave itself or torn apart by the confused and desperate dead as they wandered through. But the grey one winged between the currents of seductive death and eluded the grasping hands of the dead as they tried to clutch, desperate, to his feathered form.

And it fed, and from the dead of this pass, it fed well, quickly gaining more essence than the spell it had been wrought from had ever been designed to accommodate. The old greedy Hangadrott who had sought to use the raven’s feast upon this sacred place was right; there was much to be gained from the essence here, much more than could ever be tamed by even those who had hung themselves to walk though the cave and return. And so the raven grew mighty and wise, powerful and cunning. Satiated finally, he returned to Helhanna and slew the caster that had wrought its form. It commanded the Vanir of Helhanna and they obeyed.

Now the grey raven has returned to the lands of men and giants, tuatha and formarians, and with it, has brought the Helheim, that they might struggle for dominance over souls of mortals. Those who spoke to the grey raven say it is a shape-changer, wise and ancient, both cruel and compassionate, its reasoning private yet cooperative and loyal.

Only time will tell what will happen of the cult of the grey raven and the Vanir of helheim.



i don't feel its as good as my sauro submission but the idea i thought was more compelling. also... my pretender is submitted. looking forward to a fun and story-filled game.

[Dogged57]

He was born among the Carnutes to a cattle herder and his wife. There was nothing remarkable about his lineage, his family, his people, except what the druids had seen in the stars. The story of the future of the Marverni is written in the sky, clear to those who can read it. This boy was destined for more than life in the wagons, and he would lead his people to greatness.

Or so they thought. The boy was kidnapped from the place the druids had taken him by fierce slave traders from the steppes nearby. He was bought and sold a dozen times, serving great men, evil men, insignificant men, and finally, a learned man. This wise scholar bought the boy to serve him in his new library hauling scrolls, manuscripts, books, and the things of wonder the scholar had collected over a lifetime.

The boy soon showed that his mind was sharp and wise beyond his years. The scholar took note of his abilities and began to tutor the boy in all of the magical knowledge he knew. The boy soon outstripped his master, and the scholar decided to free the boy and send him out to those around the world like himself, other scholars, wise men, and mages of great power.

The boy grew up travelling from land to land, learning as much as he could about the magic that he felt coursing through his veins, his legacy gifted from the stars. He eventually made himself known throughout the land as a great scholar, and then he ensconced himself in a great tower he had built to study the stars, the world, and the answers to all of the great philosophical questions that men and gods have asked. He was rumored to have stumbled onto something that would allow him to understand the inner workings of the gods and of the lost Pantokrator.

Others came to him in his tower to learn from him and about him. He maintained contact with the outside world through letters, refusing to leave the tower and his great work. His students supported his work, allowing him to work in peace with little to no distractions.

He now barely speaks to his students, sitting and staring off into the distance or at the stars for hours on end. He sits, filthy, ignoring the physical world in order to more deeply comprehend the spiritual and magical world of the gods. He is trapped in a prison of his own making, a dungeon of contemplation.

The druids never forgot the signs, never forgot the boy who was destined to rule the world. They still search endlessly for their hope, their light, their would-be god. The fate of the people of Marverni rests on their shoulders.

[dojango]

link to the map is here: http://z7.invisionfree.com/Dom3mods/index.php?showtopic=491

[Immaculate]

thanks- i played with that map a bit yesterday and it looks open but its actually not really and there are some nice choke points. Its nice that there is no water nation amongst us (especially for agartha- everyone make sure agartha doesn't dominate on land because they will in the water)

and nice story Dogged... i hate maverni so much after my last SP game :P

[Dogged57]

I'm still not sure I've figured them out. Should be interesting to see whether the plan works out.

[Excist]

Agartha: The Pact with Harrow-gor

The Agarthan people have for ages lived their lives peacefully underground guarding the Umbral Seal and have been always been known as an honorable people that lived their lives with wisdom and humility. The supreme sacrifice their ancestors made to lead the Agarthans underground and Seal the Umbral Chamber has slowly, but surely been claiming its due. They are now cursed and increasingly tainted as the Seal corrupts the very guardians that stand vigil, causing them to turn on one another in bloodlust and hasten the weakening of the Seal. They are diseased and increasingly infertile as their once great numbers are culled by a foe that the Guardian's of the Seal's Obsidian Glaives are powerless to contain. The extinction of the Pale Ones is now all but inevitible to even the greenest of Earthreaders and the Oracles know that if this should ever come to pass the eventual death of the rest of the world is not long to follow.

But, the Oracles have divined an answer! One Oracle of the Dead, named Laman-Ra has communed with the great Ismodeon that once led the Great Agarthan nation on the First Crusade responsible for the Sealing of the Chamber, and is even now trapped forever as a Risen Oracle in Tartarus after his failed bid for godhood many cycles ago. After this perilous journey to the cusp of Tartarus, Laman-Ra has returned with hope for Agartha and the world.

The answer was a name: Harrow-gor. Harrow-gor, the legendary mage long thought dead. Stories of his conquests from hundreds of years ago are still talked about in every nation in the world. A Sequani by birth, he had left the Sacred Forest to study among the Sages of Ashentower, delve dungeons and contract out his services in battle as a mercenary. A Pale One commander named Mandred had been chosen to travel out and seek Harrow-gor with 12 Ancient Ones, and a representative Oracle from each of the 3 schools. Only four survived the quest including Mandred himself, but that is a tale for another time.

The people of Agartha and Harrow-gor have enterred into what is now known as The Pact. Harrow-gor has evaluated their plight and referenced all that he has learned of the spectral realm, consulting the Pax Arcanum and casting complex divining rituals with the Eye of Balthuzak to foresee, not just the near future the way that the Earth Readers can, but to see the lines of power and the forces of change to predict the resulting changes for projected choices.

The resulting Pact itself, however, turned out to be exceedingly simple:

- Agartha must save themselves by embracing their cursed bloodlust and the very power contained in the Seal to expand their lands on the surface away from the taint of the Seal.

- Agartha must then save the world by raising Harrow-gor to godhood where only he has the understanding necessary to completely seperate the Umbral Chamber from the rest of this dimensional realm and create a clear fissure in the Umbral Bridge and permenantly defend against the Taint.

As the sun sets over the horizon the amazons and lizardmen, the lost jaguar tribes and lion tribes, the barbarians and the independant militiamen turn their head at an unfamiliar sound. Wardrums beating one solitary deliberate tempo echoing from beneath the earth out onto the plains and swamps and forests.

The tide approaches slowly at first and then charges forth with unexpected bursts of speed and in seconds the independant tribes are scattered and splintered; the elders are cut down as they stand, fight or run so that their children have a chance against a fate that none of them were aware of or could comprehend.

Standing above the cowed and impressionable survivors the Pale One clerics read off liturgy in their guttoral monotone.

24:17 Nature is more powerful than Death in that Death fuels Nature's growth as deadwood fuels a fire
35:22 Sometimes one must shed blood to heal the sick.
12:5 Does any one amongst you doubt that the world is sick and the forces of Death threaten to claim the very Blood of the World? Would any one amongst you stand against the Prince of Strength that would shelter you?
12:2 Rejoice! For the Umbral Bridge will be Guarded! The Undeceivable God has arrived to defend the Life of the World!

Slowly, they begin to understand why their parents had had to die so that they may live.

[Torgon]

I'm definitely enjoying the back stories. Looking forward to starting this game.

[Excist]

If it is ok, I'd like to focus more on the nation and less on the pretender(just slightly less) for the backstory, and I intend to enrich it with more stories, or maybe AARs.. Not decided about that yet, though if I do write extra stories and you get bored, be sure to tell me.

Iron Duke, everybody has been bringing their own artistic take to this and most have fleshed out the nation a little as well as the Pretender.

As long as we can get a sense from your description of what to expect in dealing with you then it'll be fine. You can add additional writings later, and I was thinking that would come in the form of flashbacks after major battles/events or after globals are cast hinting at archaic prophecy etc.

I've actually been trying to set up a website to accommodate this sort of stuff better.

Right now we're just waiting on you to upload your pretender and description to get started.

[Iron Duke]

** A R C O S C E P H A L E **
N E W G E N E S I S

In the vicinity of Mount Cephalos, lived a race of human, proud and free, who named themselves after their splendid city, Arcoscephale. A few remembered the old city as it was in the reign of Pantokrator, known not to them by their rightful experience, for none remains in the city belonging to the ancient days, instead their tradition and history passed generation to generation, by the wise and elderly to the young and strong. They were a people of remarkable strength and tenacity, having achieved great knowledge, in both ways of life, for there were two known to the Arcoscephalian, the knowledge of mind and matter, and that of magic. Their craftsmen boasted the best of work, engineers marveled at their own creations, the magi walked firmly on the path to power, and with their soldiers, men of immense courage and talent, they united their known world under their banner.

The belief of the Old Pantokrator had been long gone, and people deified other people, men and women were worshipped as gods and demigods, temples and monuments were raised to honor them, festivals celebrated and sacrifices made. Their land was nothing short of utopia, a word they themselves invented. They enjoyed supernatural fertility, the wonders of their land awed even the most skeptical and worldly of their kind, crystal blue rivers, plains of infinity, mighty forests, fountains of honey, mounds of fruits, sustained by an almost divine force, for which they praised their mother nature, another creation of their own. Arcane energy was potent, the air sizzled with power, and the magically talented perfected their art. Their mother nature, already blessing them with her gifts, the people of Arcoscephale preferred to enjoy their freedom rather then working themselves to the death, often resting on the tree shades, or wandering aimlessly through the grass, tall as a soldier. They knew without toil the magnificence were not to be achieved though, so taking advantage of their fruitful minds, they invented machines and automatons to share their burden. Mills harnessed the power of winds and water, engineered automatons, empowered with magic filled the role of servants, for freedom of being was sacred in Arcoscephale, thus slavery was abhorred. They indeed entertained a central authority, lacking the power of deities, but for the better of nation, constituting laws carefully thought. The authority consisted of not a singular man, but a formed circle of elders instead, and as an unheard practition in the rest of the world(which they longed to discover), chosen by and from the people themselves. The city laws were flexible, almost to the point of lax, every Arcoscephalian citizen instead relied on conscience and honor to avoid falling into disarray and destructive chaos. Conscience and honor are never enough for the society though, and the lives of people were far from clockwork, unexpected occurences often intervened and changed their lives, however, owing to their endurance and optimism, they more often benefited from those surprises, (which often they brought upon themselves, for stagnation and dormancy were not to the taste of an Arcoscephalian) than to be ruined from them.

The thirst for knowledge and the lure of unknown were deep in the hearts of the people of Arcoscephale, and they were already leaving their cradle, expanding both their realm and their culture outward, it was a wonder why they seldom sought to uncover the secrets of Mount Cephalos, a mountain both sacred and forbidden, not by laws but by tradition(which the city folk revered more). As this expansion started to commence, a hero, strongest of the strong, bravest of the brave, conquering the barriers of his mind, and falling victim to his curiosity, and thirst of knowledge, dared to uncover the secrets of the mountain. after ninety nine days, he returned, changed, not in appearance, but in state of mind, he claimed himself prophet. He was to be laughed at first, until miracles began to happen, scores of winged horses, graceful and white as marble, began flying over the city, and none dared to harm them. Next appeared a divine being, a woman to the eye, a goddess to the heart, to the side of prophet, of blinding beauty so dazzling that people shielded their eyes with their hands, lest their eyes and minds be overwhelmed. She performed miracles(for a land of magic, miracles appeared as magic unseen and unheard of before) and prophet spoke, possessed by some unknown power, of realms beyond, of glory, of passion, of dangers, of wonders, of victory, of cataclysm, and the hearts of the people were captured. The power loved the people of Arcoscephale, not as subjects but as countless children, revealed them secrets, empowering their already mighty knowledge, and they in return, put the power even above the gods of their own creation, for gods were numerous and this being was singular and immensely more powerful and most of all, cared for them and loved them. Mountain spirits, manifesting themselves as women of blinding beauty, taught in the Mountain, willing virgins of the city the ways of forests, nature and herbs, of the animals, of healing, and those learned the ways of nature were established within the realm as priestesses, preaching the word of the mysterious power, tending to the sick and wounded, taming wild animals and blessing the worthy.

Arcoscephale, renewed in their existence, beauty and vigor, were ready to enlighten the darkest corners of the world and battle whom will stand in their way, for it was revealed to them, of other powers, some akin to theirs, some malicious, some dealt in death, others, (to their disgust and horror) in blood. The pegasi were tamed as mounts, the order of mystics began researching new spells and creations, philosophers, thinkers of great renown forced their minds to their extent, the strategos adopted new sophisticated battle tactics meanwhile the prophet revealed that in nine hundred ninety nine setting and passing of sun, the power would reveal itself, springing out from the roots of ground, and the old city, now considered itself ready, to show its shining might to the rest of the world...

[Iron Duke]

OOC: The background became a tad longer than I had anticipated, though I was in the mood and wrote some stuff. Now english is not my native and there may have been errors here and there, I think I did fairly well though :D
The scales and pretender choice are vaguely given in the story, to those who would take their time to read it, but I refrained from giving exacts, which would spoil the game. Now the alignment I chose for Arco(and I think they should be played more or less the same in every rp game) is chaotic(or maybe neutral) good. I tried to give that impression, hope I succeeded :angel

[Immaculate]

Very good writing IronDuke

[Immaculate]

k- launch game?

[Iron Duke]

Very good writing IronDuke

Thank you Immaculate

[TigerBlood]

It is said that worry often gives small things a big shadow. Yet for a brief moment, the entire nation of Pangaea was freed from the trivial concerns and anxieties of their daily lives. A frantic respite from their toil...

Panic! Run Wild! Darwin has been named Prophet of Natural Selection!

[Torgon]

Fomoria

A rare unclouded day in Fomoria greeted the crew of the ship sent to seek out the great power that had spoken to Balor of the renewal of the giants and the end of the curse. They were hand picked by the king for their loyalty, their bravery, and their belief that the fomorian people could overcome the curse with enough power. The ship was named Elanora, the same as the god who had revealed herself to the King. The Captain, Simragel, was a hand picked member of the King's Guard, a simple Firbolg who had proved his worth time and time again and had slowly moved up through the ranks of Army. Balor believed that Simragel and his small complement of men were the last, best hope of the Fomorian people.

Many of the druids and other Fomorian Kings believed it was a fool's dream. Better to trust is what had saved them time and time again: the dark magic of the underworld. Only time would show who was correct.

[Immaculate]

clever tiger...

[tigercub]

The True God of Niefelhien Von blood will return to lead his Niefelhien Giants to reclaim all that has been taken from them in the past..Be my friend and not my foe and gain in the power of the Niefelhien peoples or the hell will open before you and eat your warriors bones...and bring me more undead to clean the world...

[Excist]

Mandred stood staring grim-faced, his gaunt lined face and furrowed brow watching his troops advance with a fanatical obsession. His single eye twitched first left, then right, mentally tagging every notched spear and missing armband on his rag tag and under-equipped army.

Harrow-gor had said this day would come...MUST come. Have faith he told himself. They will hold. They MUST hold. There is no other way.

His eye flicked nervously up across the open field. A dozen knights stood at the ready, burnished scalemail shining almost iridescently in the sun only partially obscured by the bright logos hand-painted on the shields hinting at past glories, family properties and enterprises and even a few rare monsters from the wilds. Their warhorses were well-bred destriers obviously well-trained for the rigors of battle. These would not flinch at the smell of blood. These muscled masses of black fur and barding held these humans up to a respectable height and they weighed 3-4 times any one of his Pale Ones and probably twice as much as the Ancient Ones. Their Gauntlets held Lances of solid steel. At galloping speed those could pierce and kill on contact. Behind them stood another half dozen cavalry archers testing the wind and at least one more squire aiding each of the Knights. This could turn ugly. But it wouldn't. Harrow-gor had told him what to do. It would work. Why didn't he feel more certain?

The Knights had finished lining up and broke into a gallop readying their lances to pierce through his line of troops like the barbs from a Manticore attacking a herd of sheep.

Mandred unfolded the cloth around a shard of obsidian harvested from the Seal as his troops readied themselves in formation to receive the charge. 3 simple words: Gno'll, Ung, Thano. A dark current of liquid power ran through his veins. His troops' resolve seemed to firm. Did they feel it too? All at once the charging Heavy Cavalry came crashing into the Ancient Ones that had inexplicably strode madly forward in the last few seconds. Lances aiming for chest or gut on the large targets standing before them all struck true and with horror Mandred watched spines of metal sprout from the backs of the Ancient Ones. In the same bloody instance they bellowed as if one otherworldly beast and whipped around in rage and mindless fury pulling the few fools foolishly holding onto their lances from their saddles to be trampled by the horses behind them. Faster than his eye could track armored ragdolls were spitted on spears or grabbed from the saddle by the neck in an impromptu hanging just to be used as an improvised weapon against their brethren. They moved with a strength and precision that was previously unknown in Agartha. Their fatal wounds that should have meant certain doom were ignored in favor of killing and crushing the enemy in a primal orgy of death fueled by a power that is so new, yet, to these Agarthans was truly very, very old. 2 Knights had escaped the reach of the Ancient Ones and were just leveling their lances to charge into the weaker ranks behind them when that same power bubbled up inside Mandred once more. As instinctual as a cough or a sneeze dark power issued forth from Mandred and the air seemed to shift as if there was a shock of thunder without sound and both man and beast fell to the ground as their souls were ripped from their body. Two heart beats later the last knight stumbled down alongside his suddenly lifeless mount blank eyes staring at the sky.

Mandred looked up to see the Ancient Ones deep in both their enemies blood and their own madness forgetting everything they learned about warfare and teamwork. Horse Archers had tried to quit the field when the squires and footmen went down like a sack of flour, however, unfortunately they could not ride faster than the towering Ancient Ones' long legs could carry them.

This felt right. This felt good. This was the true path to cleansing themselves and cleansing the world in the blood of those that would resist the ascension of the True God. All that Harrow-gor had promised will come to pass.

Mandred uttered the first words since the massacre started:

Praise Harrow-gor!

[Nosantee]

As a small note I would have appreciated the fact graphs would be turned off...

[Excist]

When I set up the game on llamaserver I set graphs to off and they're not showing stats on the web. Are the graphs set to on in the in-game settings?

[Torgon]

I think he just means that the standard setting is to have graphs on, but in this case they're off, and the initial description of the game didn't indicate this.

Not a huge deal, personally. I think that since this is an RP game, graphs to off makes much more sense then on. There's no magical source of info telling you how everyone's doing, and you actually have to use scouts. However, graphs on or off might have a bearing on strategy, even pretender design. For instance less need to take an awake rainbow for crazy early research, just bluff to everyone that you have an awake pretender and crazy early research.

We're there any other settings that were not default?

[Immaculate]

I am leaning towards the Cradle of Dominion map (its about the size to nation ratio that would be good for 10 nations), but I wanted to check out Shadowshore first, but wasn't able to find it in the maps section. Does anybody have a link for it?

Also, I would like to get this kicked off this week. As soon as the map is finalized it will be hosted on llamaserver and Pretenders may be submitted.

The only non-standard setting will be score graphs off. Any intelligence will have to be gathered manually.

It was indicated (though not in the first post as is the standard apparently)

[Excist]

Yes, I guess as an RP game I kinda thought it went without saying for graphs to be off.

The OP stated MOST settings would be standard and later clarified that the only non-standard setting would be graphs. If anybody was basing their pretender design on game settings and not an RP theme (I for one have a terrible design in strictly competitive terms, but awesome design for a tragically flawed Agartha that should be fun to play nevertheless) then they should have asked what wouldn't be standard.

[Nosantee]

Aha so it was stated, my bad!

I guess we know what this means.
Everything I say may or may not be a lie, but it's probably gonna be a lie. Infact, it's all gonna be lies. You know what, just don't listen to anything I say.

Let us 'Diplomacy'. I'll start working on making fun little write ups and maps in a bit. Probably every few turns. Hopefully noone hates their locations being given away (battle, castle, etc) cause if I find it, it's going on the Tir na n'Og map updates!

[HoleyDooley]

Good stuff Nosantee. Go for it.

[Nosantee]

Tir na n'Og
Intentions

010325
TNMS30620sf

Our expansions are going well! We've taken the lands of Cimri, Ligria, and Winter Peaks with minimal losses and a great haste. Our lands however seem quite rebellious and about 70% of the populous aren't to pleased with the tax hikes. However, we're crushing the dissidents to bring peace back to the capital. Site searching is going well and we've stolen quite a few gems from witches. The cursed troops have been dealt with.ocA 1525Z

On the positive side we've discovered a new neighbor! We welcome the people of Helheim as our new friend and ally. We hope with this map that we can express our intentions and hopefully we may stay out of each others way as we continue our campaign (Sign NAP3 Y/N)? ocA 1527Z

As well, we've met... Formoria? FORMORIA!?
FORMORIAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
FORMORIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!ocA 1528Z

A LOUD BANG IN THE BACKGROUND, A DOOR SLAMING POSSIBLYoc

I apologize, the captain has entered and rage and is taking no more questions.ocB 1531Z

...NQoc 1536Z
...NToc 1541Z

[Immaculate]

A bird, black as death and with hollow eyes appears upon the castle walls of the Tir Na Nog. In his claw is clutched a scroll. A guard takes the scroll and the bird disappears into a dry ash on the wind.


what the scroll says will only be known to the tuatha (see private message)

[Torgon]

The people of Fomoria remember well the cruel invasions of the Tuatha, and it is not something they can forgive easily. However the King has other concerns at the moment. The power that can heal the curse must be found!!!

He is willing to accept a reluctant peace for the time being.

[Excist]

There is a stealthy scout at the gates of one of the great nations that have a Divine Champion, however, the gates are sealed.


(Please make sure your forum settings allow private messages to be received)

[Immaculate]

Nosantee- are you getting my PMs?

[Nosantee]

Nosantee- are you getting my PMs?

PM system must have screwed you, I didn't get the RP message but I did get the second one sent today. Resend it if you have it saved if not don't worry too much. It'd suck though if that much RP got lost in the traffic-

[Dogged57]

Verudoctius finished the ritual, spilling the blood of the boar over the altar. He walked away, hoping his god would be pleased with the sacrifice this day. Tomorrow he was bound for the borderlands. He wandered into the city past the tribesmen readying for the next month's raids. Many lands had been brought under the sway of the Marverni, and more would soon be under their rule. Of course, which lands were conquered and which were yet to be taken was unknown in the capital.

Without the druids, chaos rules Marverni. The Gutuaters attempt to keep the tribes united and under control, but only a few bother to care for anyone beyond their own clansmen. The prophet, if he can be called that, was a simple man, an unknown warrior. He happened to be the first mind the great scholar's thoughts reached. That touch drove him mad. He only thinks of conquest, now. The Gutuaters sent Luterius with him to keep him aimed in the right direction. Soon, though there will be nothing anyone can do to control him. Not unless the druids return, and bring with them the one true god, the one marked by the stars.


OOC: I'm delaying messages by a turn or two to represent the chaotic political situation in Marverni.

[Torgon]

Captain Simragel, at the order of Balor, continued to search for the resting place of the God that had spoken to him in the dying forests of Fomoria. Behind him, the kingdom was dying, the curse grew worse by the month. Increasingly, hope was fleeing the kingdom.

Simragel was also despairing in his quest. He continued to search, but many paths were closed to him by the advances of other nations. Particularly disturbing, was an army of creatures from under the very mountains themselves (apparently they called themselves Argathans) that had advanced to the very marches of Fomormia. Simragel received a message from Balor, recalling him and his small force back to the capital lest the beasts from the mountains attack.

Emissaries had been sent to venture out to the army of Pale giants, but none had returned. Balor had no desire for war while they still searched for a cure to curse, but if the Argathan army refused to withdraw he would be forced to strike back. A eerie quite settled over the Armies of Fomoria, awaiting word from the ambassadors. They sharpened their weapons, but everyone hoped for a peaceful conclusion to the standoff. Fomoria had seen enough of war.

[Torgon]

The pale giants of Argatha refused to yield. They claimed some ancient right to land that was clearly Fomorian, litterly footsteps away from Rath Chimbalth and the Isle of Kings.

From various sources within the local tribes of Icthyids, word had also reached Fomoria that these giants were conquering the very Encircling Ocean. Clearly, these pale monsters had intentions upon the entire world, and if they controlled both the sea and the land they would be unstoppable.

Reluctantly, Balor ordered the forces of Fomoria to attack. He had wished for Peace, and he still held out some hope that these creatures would find reason and come back to the negotiating table. But he could not stand back and let another invasion destroy the lands of his people. He sent out birds carrying messages far and wide for aid, but he had little hope that many would return with good news.

Within the encampment on the Plains of Fomoria, Captain Simragel oversaw the preparations. The forces of Fomoria were still small, having only begun to recover from the devastation of the previous years. However, with them was a company of Unmarked. Formorians untouched by the curse and sacred to the people. The previous night the new god had spoken to Simragel for the first time. In his dream she promised to imbue these holy soldiers with her own strength. As he looked out upon the forces of the Argathans arrayed against his tiny force he could only hope that she spoke the truth.

[Immaculate]

nice writing. very much enjoying the story-telling.

[Immaculate]

Note to the moderator:

I'll be able to get this turn in on time but for the next one can you please extend it 36h or so? I have to go to montreal for a few days

[Excist]

No problem Immaculate. I'll add 12 hours to the clock after the next hosting.

[Immaculate]

oh- i'll still be in montreal- can you extend it 36h after the next?

Sorry to be a pain.

i.

[Excist]

Mandred's brow angled sharply in a frown that at once seemed to convey stern concentration and summary disapproval as the last of the tattered hordes from Fomoria fled back to the north in ruins.

As his Ancient One warriors speared the stragglers and finished off the crippled: too maimed to flee, too weak to give a proper fight, Mandred found hastily scrawled missives apparently calling for aid against the 'pale beasts'.

His eyebrow raised briefly for just an instance in genuine shock as he took in the full measure of disinformation being sent to other nations. Surely some had let fly already, but this pack of letters at least would reveal what lies this disrespectful nation of Fomoria would tell.

Inexcusable. Not only had they left the negotiating table after one bout of correspondence during which Mandred had removed his troops from the contested Werk Enum province to prevent any possible unintended conflict, but Fomoria had shed first blood attempting to push even farther into Agartha's homeland.

And now to top it off they send missives painting Agartha as the aggressors. One thing is clear now. Fomoria and Agartha cannot peacefully coexist. Too much Agarthan blood has been split and Fomoria has proven that they lack the honor all warriors should live by.

Mandred issued the call urging the Seal Guards forth to leave the Seal undefended. Once again the drum beats of war announce impending funerals and give Agartha's enemies warning and time to settle their debts and say goodbye to their loved ones.

[Dogged57]

The scout saluted his commander and gave the report. "Giants to the south, giants to the east, and giants to the north, my chieftain. Nothing but giants in the whole of the land! Giants from the cold mountains, giants bathing in bloody rituals, and giants emerging from the very ground itself!"

Acco, Chieftain of the Marverni and the first to undertake the reconquest of tribal lands shook his head as the scout drew a rough map on the ground. Vercingetorix, mad prophet of Doggedetorix, sat on the ground and rocked back and forth, clutching his knees to his chest. He gibbered madly under his breath, calling upon his god, naming the absent druids, and raving about slaying the enemies of the faith. Segonax the Gutuater, annointed in the blood of the sacrifice given to their god in thanks for the easy conquest of the lands of Runia, joined them at hill encampment overlooking the tents of the warband.

"The city of the Frost Giants lies just over the hills to the east. They won't be happy that you've come here." Robidan the Ferran spit as he mentioned the giants, bravado in front of the Marveni who had conscripted him. While he had proven himself in battle and wore the sign of their god, he was still not accepted by the tribes.

"That we've come here," Segonax stressed. "You'll share our fate, be it a grave or the spoils of the land."

Acco, cutting off the Gutuater, added "The men are still restless. They still need the raids. None of us has made our fortune in the piss-poor lands we've stumbled through. But first, we return home to celebrate our victories. That'll occupy them for a while."

"A short while," the Gutuater added under his breath.

Vercingetorix fell silent and still. His eyes closed and his breathing slowed. None could wake him. The leaders of the army hid this from the men, knowing it would unman them if they saw. And they started the long march home through the mountain pass, wine and women waiting for them.

[tigercub]

(Mightus talks to vonblood) ,Marverni people have taken Root your lands my lord, word has been sent to warn them to leave or needless blood will be spilt...make plans to clear them... my lord as you speak i have done so...if they have not left soon we will kill them all...

Vonblood

[Nosantee]

Tigercub turn on your private messages please!

The nation of Tir na n'Og is extremely, EXTREMELY interested in the offer!

[tigercub]

try again as i have it on now!

[Nosantee]

Says you're still not accepting PMs, however not to worry! I'm willing to make the trade as soon as you are!

[Excist]

Copy and pasted as of 1/12:

The following errors occurred with your submission:
tigercub has chosen not to receive private messages or may not be allowed to receive private messages. Therefore you may not send your message to him/her.

If you are trying to send this message to multiple recipients, remove tigercub from the recipient list and send the message again.

[HoleyDooley]

Whats the hold up here. Its been nearly two days since we have had a turn!!!!

Immaculate said he might be late but his turn is in.

[Nosantee]

llamaserver seems to be experiencing some technical difficulties. give it some time and it should come back to us its happy subjects

Personally I've enjoyed these last two 36H turns. As a guy that works 0500 to 1730 I like them very much!

[Excist]

Is this a confirmed llamaserver issue?

I don't see any other games stalling.

Before I alert llamabeast can Marverni and Fomoria both confirm they sent their turn in and the details on any response email they received?

I have temporarily increased the turn timer to a ridiculously long time until this is resolved, however once it is fixed continue playing as if it were 24 as I will change it back. If Nosantee wants we can change to 30 hr turns now since we are nearing the end of the first year.

[TigerBlood]

A week? Fomoria has probably dropped out.

Pangaea is definately dropping out if this continues. I'll give it 24 hours then I'm looking for a sub or going AI.

[HoleyDooley]

A week? Fomoria has probably dropped out.

Pangaea is definately dropping out if this continues. I'll give it 24 hours then I'm looking for a sub or going AI.

Same goes for me. Admin needs to decide will he cater for players who are irregular and slow in doing their turns and loose the players who get their turns done in a timely manner or vice versa.

Which kind of player do you want to keep in the game?

[Dogged57]

Scheduling Dom 3 time can be difficult, but I'll always have my turn in before the end of the timer. I've been doing two turns whenever I'm last in. Sorry for any delays on my end. Feel free to let me stale if we approach the end of the timer.

[Excist]

Tigerblood & HooleyDooley, reread what I wrote. Somebody said that llamaserver was having some type of problem so I set the timer temporarily to a long time. The real turn timer is 24 - 30 hours, although per Immaculates request I will make sure he is back from Montreal before I shorten the timer. Everybody should be sending their turns in like there is a 24 hr timer.

[HoleyDooley]

I understood what you wrote the first time, but my other 3 Dom games on the same server had NO such issues.

If was an issue players SHOULD be posting such info on THIS forum for all to see.

When all I see and hear is silence, and a seriously delayed turn with no other information, I suspect the worst.

[Immaculate]

I am back from montreal.

[Excist]

HooleyDooley, what I did I did for good reason. Llamabeast had announced a couple of weeks ago that some games were intermittently getting paused due to his internet issues and a change in his network. Since the llamaserver dom3 hosting and website are run on different computers that communicate with each other by email my concern was that we might have been on turn 10 or 11 but not receiving our turns by email. I changed the hosting schedule to be on the safe side while I investigated the claim that our game was stuck and not receiving 2h files.

In short, there was no reason for you to get your panties in a bunch. We're on schedule since there was 1 36 hour delay that was requested and it is finished. To date we have completed about 10 turns as many days which is a pretty good pace. I have no issue with how anybody has been doing their turns in this group and don't see any need to choose some players over others. There was a long turn requested and 2 people seemed to have taken advantage of it to deal with rl stuff. I see no problem in that.

[HoleyDooley]

I see no problem in that.

Neither do I.

However, you NEVER communicated to us, the players, that there was a possible issue with the servers or that other players had requested a turn delay.

Immaculate was the ONLY player requesting a delay on the forum and his turn WAS submitted.

I am not a mind reader and if you communicated properly so that EVERYONE was in the picture I wouldn't get my knickers in a twist.


If your the only one that knows everything that's going on,don't blame others if they "jump to conclusions".

[Excist]

Is this a confirmed llamaserver issue?

I don't see any other games stalling.

Before I alert llamabeast can Marverni and Fomoria both confirm they sent their turn in and the details on any response email they received?

I have temporarily increased the turn timer to a ridiculously long time until this is resolved, however once it is fixed continue playing as if it were 24 as I will change it back. If Nosantee wants we can change to 30 hr turns now since we are nearing the end of the first year.

In this post yesterday I clearly informed that I was increasing the turn timer ridiculously long while investigating the llamaserver issue mentioned in the previous post.

How could I have made this clearer for you?

[HoleyDooley]

Is this a confirmed llamaserver issue?

I don't see any other games stalling.

Before I alert llamabeast can Marverni and Fomoria both confirm they sent their turn in and the details on any response email they received?

I have temporarily increased the turn timer to a ridiculously long time until this is resolved, however once it is fixed continue playing as if it were 24 as I will change it back. If Nosantee wants we can change to 30 hr turns now since we are nearing the end of the first year.

In this post yesterday I clearly informed that I was increasing the turn timer ridiculously long while investigating the llamaserver issue mentioned in the previous post.

How could I have made this clearer for you?

How??? Easily, by making it BEFORE we made our first comments over this issue.

The gate was already open and the horses bolted by the time you mentioned this.



I state again, clear and timely communication from EVERYONE, but espically you would have prevented this discussion.

Two choices.

1. We all learn from this and communicate openly and in a timely fashion and get on with the game.

2. Lets continue the argument and ruin the game.

Administrator, the choice is yours.

[Excist]

I apologize if you think I did anything wrong.

It would have been impossible for me to inform that I was extending the turn before you said anything because I extended the turn AFTER you said something and posted that at the same time.

I extended the turn 2 times and notified each time.

The first time it was extended it was extended as requested by Immaculate. When you posted that was the first that I had any indication that one of the people that hadn't turned in their turn wasn't Immaculate.

The immediate response to yours alleged an issue with llamaserver and in response to that I increased the turn timer temporarily and notified simultaneously. At no time did I extend the time without notifying.

Now let's please put this in the past and move on.

I apologize for anything I may have done wrong or could have done better, however I insist that not providing clear notice is not one of them.

The turn timer has been reset to 24 hours, but it takes a little time for the web to update.

[HoleyDooley]

My apologies as well.:)

I do ask that ALL players please post here on the forum if you turn will be late.

I don't mind waiting and being reasonable just like anybody. But its hardly fair to go about your daily life without taking 3 1/2 minutes of your valuable time to keep everyone informed as to your status if is abnormal.

Cheers,

Dooley

[Excist]

Attn: Helheim, Marverni and Fomoria.

As fair warning since the game server says it has updated to 24 hours interval and the deadline change is not visible yet, the turn will host at the latest 12 hours from now. Please make sure your turn is mailed in tonight to prevent any stales.

[Dogged57]

Got mine in. I'll rp post after the next turn arrives.

[Dogged57]

"You laid out the feast?"
"The tables were drooping from the weight of the food."
"You rolled out the barrels of beer?"
"Every last one."
"You brought in the women?"
"They danced like mad. Luckily, the men had eaten the food by the time they moved the dancing to the tables."
"Then where the hell are the men? Only a madman would turn away from such festivities!" Cingetorix the Gutuater, recently in from preaching in the countryside addressed the party planner of the Marverni, frustration evident in his furrowed brow.
"The Carnutes finally arrived. They ARE madmen. And they and the mad prophet Vercingetorix took the whole drunken army north against the pale cave dwellers. The White Worms, they were calling them." The planner shrugged and walked away.

Cingetorix shook his head, cursing under his breath as he walked away towards his study. "This madness will lead us all to our doom. Where are the damned druids?!"

[TigerBlood]

I smell blood. Intoxicating...

-Natural Selection

[HoleyDooley]

The Lord of Blood is not pleased. His borders grow but luck is seemingly not siding with his dominions.

This disturbs the great ones sleep, but not for long. Soon his time will come and he will awaken and direct his armies against those who hinder his ambitions.

[Torgon]

The terrible armies of the pale giants pressed ever inward. They besieged the very gates of Fomoria. Balor looked on and saw the ruin of his kingdom, the ruin of his people.

He called out to the other peoples of the world for aid against these terrible beasts. No doubt you have already seen their banners in the very seas next to your own lands. Soon, if no help arrives, they will also control the lands of Fomoria. He even called out to his old enemies the Tuatha of Tir Na' Nog. True, they had warred on multiple occasions, but he would rather have his people ruled by the Tuatha then these hideous monsters.

However, he did not place all his hopes in aid from other nations. The mages of Fomoria were crafting another plan as well. It was the last hope of the nation. If it failed so would the fomorian people

[Excist]

Fomorians retreated like the baying sheep they resembled before the advancing armies of Pale Ones. Swifter than could have been predicted the walls of Fomoria stood besieged with the kine hiding inside like a bizarre petting zoo or one of those traveling circus freak shows so popular in the East.

Mandred, seeing the rebuke of Fomoria's hubris was going smoothly, turned his attention to the South where his messengers brought troubling news of rampant bandits disrupting trade amongst the conquered surface provinces and drunk, mad barbarians invading the southernmost lands. Mandred conscripted some Mercenaries to hold the siege while he took his swiftest Ancient Ones with him south to protect the Temple of Kolermegor while Seal Guards maneuvered to reinforce the rest of Agartha's borderlands against the madmen of Marverni.

When praying at the Temple of Kolermegor Harrow-gor came to him as if in spirit; as if in dream; and somehow simultaneously as if in the flesh.

"Too many Seal Guards have left already and they continue to wander to the surface as if on their own" Harrow-gor whispered/shouted with his dreamy non-voice.

"This was your will! I don't understand." Mandred responded, shocking Earth Reader Apil'Adad

"It is NOT my will, but it IS the only way. But, I had not anticipated that they would abandon their duty so quickly. The preparations are not complete. So, I have been forced to enter the Umbral Plane." Harrow-gor's mental voice boomed.

"Are you sure this is wise? Every one of our neighbors has turned against us and none give us solace. We need you now more than ever." Mandred beseeched.

"Have faith in the god that you have chosen and all will come to pass as it must. I WILL provide help. From within the Umbral Realm I have access to leylines of extraordinary power. When the need is great, take the Obsidian talisman that I have given you and press it against any solid rock of granite and shout "Locus Shadox Interminus" Teach this to the Oracles that you have entrusted with the holy obsidian and tell them to use it sparingly and only when great need is realized for this is both powerful and dangerous."

When the time came and the Marvernie barbarians crested the hill Mandred did as Harrow-gor had advised. slowly the granite compressed and solidified even as it flaked and chared until there was an Obsidian likeness of himself with black voids where eyes should have been. At first he didn't even notice, since his nightvision was so good, but when he realized that the world once again lacked the little color Pale Ones see and he saw his barbarian foe grasping around in the dark he realized that the Sun was gone. His Ancient Ones charged forth ripping the heads off the little men like they were statues of clay and the little Pale One miltia barely could keep up. Although the foe had numbered in the hundreds his small band of warriors killed them without taking a single casualty and the remaining third fled in disarray.

Mandred's only comment was thus: "Praise Harrow-gor"

[Dogged57]

Well, that's depressing to read :)

Especially when I can't check on my turn for hours.

[Torgon]

King Balor calls for a holy war of all nations against the vile Arganthans until the threat has passed. If they are allowed to rampage across the land as well as control the sea they will be unstoppable. To arms!

[Excist]

The East and South of the map must be boring. No tales to be told?? No stories to be sung??

[TigerBlood]

Come with bright eyes a-flashing
Come with your jaguars crashing
Come rend the sky asunder
Come with the fire and thunder
Break all that lies before you
Take all that dies around you
Ride with the Dogs of War
Fly with the Hounds of Hell
Take me to the Wild Hunt
Break me with the Wild Chase
Take me with the Wild Hunt
Take me riding wildly with the Wild Hunt now
In darkest green you move now
With oak and ash and thorn now
The cloak that's swathed around you
Denies I've finally found you
I've sought your untamed rage
Within the hearts of men
I've found both love and cruelty
In equal parts within
Come with those bright eyes flashing
And with your jaguars a-crashing
I feel I've always known you
And leave the dying day
But who knows who is hunted
And who shall be the prey?

-Natural Selection

[Nosantee]

The East and South of the map must be boring. No tales to be told?? No stories to be sung??

I've had the last 7 provinces the last 15 turns lol. Don't worry, We've got something cooking, updates soon!

[dojango]

Soldiers dragged the struggling captives towards the altar of the sun. They were forced to kneel before the prophet. A cluster of high priests watched from the side. Their finery, feathered headdresses and brightly dyed cloaks, contrasted with the simple cotton garb of the prophet.

"Animals," sneered one of the priests. "An insult to our god."

The prophet turned towards the offending priest. "These were valiant warriors. Their strength and rage will feed our god. He needs their power to help defend us from chaos."

"But these... beastmen... have no place in the third heaven! Will our honored warriors have to see them in the afterlife?" protested the priest.

"That they served a false god is of no account. That they are not human matters little as well. They fought well on the field of battle and gave their lifeblood to our lord. That is enough." The prophet held out his hand. A young acolyte handed him an unadorned obsidian knife. "Bring that one to the altar. Our lord shall be given the blood of a false god this morn. May he keep the demons of chaos at bay for another night."

[HoleyDooley]

TO WAR!

The war trumpets have sounded, and the Hinnom army has answered their call to arms.

To arms! To arms!

The giants in their gilded armour have set out to conquer for the Lord of Blood, and the Lord of Blood is happy.

Many new souls will now be available for his dark magic.

An unexpected foe has appeared on the Hinnom borders however. Another giant race subjugating the small ones to their cause.

Beware, BEWARE!

[Nosantee]

If I may make a suggestion.

Since we're at the 20 turn mark would it be to unreasonable to ask we begin 36h turns? Anyone else with me?

[Excist]

Judging by the portions of the map that I can see, I don't think anybody's nations are overwhelmingly large that they are getting bogged down by micro-management.

If anybody is starting to feel this is the case, let me know. I would rather change the timing based on need rather than at prescribed turn intervals.

Anybody else voting for longer turns at this point?

[Immaculate]

i agree with nosantee. But thats more a function of my long work days.

[Excist]

36 hour turns proposed and seconded. Resolution is passed.

[Excist]

Mandred marched through the Marverni capital taking stock. Chubu, Oracle of Fires plodded along at his heels, 'It was wise of you to let the Ancient Ones vent their wrath on the people of Marverni. Their anger was almost unmanageable at the unceasing barbarian attacks against the pioneers in the outer provinces. Nerves were raw and many Pale Ones were losing their temper and fighting to the death over minor trivialities. Very wise indeed.'

Mandred spared one short glance behind him, 'Wise? They left me no choice. A week-old Olm could have made that call. But what concerns me is that this pulls us away from our Path. Harrow-gor has already committed himself to the Spectral realm and we need to do our part in the physical realm. We cannot afford these delays or Harrow-gor will be lost to this world forever.'

Oracle Chubu frowned and paused, but then decided to press on, 'Yes, but as I was saying. The people are angry. They want justice. Will you give the Marverni peasants to Rhuax to judge? The warriors have fought well and demand to see their enemy put on the coals.'

'They have already pillaged the countryside and despite our orders to police and assume peaceful control of Marverni's survivors have taken it upon themselves to make an example of any of these men that look a Pale One in the eye and as soon as no commander is around they are forcing themselves on their human womenfolk. It is an abomination! The enemy is all but vanquished. We are better than this. We cannot afford to become the monster that we fight. I would have expected this behaviour of the Marverni, but not our own. Nevertheless, we have bigger concerns ahead of us.' replied Mandred.

Chubu frowned and licked his pudgy lips, 'Yes, but...surely...' and got no more out before a breathless scout named C'teem burst into the Marverni throne room at a run.

"The Fomorian provinces are rebelling and the Fomorian host has revealed itself again! They have annhilated our besieging army with fearsome weapons of war and are heading straight for the Agarthan Capital as we speak!" the scout reported grimly.

Mandred turned his glare from C'teem back to Chubu, 'I don't want to hear anymore talk about bringing back the Old Ways of Punishment and Retribution. Take a Fist and subdue the last of Marverni's lands. We are needed up North and soon.' To C'teem he said, 'Enlist Wyrmlin and Gregor to defend the northern borderlands. Pay whatever they ask as long as they will leave the mercenary life and join with us. We will be there as soon as the southern border is secure.'

[Nosantee]

Tir na n'Og
Military Update

We have finally managed to break free from our imprisoned little state in our corner of the world, and we couldn't be happier. Our best men have begun traveling along the water sides and are claiming more lands in the name of The Scaled One. We will make swift use of their resources and continue a grand campaign until they are all ours.

In the movements we have encountered the people of Agartha an have unfortunately taken a few lands that they view as theirs. As much as it saddens us we simply cannot return them and we have nothing which to pay them back with. They are ours now, and hopefully they will not raise to the situation of starting another front on their many wars it seems they have.

With much chagrin, we view the Formorian defeat as something that is a good, however we are left with the new neighbors that they are unsure of. We still wait for more development.

Our Helheim friends continue to be great allies and brothers in arms. We hope we may make future pacts and rule the land side by side with the claim of the land.

Finally, with our most feared item coming up, we have discovered Marverni. Not so horrifying, but they are under siege by Himnom! The greatest threat to the land that exists as it is. Already we are mobilizing to fight them. We send this message, give us their intel and weaknesses. We will exploit, we will help you to defeat the giant menace!

Cartography updated. The world is clearer, and only continues to brighten as our God ever inches towards his return to us.

[HoleyDooley]

The Tir na n'Og lie.

It was the expansionists Agartha who brought about the demise of the Marverni. We have just cleaned up the dregs of their lost society.

Yes, you should fear the people of the Hinnom, but you should fear the Agartha even more, as I know they have the largest territory of all the peoples.

[Excist]

The Agarthan diplomat stands up at the Council of Nations:

It seems that lying is not reserved by Tir Na N'Og and rugs.

Every territory that 'expansionist' Agartha holds has been claimed from an independent or has been forfeited by the host by virtue of an act of war against the nation of Agartha.

It is, however, true that we should be feared.

Agartha makes a both a fearsome foe and an implacable ally.

Choose wisely which you would have us as, saber rattlers.

[Torgon]

Tales of the death of Fomoria are greatly exaggerated. Our nation still stands, if weakened. We fight on against the hoards of Argatha, and still call upon the world to unit against this menace.

[HoleyDooley]

The Lord of Blood has heard the cries of the Fomorian people, and answered them.

the curse of Agatha must be removed from this earth, once...and for all time.

[Immaculate]

Hellheim cannot abide by the cultivating of the great mother oak in the heathen gardens of Acrosephalae. Such a great tree belongs anywhere else. Hellheim will provide essence of nature, death and fire to any nation who can steel the oak for themselves or sever the link the philosophers have to the oak.

OOC: Will pay for dispel or for you to cast mother oak yourself.

[Iron Duke]

The great oak in the very heart of Arcoscephale bears the last hope of survival against the rulers of the realm of death. Think twice before acting to burn the oak, because if such happens, there will be no one left to check the expansion of Helheim, already a major power.

[Immaculate]

The great oak in the very heart of Arcoscephale bears the last hope of survival against the rulers of the realm of death. Think twice before acting to burn the oak, because if such happens, there will be no one left to check the expansion of Helheim, already a major power.

Do not take the nations of Shadowshore as fools upon a stage, your puppets to be yanked hither and yon. The nation of Arcosephale has shown itself to be much larger, richer and more advanced than the vast majority upon this land. To say that Helheim is already a great power is to indicate that either one does not invest in scouts or that one does not know how to count beyond six. We have had early success in combating your tyrany by using hit and run tactics with our glamoured forces but we need the strength of a sturdy ally if our small nation is to fight your large and advanced one- it is for this reason that we call upon potential allies on the world stage.

Nations of Tir Na Nog, Pangea, Mictlan, Niefelheim, hear my call; the pretender of the philosopher nation will whisper sly lies in your ears to make you fear the guardians of the grave stone (ie- us) but heed not their wicked lies- it is them that is the greatest threat and not us. Month after month they already have the capability to call upon an ‘animal horde’ showing their mastery of the more advanced forms of conjuration and it will only be a matter of months, not years before we see the elemental royalty, the ancient titans of air, lords of the ember, and even dead gods of tartarus bow a knee in servitude to these abominations. NO! We will not see such a day. We must fight them, all together, and stop them before this happens! It is for this reason that we must transplant the oak.

[HoleyDooley]

Nice read Immaculate.

[Immaculate]

thanks :)

[TigerBlood]

Sorry for the stale. I set my nation to AI as I have one province left. Thanks for the game.

[Immaculate]

It would be nice to get an RP after-action-report from you and the Maverni player.

[TigerBlood]

AAR?

I started close to Mictlan and did not have the reasearch or mage support to deal with more than 30 Jaguars at a time. Lost my forts under construction and that's all she wrote.

[Excist]

I think RP was more of the key word than AAR.

Something along the lines of a heroic (or villainous) telling of Custer's Last Stand or the Battle of the Alamo.

[Nosantee]

Tir na n'Og Military Update
Seizing of the Isle

At last what is ours has become ours. The faces of our enemies when our men rose from the waters to reclaim the lost land was something of bewilderment. Rapidly we have been moving across the land to take the yet unclaimed and we shall continue to do so. We much desire the other four water provinces but they are held by other forces. We must balance the choices we make if we should choose to do this.

It would appear that the people of Marverni and Pangaea are all but wiped out from our maps, only serving to strengthen the already mighty Mictlan and Himnom. Silence rains across our home borders as none of our neighbors are making so much as a peep military wise. Hopefully they aren't planning any surprises, we are prepared.

[Nosantee]

The Agarthan threat has attacked the Tir na n'Og!
Our enemy has been declared! All forces diverted. The end will rain upon their land.

[Excist]

Yes, the end has been raining on our land and we have been forced to reclaim the waterways that you have taken from us. It turns out that we really needed that income to defend our lands against Fomoria, Marverni, Hinnom, and now Tir Na N'Og.

As you said earlier: we had no choice.

[Torgon]

The beleaguered nation of Fomoria fights on, but their desperate situation has forced them to turn back to the dark magic of the past. The enemies of Formoria beware, dark shadows approach.

[Dogged57]

It would be nice to get an RP after-action-report from you and the Maverni player.

I'll get an RP ending for you guys soon. Had some RL issues crop up that distracted me from writing.

[Immaculate]

Helheim is desperate for the light of stellar lights, condensed into delicious pearls. We pay cash or gems.

[Immaculate]

OOC:

We're still looking for astral pearls if anyone wants to trade. We give better than 1:1 trade ratios (but not better than 1.5:1) and can provide probably any other gem type.


Anyone up for writing some more RP stories? I think we are due. I'll try to write one about the death of "Ulrich, big and ugly" to pathetic giant spiders- a true moment of shame in the history of Helheim's wars.

[dojango]

A cold wind blew out of the Rim Mountains. Dante pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders. He watched quietly as the man on horseback approached. A few of his soldiers looked up from the field, but most were concentrating on looting the dead. The militia had not put up much of a fight, and their pathetic arms and armor reflected their poor lot in life, so the pickings were meager. The man on horseback pulled up a few paces away from Dante and gave him a lazy salute.
"Report," grunted Dante.
"Went about a dozen miles south, sir. Not much there. A small village or two, very poor. Not much plunder, I reckon. Some small farms if we need food." The scout paused.
"Any sign of our reinforcements?" asked Dante.
"No. Didn't see anyone. Friendly or enemy."
Dante thought for a moment. His orders had been to keep marching south, to meet up with the main Pangaean army. Once reunited, they would hopefully be able to defeat the Mictlanese armies in detail. To turn the tide of the war. A fool's plan, perhaps, but a few of the scouts sent to the north reported an army bearing down upon them. The rest didn't return at all.
"Form up!" he shouted. The men finished their plunder and assembled in the rough parody of a formation that mercenaries used. A fool's plan, perhaps, but their only plan.

...

Nightfall found them camped about ten miles south, next to a small village. The villagers had made no trouble, and had reluctantly turned over their stash of weak beer to the mercenaries. In exchange for that, Dante agreed to have his men leave them alone.
Suddenly one of the sentries cried out. Men rushed to his position and returned moments later with a prisoner. The man was clearly one of the enemy nobles; his robe was made of fine cotton weave, and bright plumes adorned his headdress. He bowed to Dante with all the courtly arrogance only a noble could muster.
"My lord," said the prisoner, "I come as an emissary under a flag of truce. My master Xtapolapoc sends to you an offer. May I?"
Dante gave a curt nod. The prisoner set his back on the ground. From it, he placed a heavy gold coin in the ground. It glittered enticingly in the torchlight. Then he drew a large object from the pack and placed it at his feet. There was a gasp from the greener recruits as they realized that it was a severed head.
Dante looked at the head closely. It was not quite human. Probably from one of those strange satyr women, the dryads. Perhaps even the same one that had given Dante his orders so many months ago.
The choice was easy, of course. The Pangaeans had hired Dante to fight for them, not to die for them. Dante examined the coin again. He didn't recognize the king on the face, nor the symbol on the obverse, but the dents from his teeth spoke for its purity. These Mictlanese were no less alien than the beast-men he had served, but their gold was still the same.

[Excist]

Nice one dojango!

[Immaculate]

yes- agreed. good story.

[Immaculate]

I’m involved in a fantasy-based Never Ending Story (NES) on another forum and decided to base my faction on the Helheim I am playing in this game. I’ve written a few stories about them and since they basically describe the Helheim as I’ve adapted them to this particular game, I thought I would share with you.

So, warning, this has nothing to do with the game we are playing here except that it shares an RP element and that its based on the nation I am playing here.

Also note that if you are interested in other fantasy-short stories, the entire NES can be found here (http://forums.civfanatics.com/showthread.php?t=450160).

I stole a lot of this from Dominions Three and Norse Mythology (also LDi's interpretation for an aborted NES)

Race: Vanir:

The Vanir are a race not too unlike men or elves, though taller and broader in stature. They are related to the elves in that they, like them, have fey blood and possess long lifespans (though theirs is not as long as the elves). They are resistant to cold and sensitive to heat, making their homes amongst the cold northern winds and disdaining the southern temperate climes. They are naturally adept in illusion and instinctually cloak themselves in glamour such that other races might look upon an army of vanir and see only a field shimmering and glinting with obfuscated and confusing shadows of soldiers. They are also natural sailors, having a natural affinity for ships, sailing and navigation, and horsemen, making use of a unique breed of fey horses only they are known to ride. Most Vanir villages are along coasts and feed themselves through fishing and hunting making only limited use of agriculture (though slaves of other nations do provide agriculture for them)

The Vanir are a proud race, their competence as warriors and warrior-sorcerers as well as their innate sense of entitlement means they often look upon other races, with the exception of the elves or other fey races, as lesser beings and they actively raid and conquer the lands of men, dwarves and others for slaves better suited to the role of miner or farmer. They only rarely trade with non-fey races and tend towards isolationism.

While the Vanir tend to have an absolute sense of loyalty to a central monarch, the monarchy’s influence in day to day life tends to be limited as the Vanir value their independence and freedom. A Vanir village chieftain may lead a ship or three of raiders to a human settlement without informing the monarchy but is ultimately responsible for any implications incurred. Despite this, the monarchy is the absolute authority in matters of war or major central projects and his or often her word is absolute law.

While illusion is a natural and innate skill of the Vanir, their magicians tend to focus on the paths of wind and death, and magic is understood to come from Helheim, where the fey pass through the gate stone to reach the other side. It is said that the greatest of Vanir sorcerers in ages past would hang themselves from an ash tree so that they might ride to Helheim and return masters of the arts of magic. Other Vanir mages focus on the path of air, learning to summon spirits of the winds to power their sails, serve in battle or as messengers as well as to conjure lightning and chill northern winds.

In war the Vanir call upon their natural glamour to travel unseen and to make battle with them difficult. Even in a desperate melee, the enemy may perceive only shimmering blades and confusing shadows and their raiders tend to travel unseen far and wide upon their magical fey horses. The Vanir have a love for cavalry but disdain archery, preferring to make use of javelins, spears and swords. Their steelwork is fine and their blades heavy but they tend to use lighter chainmail than investing in the heavy plate used by many other races. Their magicians are often warrior-magicians, also riding upon their magical fey horses and wielding primarily illusion and through their involvement with Helheim, necromancy.

The Vanir worship a goddess they say has passed on to Helheim and who now communicates with the Vanir through spirits, often taking the form of a raven. As such they hold ravens as sacred creatures and many will leave morsels for them or attempt to domesticate them. Most Vanir longhouses are home to a least one semi-domesticated raven. Their priests are always women and practice blood sacrifice, usually upon human or other mortal slaves captured in raids. These priestesses are called ‘Desir’ or ‘Dis’ and many are said to speak with the dead. Desir warrior sorceresses are said to have been able, in times past, to fly and command storms but the majority serve more as witches and diviners in modern times.

The Vanir are led by a king who is served by nobility from which the stocks of elite cavalry and cavalry sorcerers are drawn. Individual villages are led by a village headmen, who is often a competent war chieftain, sailor, and often commands air magic. They also maintain their own minor nobility as well. These are called Jarls. Below the jarls are the nobles and below these are the freemen. There is little social mobility amongst the Vanir, their adherence to tradition and long lifespans ensuring that most will serve the race as their parents did. Vanir freemen are often sailors or fishermen, as well as skilled hunters and craftsmen, especially competent in silver and iron smithy. Below them are the serfs who serve the nobles and below them are the slaves, often of other races who work the fields, quarries and mines.


Vanir:
Combat: 30% (skill and ferocity, a strong cavalry led by the nobility, disdains archery)
Magecraft: 20% (focuses on illusion, air and death)
Charisma: 5% (proud and isolationist, they often see other races as potential slaves rather than potential trading partners)
Stealth: 45% (innately skilled in glamour, even Vanir children can hide themselves from the eyes of man without willing it- elders can extend their glamour to entire ships or divisions of slave militia)


Civilization: Helvan

Civilization Name: Helvan
Dominant Race: Vanir
Government: Monarchy
Leader Name: King Hermóðr
Leader Trait: Fertile
Leader Backrgound: The King rules by tradition and ancient law, adhering to the advice of the Desir witches.
Starting Location: Northern edge of the western coast of the north-western continent. Near fishbanks and iron and silver mines. Amongst the cold moor, silent mountains and grey seas, a land of shadows and strange glamours (this assumes that we are in the norhtern hemisphere- if not, please place on southern coast of southern island- if both are equally chilled, then go for southern island, near forests, south coast)
Map Color: Grey, White, Black, Dark Purple
Preferred Leader Names: Anything norse.
Preferrred City Names: The capital is Éljúðnir. You can name other cities and settlements using norse ones as examples.
background:
The Vanir were created by a titaness who fell before the cataclysm, and now serves as a dead goddess to which the Helvan turn in worship. They are led by a king, Hermóðr, who, in a younger age, was once dead, hung from an ash tree. He has returned to the Helvan after receiving the blessings of the dead goddess and assumed the silver crown from his father who understood that he was Hangadrott, chosen from the dead to lead the living. Under his guidance the Helheim have spread their influence, and his many children serve as nobles and Jarls, commanding villages, ships and armies.

The Helvan have domesticated a breed of magical fey horses who, like the Vanir, hide themselves innately in glamour and leave no hoofprint in the wake of their passing. It is said that the Vanjarls, the greatest of the Vanir nobles-warriors, are the greatest cavalry force the Citana have yet to see.

The Desir continue to provide their support and guidance and it is prophetized that from their ranks will rise an army of sacred female warriors who will ride the wings of the wind and strike with the fury of lightning and thunder.



Okay, so admintingly a major rip-off but I really like the mythology and description of the Vanir/Helheim and wanted to play something similar. Hopefully this is acceptable.


and

Tales from the Lands of Winter Fay: Part 1: A Message from Beyond[b]

Poorly tanned hides, half-rotten and speckled grey hung before the entrance to the cave. They were decorated with strange runes and someone had sewn animal and even Vanir bones into them. At the top, where they were haphazardly attached to the low frame of the cave with resin, sweet scented smoke poured lazily into the bright winter air.

Stooping low and placing one hand upon the low ceiling of the cave entrance, the prince pulled the poorly tanned hides aside, careful not to disturb the runes or bones. His day-bright eyes could only barely perceive the shifting shadows of the glamoured Vanir huddled around a small fire deep inside the darkened cave. He signaled his retinue to wait and stepped into the shadows.

The cave was a humble structure; even Vanir serfs would rather live in a warmer, cleaner longhouse or, on the land, but these, the Desir witches, most honored mystics of the Vanir, choose to meet in this wretched stinking cave. Sven, son of King Hermóðr, known as Whitemane, or as Prince Regent, or as commander depending on who you asked bowed low to the shifting glamoured shadows flickering throughout the cave like moonlight in falling snow. These were ancient creatures, chosen by the messenger, and even for Vanir eyes their glamour was strong; the prince, though only fifteen paces from them, and of ancient and noble blood himself, was unsure how many of the crones were before him, what they were doing or even if they were armed. Blinking the sun-blindness out of his eyes he waited, catching the aroma of several woodland herbs he could not identify, rotting carcasses, and incense coming from the fire.

Finally one of the wretched crones spoke, “You come seeking our wisdom and that of the dead. You want to know how to bring death to the wolves that walk as men. Come. Sit.”

Sven’s tall frame made him have to bend to avoid scraping his head on the low rock ceiling and he lumbered forward without much of his usual warrior’s grace. A silver cup, dirty with greasy animal fat and other things he did not recognize slid towards him as shadowy glamoured figures danced around it. The same voice spoke again, “You know, prince, of the power of blood. Especially your fay blood. Bleed for the raven’s master and we might bring you wisdom.” Sven obediently opened his palm with a short wickedly sharp knife watching his sparkling red and golden fay blood drop into the cup. The crone retrieved the cup and for a moment the prince’s gaze pierced the glamour long enough to glimpse a gnarled and clawed hand tortured by centuries of primitive living.

Slowly at first but accelerating rapidly, the cave began to fill with the commanding chant of the Desir coven. Their voices were ancient and harsh, the language intimidatingly unknown, and yet the warrior-prince felt some sense of reassurance. Finally now there would be a tool to deal with the problem of the men-wolf and he might keep his people safe and perhaps more importantly rise to the glory and honor that was befitting of his bloodline and station.

Suddenly the chant ceased and some otherworldly wind began to whip about the cave sending embers from the fire into the air and forcing him to brush them quickly from his armor and fine bear-fur cloak. The Desir spoke, one or two at a time to the wind as it raced around them, again in a language only they seemed to know, occasionally softly and occasionally as a command. Finally, as Sven sat anxiously, occasionally batting at the strange wind when it strayed too close, the strange wind suddenly died away and the cup was overturned over the fire, releasing a hiss of steam and a strange odor.

The leader of the coven spoke, “Sven, son of King Hermóðr, who is called the Whitemane, commander of the Vanjir and Herdling alike, we have spoken to the spirits of the dead, messengers of the goddess, and we share with you now our wisdom. The creatures will rise again if slain by spear or sword, their animal fury too great to be slowed by the wound to their animal form. No. You must strike them where their mortality lies; you must strike at their soul and cleave the thread that links the spirit to the form. We will send with you the youngest of our order, acolytes accomplished in the magicks of the messenger, of death and shadow. Once your serf warriors have slain the wolves who would walk as men, the Desir acolytes shall provide the holy blessing of the goddess upon their fallen forms. This will steal away their spirit and their forms shall have peace until the goddess has need of them again. Do this and the Vanir of Helvan shall be saved and great glory shall come to you.”

Sven nodded, happy with the ritual and eager to leave but as he did, parting the rotting leathers to pass back into the sun he heard a voice speak from the cave, “But know this prince, the blessings of the Desir are not without their price. You shall bring us the hides of those creatures you slay and your debt shall be paid.”

As the prince stepped from the fire-warmed cave into the cold winter winds of the sea-side hills, despite the fall in temperature, he felt as if he had stepped from winter into summer and he shook a lingering cold from his spine with a tremor.


and

[b] Tales from the Lands of Winter Fay: Part 2: The Beating Heart and the Raven Carcass


Sven, who was called Whitemane or Prince Regent or Commander strode through the cheering serfs, his aura of noble glamour parting the crowd of sword and spear-waving militia, like a ship through a sea. Though to them he might appear as a shimmering god of gold and silver, his noble fay blood easily pierced their glamour and he saw them for what they were, low-born serfs, many of them fishermen or hunters, who had flocked to the warrior’s banner in hopes of riches and stable pay, their furs dirty, often bloody, their eyes, though wide with victory, sunken and tired from many nights hunting.

The lowborn warriors were gathered around a fallen foe, its crimson red blood spreading across thin snow. The prince sneered. Like many Vanir, he held fay blood, and Vanir bood in particular, gold, red and sparkling, sacred. The plain crimson blood of humans and other name-givers he found vile or lowly and a brief grimace of distaste quickly crossed his features as he looked upon the creature. One of the serfs had slain the creature, which took the form of a tall half-man, half-wolf hybrid by opening its throat with a broadsword and its head now hung at an odd angle. A Desir acolyte, her glamour thick and flickering wide like so much moon-light upon the snow kneeled by the creature, holding her ear to its mouth and mouthing powerful incantations taught to her order by the dead goddess.

Suddenly there was a sort of gurgling sound from the creature and despite the fatal wound to its jugular, it lunged for the witch and, like one of the traps the serfs used to catch bears snapping shut, it bit into her face. With a sudden tug, it wrenched skin, muscle and tendon from bone. Despite the unexpected ferocity of the creature thought dead, Sven acted quickly, drawing upon instincts formed during several decades of hunting and war, plunging a spear deep into the creatures chest, parting its ribs, and sinking the point into its heart. The Desir witch fell back, her screams of agony quickly overcome by the merciful silence of shock and death. The creature lay limp again and the prince leaned hard on the spear, feeling it slide through its dorsal ribs and into the hard cold ground. He motioned for his herald to call for another of the Desir witches to come.

In only a few short moments the crowd parted again and this time a young blond-haired Vanir, her glamour lesser to the last acolyte who had died so recently, entered the clear space around the creature. She had known what she was being called for and in one thin hand held the carcass of a raven, its feathers ruffled and dirty from long travel in a saddle-bag. The young witch glanced, open-mouthed at her sister acolyte who lay twitching spasmodically in the snow nearby, her entire face a gruesome image of horror and violence, her bloody distorted tongue protruding from open wounds where only minutes earlier winter’s touch had bloomed on delicate youthful skin.

Still leaning upon the spear, the prince felt a strange stirring within the weapon, a sort of shudder, then through the length of the weapon the ‘thump, thump’ of the creatures heart could be felt, dim but rhythmic and gaining strength rapidly. Lest this acolyte witch join her sister, the prince raised the weapon and speared it again, again cleaving clean through the creature, feeling the creature’s beating heart cease once more, “Quickly now witch, lest it does to though what it did to thine coven-sister.”

The young Desir acolyte leaned close to the creatures maw, more careful than her sister had been and quickly spoke words of power while waving the raven’s shrunken and stinking carcass over its face. As she spoke the creature seemed to deflate somewhat, a final stale breath escaping from a bloody maw that still clung to the face of the first witch. As it did, the raven stirred, one shriveled claw clenching and unclenching spasmodically. The acolyte smiled and stood, ignoring the wolf-creature completely now. She smiled at the prince, a sort of pride evident in her face, “My liege, we have what we have come for.”

The crowd of serf warriors began to disperse, sensing that the creature would not strike again and as they did, Sven bent low, drawing his skinning knife. The high coven had asked that he bring them the creature’s pelt as payment and this he would do himself.


and

Tales from the Lands of Winter Fay: Part 3: Hall of the King Returned


The Vanir were slow to age, and indeed Prince Sven, who was called the Whitemane, or Prince Reagent, or Commander, depending on who was speaking, wore his two century and one score years with the light-stepping grace of youth. But as Sven walked side by side with his father, who was called Hermóðr, or King, or The Hanged One, or He Who Has Returned From Death, or The Hangadrott, he could not help but notice that in appearance, his years were beginning to overtake those of his father. The king had not aged since his return from beyond the death’s curtain and except for the hanging scars left upon his neck, there was no indication of his great ordeal.

Sven had returned from the cave of the Desir’s high coven after speaking with the witches there. He had watched as they called upon the spirit trapped by the Desir acolyte from the corpse of the dying wolf-creature and had learned much regarding its rage and a man they spoke of with the most wicked curses who went by the name of Emperor Vral. The dead generally, and this raging spirit, who was caught by some sort of mysterious curse, in particular, were often difficult to speak with or make sense of, the Desir had said and so there was relatively little they could tell him otherwise. Now he was sharing these details with his father as they walked along the wooden ramparts of the walls of Éljúðnir. They spoke not only of the attacks of the wolf-men but of more day-to-day affairs. The king’s visit to the other side made it much easier for him to keep the affairs of man and mortals in perspective and to appreciate the need for patience, or so he said; he was prone to act quickly and decisively when the mood took him. They spoke of the Jarls and the nobility, of the scouts reports and of the Hirdling training. They spoke of Ulfric, Sven’s brother, and his son, the first of the king’s grandsons and Sven’s only nephew, who was now learning to throw a spear with uncanny precision befitting his noble lineage.

As they walked, the warriors who manned the walls parted around them, shielding their eyes with their hands at the brightness of the King and Prince’s glamour. The two were so thoroughly similar in features, especially with the King’s unnatural youth, that very few who could not pierce the glamour with noble blood of their own would have been able to tell one from the other if it were not for the king’s silver crown. Both were tall men, with the width of shoulders and ease of gait of men used to hunting and war. They both had long nearly white blonde hair and shining silver and yellow eyes like those of cats and both wore polished steel hauberks, broadsword and dagger at the hip. No… as they made their way along the walls, few could tell them apart. Except for the Tuatha princess. She parted the warriors and the royal entourage with the strength of her own glamour while her own noble blood easily pierced the prince’s glamour and did much to uncover the king’s. Her name was Eochaid Indai, amd she was daughter of Lugh, champion of King Nuada, of the Tuatha Dé Danann who came from a distant island called the emerald but which was known to the Tuatha and the Vanir as T�*r na nÓg. Sven thought her beautiful, a flowing creature, who like most Tuatha, were of the same height of men, but who like the Vanir, cloaked herself in glamour. The Tuatha were the ever-young and she was no exception, her age being known only to greatly exceed that of the king but her beauty to rival any of the royal court. While the Vanir had a glamour that suggested moonlight, winter and silver, hers suggested sun, spring, and gold and so too did her dress and modest smile. She strode towards the pair and with a lack of difference that Sven thought strange but which the king apparently did not, she took hold of both the king’s hands and leaned close to kiss him gently on the cheek. Turning to the prince with a smile she spoke to the king in a conspiratorial tone ripe with the musical tones of a Tuatha princess, “Have you told him yet?”

The king appeared apprehensive as he faced his oldest son, “You know that I loved your mother very much and when we cross, I will love her again. But… I have fallen for another, one with a beating heart and warm breath, who will love me in my eternal youth and for as long as my lungs draw breath and my heart beats, one with whom I can spend all my long long years with and bring me happiness and to whom I can also bring happiness. Son, I have decided to marry this Tuatha princess.”

His words were not completely unexpected. The prince had heard the rumors. His own memories of his mother were modest, fuzzy, golden-covered with the gentle fuzz of childhood recollection. He knew that his mother had been sacrificed on the alter to the dead goddess on the winter solstice of the last year of the silver comet, the greatest honor that could be awarded by the messengers and a death he and all his people were extremely proud of, and so, for most of his life, the queen had waited in the next life, sacred and distant and never really seen, at least to him, as partner to his father. He also knew that his father was a man, like him, and handsome and noble and that there had been dalliances, but nothing with any seriousness. Despite his lack of objection, he did not know what to say. Extending a hand beyond the wall, he watched a snowflake land and slowly melt in his palm before he spoke again.

This time he turned to the Tuatha princess, “Welcome to the family… Queen Eochaid Indai.”

The king beamed uncharacteristically and placed a hand gently on the stomach of his wife to be, stroking the thick ermine robes no Vanir would have need of, “Son… there is something else I must tell you,” he said with a glance at him, his wife, and at her waist where his half-brother or sister grew.

[Immaculate]

I’m involved in a fantasy-based Never Ending Story (NES) on another forum and decided to base my faction on the Helheim I am playing in this game. I’ve written a few stories about them and since they basically describe the Helheim as I’ve adapted them to this particular game, I thought I would share with you.

So, warning, this has nothing to do with the game we are playing here except that it shares an RP element and that its based on the nation I am playing here.

Also note that if you are interested in other fantasy-short stories, the entire NES can be found here (http://forums.civfanatics.com/showthread.php?t=450160).

I stole a lot of this from Dominions Three and Norse Mythology (also LDi's interpretation for an aborted NES)

Race: Vanir:

The Vanir are a race not too unlike men or elves, though taller and broader in stature. They are related to the elves in that they, like them, have fey blood and possess long lifespans (though theirs is not as long as the elves). They are resistant to cold and sensitive to heat, making their homes amongst the cold northern winds and disdaining the southern temperate climes. They are naturally adept in illusion and instinctually cloak themselves in glamour such that other races might look upon an army of vanir and see only a field shimmering and glinting with obfuscated and confusing shadows of soldiers. They are also natural sailors, having a natural affinity for ships, sailing and navigation, and horsemen, making use of a unique breed of fey horses only they are known to ride. Most Vanir villages are along coasts and feed themselves through fishing and hunting making only limited use of agriculture (though slaves of other nations do provide agriculture for them)

The Vanir are a proud race, their competence as warriors and warrior-sorcerers as well as their innate sense of entitlement means they often look upon other races, with the exception of the elves or other fey races, as lesser beings and they actively raid and conquer the lands of men, dwarves and others for slaves better suited to the role of miner or farmer. They only rarely trade with non-fey races and tend towards isolationism.

While the Vanir tend to have an absolute sense of loyalty to a central monarch, the monarchy’s influence in day to day life tends to be limited as the Vanir value their independence and freedom. A Vanir village chieftain may lead a ship or three of raiders to a human settlement without informing the monarchy but is ultimately responsible for any implications incurred. Despite this, the monarchy is the absolute authority in matters of war or major central projects and his or often her word is absolute law.

While illusion is a natural and innate skill of the Vanir, their magicians tend to focus on the paths of wind and death, and magic is understood to come from Helheim, where the fey pass through the gate stone to reach the other side. It is said that the greatest of Vanir sorcerers in ages past would hang themselves from an ash tree so that they might ride to Helheim and return masters of the arts of magic. Other Vanir mages focus on the path of air, learning to summon spirits of the winds to power their sails, serve in battle or as messengers as well as to conjure lightning and chill northern winds.

In war the Vanir call upon their natural glamour to travel unseen and to make battle with them difficult. Even in a desperate melee, the enemy may perceive only shimmering blades and confusing shadows and their raiders tend to travel unseen far and wide upon their magical fey horses. The Vanir have a love for cavalry but disdain archery, preferring to make use of javelins, spears and swords. Their steelwork is fine and their blades heavy but they tend to use lighter chainmail than investing in the heavy plate used by many other races. Their magicians are often warrior-magicians, also riding upon their magical fey horses and wielding primarily illusion and through their involvement with Helheim, necromancy.

The Vanir worship a goddess they say has passed on to Helheim and who now communicates with the Vanir through spirits, often taking the form of a raven. As such they hold ravens as sacred creatures and many will leave morsels for them or attempt to domesticate them. Most Vanir longhouses are home to a least one semi-domesticated raven. Their priests are always women and practice blood sacrifice, usually upon human or other mortal slaves captured in raids. These priestesses are called ‘Desir’ or ‘Dis’ and many are said to speak with the dead. Desir warrior sorceresses are said to have been able, in times past, to fly and command storms but the majority serve more as witches and diviners in modern times.

The Vanir are led by a king who is served by nobility from which the stocks of elite cavalry and cavalry sorcerers are drawn. Individual villages are led by a village headmen, who is often a competent war chieftain, sailor, and often commands air magic. They also maintain their own minor nobility as well. These are called Jarls. Below the jarls are the nobles and below these are the freemen. There is little social mobility amongst the Vanir, their adherence to tradition and long lifespans ensuring that most will serve the race as their parents did. Vanir freemen are often sailors or fishermen, as well as skilled hunters and craftsmen, especially competent in silver and iron smithy. Below them are the serfs who serve the nobles and below them are the slaves, often of other races who work the fields, quarries and mines.


Vanir:
Combat: 30% (skill and ferocity, a strong cavalry led by the nobility, disdains archery)
Magecraft: 20% (focuses on illusion, air and death)
Charisma: 5% (proud and isolationist, they often see other races as potential slaves rather than potential trading partners)
Stealth: 45% (innately skilled in glamour, even Vanir children can hide themselves from the eyes of man without willing it- elders can extend their glamour to entire ships or divisions of slave militia)


Civilization: Helvan

Civilization Name: Helvan
Dominant Race: Vanir
Government: Monarchy
Leader Name: King Hermóðr
Leader Trait: Fertile
Leader Backrgound: The King rules by tradition and ancient law, adhering to the advice of the Desir witches.
Starting Location: Northern edge of the western coast of the north-western continent. Near fishbanks and iron and silver mines. Amongst the cold moor, silent mountains and grey seas, a land of shadows and strange glamours (this assumes that we are in the norhtern hemisphere- if not, please place on southern coast of southern island- if both are equally chilled, then go for southern island, near forests, south coast)
Map Color: Grey, White, Black, Dark Purple
Preferred Leader Names: Anything norse.
Preferrred City Names: The capital is Éljúðnir. You can name other cities and settlements using norse ones as examples.
background:
The Vanir were created by a titaness who fell before the cataclysm, and now serves as a dead goddess to which the Helvan turn in worship. They are led by a king, Hermóðr, who, in a younger age, was once dead, hung from an ash tree. He has returned to the Helvan after receiving the blessings of the dead goddess and assumed the silver crown from his father who understood that he was Hangadrott, chosen from the dead to lead the living. Under his guidance the Helheim have spread their influence, and his many children serve as nobles and Jarls, commanding villages, ships and armies.

The Helvan have domesticated a breed of magical fey horses who, like the Vanir, hide themselves innately in glamour and leave no hoofprint in the wake of their passing. It is said that the Vanjarls, the greatest of the Vanir nobles-warriors, are the greatest cavalry force the Citana have yet to see.

The Desir continue to provide their support and guidance and it is prophetized that from their ranks will rise an army of sacred female warriors who will ride the wings of the wind and strike with the fury of lightning and thunder.



Okay, so admintingly a major rip-off but I really like the mythology and description of the Vanir/Helheim and wanted to play something similar. Hopefully this is acceptable.


and

Tales from the Lands of Winter Fay: Part 1: A Message from Beyond[b]

Poorly tanned hides, half-rotten and speckled grey hung before the entrance to the cave. They were decorated with strange runes and someone had sewn animal and even Vanir bones into them. At the top, where they were haphazardly attached to the low frame of the cave with resin, sweet scented smoke poured lazily into the bright winter air.

Stooping low and placing one hand upon the low ceiling of the cave entrance, the prince pulled the poorly tanned hides aside, careful not to disturb the runes or bones. His day-bright eyes could only barely perceive the shifting shadows of the glamoured Vanir huddled around a small fire deep inside the darkened cave. He signaled his retinue to wait and stepped into the shadows.

The cave was a humble structure; even Vanir serfs would rather live in a warmer, cleaner longhouse or, on the land, but these, the Desir witches, most honored mystics of the Vanir, choose to meet in this wretched stinking cave. Sven, son of King Hermóðr, known as Whitemane, or as Prince Regent, or as commander depending on who you asked bowed low to the shifting glamoured shadows flickering throughout the cave like moonlight in falling snow. These were ancient creatures, chosen by the messenger, and even for Vanir eyes their glamour was strong; the prince, though only fifteen paces from them, and of ancient and noble blood himself, was unsure how many of the crones were before him, what they were doing or even if they were armed. Blinking the sun-blindness out of his eyes he waited, catching the aroma of several woodland herbs he could not identify, rotting carcasses, and incense coming from the fire.

Finally one of the wretched crones spoke, “You come seeking our wisdom and that of the dead. You want to know how to bring death to the wolves that walk as men. Come. Sit.”

Sven’s tall frame made him have to bend to avoid scraping his head on the low rock ceiling and he lumbered forward without much of his usual warrior’s grace. A silver cup, dirty with greasy animal fat and other things he did not recognize slid towards him as shadowy glamoured figures danced around it. The same voice spoke again, “You know, prince, of the power of blood. Especially your fay blood. Bleed for the raven’s master and we might bring you wisdom.” Sven obediently opened his palm with a short wickedly sharp knife watching his sparkling red and golden fay blood drop into the cup. The crone retrieved the cup and for a moment the prince’s gaze pierced the glamour long enough to glimpse a gnarled and clawed hand tortured by centuries of primitive living.

Slowly at first but accelerating rapidly, the cave began to fill with the commanding chant of the Desir coven. Their voices were ancient and harsh, the language intimidatingly unknown, and yet the warrior-prince felt some sense of reassurance. Finally now there would be a tool to deal with the problem of the men-wolf and he might keep his people safe and perhaps more importantly rise to the glory and honor that was befitting of his bloodline and station.

Suddenly the chant ceased and some otherworldly wind began to whip about the cave sending embers from the fire into the air and forcing him to brush them quickly from his armor and fine bear-fur cloak. The Desir spoke, one or two at a time to the wind as it raced around them, again in a language only they seemed to know, occasionally softly and occasionally as a command. Finally, as Sven sat anxiously, occasionally batting at the strange wind when it strayed too close, the strange wind suddenly died away and the cup was overturned over the fire, releasing a hiss of steam and a strange odor.

The leader of the coven spoke, “Sven, son of King Hermóðr, who is called the Whitemane, commander of the Vanjir and Herdling alike, we have spoken to the spirits of the dead, messengers of the goddess, and we share with you now our wisdom. The creatures will rise again if slain by spear or sword, their animal fury too great to be slowed by the wound to their animal form. No. You must strike them where their mortality lies; you must strike at their soul and cleave the thread that links the spirit to the form. We will send with you the youngest of our order, acolytes accomplished in the magicks of the messenger, of death and shadow. Once your serf warriors have slain the wolves who would walk as men, the Desir acolytes shall provide the holy blessing of the goddess upon their fallen forms. This will steal away their spirit and their forms shall have peace until the goddess has need of them again. Do this and the Vanir of Helvan shall be saved and great glory shall come to you.”

Sven nodded, happy with the ritual and eager to leave but as he did, parting the rotting leathers to pass back into the sun he heard a voice speak from the cave, “But know this prince, the blessings of the Desir are not without their price. You shall bring us the hides of those creatures you slay and your debt shall be paid.”

As the prince stepped from the fire-warmed cave into the cold winter winds of the sea-side hills, despite the fall in temperature, he felt as if he had stepped from winter into summer and he shook a lingering cold from his spine with a tremor.


and

[b] Tales from the Lands of Winter Fay: Part 2: The Beating Heart and the Raven Carcass


Sven, who was called Whitemane or Prince Regent or Commander strode through the cheering serfs, his aura of noble glamour parting the crowd of sword and spear-waving militia, like a ship through a sea. Though to them he might appear as a shimmering god of gold and silver, his noble fay blood easily pierced their glamour and he saw them for what they were, low-born serfs, many of them fishermen or hunters, who had flocked to the warrior’s banner in hopes of riches and stable pay, their furs dirty, often bloody, their eyes, though wide with victory, sunken and tired from many nights hunting.

The lowborn warriors were gathered around a fallen foe, its crimson red blood spreading across thin snow. The prince sneered. Like many Vanir, he held fay blood, and Vanir bood in particular, gold, red and sparkling, sacred. The plain crimson blood of humans and other name-givers he found vile or lowly and a brief grimace of distaste quickly crossed his features as he looked upon the creature. One of the serfs had slain the creature, which took the form of a tall half-man, half-wolf hybrid by opening its throat with a broadsword and its head now hung at an odd angle. A Desir acolyte, her glamour thick and flickering wide like so much moon-light upon the snow kneeled by the creature, holding her ear to its mouth and mouthing powerful incantations taught to her order by the dead goddess.

Suddenly there was a sort of gurgling sound from the creature and despite the fatal wound to its jugular, it lunged for the witch and, like one of the traps the serfs used to catch bears snapping shut, it bit into her face. With a sudden tug, it wrenched skin, muscle and tendon from bone. Despite the unexpected ferocity of the creature thought dead, Sven acted quickly, drawing upon instincts formed during several decades of hunting and war, plunging a spear deep into the creatures chest, parting its ribs, and sinking the point into its heart. The Desir witch fell back, her screams of agony quickly overcome by the merciful silence of shock and death. The creature lay limp again and the prince leaned hard on the spear, feeling it slide through its dorsal ribs and into the hard cold ground. He motioned for his herald to call for another of the Desir witches to come.

In only a few short moments the crowd parted again and this time a young blond-haired Vanir, her glamour lesser to the last acolyte who had died so recently, entered the clear space around the creature. She had known what she was being called for and in one thin hand held the carcass of a raven, its feathers ruffled and dirty from long travel in a saddle-bag. The young witch glanced, open-mouthed at her sister acolyte who lay twitching spasmodically in the snow nearby, her entire face a gruesome image of horror and violence, her bloody distorted tongue protruding from open wounds where only minutes earlier winter’s touch had bloomed on delicate youthful skin.

Still leaning upon the spear, the prince felt a strange stirring within the weapon, a sort of shudder, then through the length of the weapon the ‘thump, thump’ of the creatures heart could be felt, dim but rhythmic and gaining strength rapidly. Lest this acolyte witch join her sister, the prince raised the weapon and speared it again, again cleaving clean through the creature, feeling the creature’s beating heart cease once more, “Quickly now witch, lest it does to though what it did to thine coven-sister.”

The young Desir acolyte leaned close to the creatures maw, more careful than her sister had been and quickly spoke words of power while waving the raven’s shrunken and stinking carcass over its face. As she spoke the creature seemed to deflate somewhat, a final stale breath escaping from a bloody maw that still clung to the face of the first witch. As it did, the raven stirred, one shriveled claw clenching and unclenching spasmodically. The acolyte smiled and stood, ignoring the wolf-creature completely now. She smiled at the prince, a sort of pride evident in her face, “My liege, we have what we have come for.”

The crowd of serf warriors began to disperse, sensing that the creature would not strike again and as they did, Sven bent low, drawing his skinning knife. The high coven had asked that he bring them the creature’s pelt as payment and this he would do himself.


and

Tales from the Lands of Winter Fay: Part 3: Hall of the King Returned


The Vanir were slow to age, and indeed Prince Sven, who was called the Whitemane, or Prince Reagent, or Commander, depending on who was speaking, wore his two century and one score years with the light-stepping grace of youth. But as Sven walked side by side with his father, who was called Hermóðr, or King, or The Hanged One, or He Who Has Returned From Death, or The Hangadrott, he could not help but notice that in appearance, his years were beginning to overtake those of his father. The king had not aged since his return from beyond the death’s curtain and except for the hanging scars left upon his neck, there was no indication of his great ordeal.

Sven had returned from the cave of the Desir’s high coven after speaking with the witches there. He had watched as they called upon the spirit trapped by the Desir acolyte from the corpse of the dying wolf-creature and had learned much regarding its rage and a man they spoke of with the most wicked curses who went by the name of Emperor Vral. The dead generally, and this raging spirit, who was caught by some sort of mysterious curse, in particular, were often difficult to speak with or make sense of, the Desir had said and so there was relatively little they could tell him otherwise. Now he was sharing these details with his father as they walked along the wooden ramparts of the walls of Éljúðnir. They spoke not only of the attacks of the wolf-men but of more day-to-day affairs. The king’s visit to the other side made it much easier for him to keep the affairs of man and mortals in perspective and to appreciate the need for patience, or so he said; he was prone to act quickly and decisively when the mood took him. They spoke of the Jarls and the nobility, of the scouts reports and of the Hirdling training. They spoke of Ulfric, Sven’s brother, and his son, the first of the king’s grandsons and Sven’s only nephew, who was now learning to throw a spear with uncanny precision befitting his noble lineage.

As they walked, the warriors who manned the walls parted around them, shielding their eyes with their hands at the brightness of the King and Prince’s glamour. The two were so thoroughly similar in features, especially with the King’s unnatural youth, that very few who could not pierce the glamour with noble blood of their own would have been able to tell one from the other if it were not for the king’s silver crown. Both were tall men, with the width of shoulders and ease of gait of men used to hunting and war. They both had long nearly white blonde hair and shining silver and yellow eyes like those of cats and both wore polished steel hauberks, broadsword and dagger at the hip. No… as they made their way along the walls, few could tell them apart. Except for the Tuatha princess. She parted the warriors and the royal entourage with the strength of her own glamour while her own noble blood easily pierced the prince’s glamour and did much to uncover the king’s. Her name was Eochaid Indai, amd she was daughter of Lugh, champion of King Nuada, of the Tuatha Dé Danann who came from a distant island called the emerald but which was known to the Tuatha and the Vanir as T�*r na nÓg. Sven thought her beautiful, a flowing creature, who like most Tuatha, were of the same height of men, but who like the Vanir, cloaked herself in glamour. The Tuatha were the ever-young and she was no exception, her age being known only to greatly exceed that of the king but her beauty to rival any of the royal court. While the Vanir had a glamour that suggested moonlight, winter and silver, hers suggested sun, spring, and gold and so too did her dress and modest smile. She strode towards the pair and with a lack of difference that Sven thought strange but which the king apparently did not, she took hold of both the king’s hands and leaned close to kiss him gently on the cheek. Turning to the prince with a smile she spoke to the king in a conspiratorial tone ripe with the musical tones of a Tuatha princess, “Have you told him yet?”

The king appeared apprehensive as he faced his oldest son, “You know that I loved your mother very much and when we cross, I will love her again. But… I have fallen for another, one with a beating heart and warm breath, who will love me in my eternal youth and for as long as my lungs draw breath and my heart beats, one with whom I can spend all my long long years with and bring me happiness and to whom I can also bring happiness. Son, I have decided to marry this Tuatha princess.”

His words were not completely unexpected. The prince had heard the rumors. His own memories of his mother were modest, fuzzy, golden-covered with the gentle fuzz of childhood recollection. He knew that his mother had been sacrificed on the alter to the dead goddess on the winter solstice of the last year of the silver comet, the greatest honor that could be awarded by the messengers and a death he and all his people were extremely proud of, and so, for most of his life, the queen had waited in the next life, sacred and distant and never really seen, at least to him, as partner to his father. He also knew that his father was a man, like him, and handsome and noble and that there had been dalliances, but nothing with any seriousness. Despite his lack of objection, he did not know what to say. Extending a hand beyond the wall, he watched a snowflake land and slowly melt in his palm before he spoke again.

This time he turned to the Tuatha princess, “Welcome to the family… Queen Eochaid Indai.”

The king beamed uncharacteristically and placed a hand gently on the stomach of his wife to be, stroking the thick ermine robes no Vanir would have need of, “Son… there is something else I must tell you,” he said with a glance at him, his wife, and at her waist where his half-brother or sister grew.

[Immaculate]

and

Tales from the Lands of Winter Fay: Part 4: Royal Court and an Attempt at Diplomacy

It seemed never to stop snowing this winter and though it was but December trackers and trappers already wore the long narrow snowshoes they normally saved for the later depths of winter. But that did not stop King Hermóðr from holding court outside this evening. Like all Vanir, he had a natural affinity for cold and snow and he greatly enjoyed the way Vanir glamour of his courtesans and family interplayed aesthetically with the moonlight on the gently falling snowflakes. His features were calm as he enjoyed the brisk winter evening air. He wore an iron hauberk and a broadsword lay leaning against the throne upon which he sat. Ever-young and proudly bearing the scars of his hanging, he appeared every bit the role of the noble hangadrott, sacred warrior-knight and king of the Vanir people. At his side, perched serenely on a wooden throne delicately carved and inlaid with silver sat his new wife, Queen Eochaid Indai. Of Tuatha Dé Danann blood, she did not share the Vanir resistance to cold and her thin frame was wrapped in finely tailored ermine fur robes. Those with the most noble of blood might penetrate the royal glamour to make out a girl-child, the newborn princess, Delbáeth (a tuatha name) squirming beneath her robes. Standing near them was the youngest of the princes, Ulfric,who had inherited the king’s first wife’s black hair and thinner build. Never the natural warrior that his older brother, Sven, was, Ulfric was gifted with a calculating mind and interest in politics and diplomacy that served him well in court. The court itself was made up of many warrior-jarls and leaders of the guilds. The Desir witches were not in attendance. If the royals or nobles had need of them, they would go to their caves deep in the mountains for the Desir did not come to court often.

Across from the royals stood four Vanir who’s stature and width was greater than any other in court. Taller by half a foot than any others present and probably nearing four to five hundred pounds each, they were the embodiment of Vanir elite warrior-hood. Despite their build, they moved with an uncanny, almost supernatural, grace. Their strength, grace and especially the black wolf-fur pelt they wore marked them as the most elite of the Helvan warriors; these were known as the skin-shifters and there were only four. The men were known as Steinvor, Ulfeid, Gudrik, and Raudebjorn. The frist three had only just returned from the southern woods where their scouting expedition had led them to violent confrontation with the scouts of the Empire of Barslov. Raudebjorn, for his part, had returned from a sailing expedition into warmer waters searching for a site blessed by the dead goddess with natural fish banks, timber, ore and fertile soil. In rough growly voices suggestive of the wolf-form they would assume in battle, they were finishing their tale that the king, the noble jarls, and the scribes might know what befell them in the southern woods.

Throughout all of Éljúðnir, many a serf or freeman’s tongue spoke of the Barslov ship and its sudden unexpected appearance at the wharves. Naturally isolationists, the majority of the population were glad they had left but a vocal minority, especially those in the guilds were critical of the reception that had been provided to the southerners. These argued that the King or even the nobility should have greeted them to try and establish ties and good-will. But they hadn’t, reasoning that foreign sailors of mortal blood were beneath them and any effort by Vral’s court to speak with them should have been spearheaded by a royal, a prince or some other high-ranking noble.

At court, the skin-shifters had similar feelings, though their reasoning was different. The king asked them why, “Ulfeid, you speak of the Barslov serfs with obvious sympathy but as soon as you mention the soldiers or gentry you are obviously hostile and refer to their king as ‘Vral the Bloody’. Why?”

The warrior’s yellow eyes shone with an unconcealed excitement he didn’t bother to hide, “The Wolven Mantle has changed me; its changed all of us, of that there is no doubt. The Desir witches who imbued them with the essence of the wolven curse did not just pass on the wolven shape, strength and speed that has made us what we are today, it also passed on some of the finer points of the curse. The curse hates the one known as Vral, his soldiers, and his bloodline. It pities the weak and those who, unarmed, might be slaughtered. Those feelings are mine now, for the curse is part of me now and I am a part of it. I cannot help but hate the man who is responsible for the massacre and if you ask me what massacre, I cannot tell you- I only know that the curse is one of vengeance, for the blood of innocents spilled. You ask, my king, why I call him ‘Vral the Bloody’ and I can only answer that truly, the name is not one I give, but that the curse gives. No- there should be no peace with these people as long as that man is their emperor; slay Vral, and bring peace to his people and to the spirits trapped by the curse he called.”

Behind the king, Prince Ulfric caught the eye of one of the guild leaders mouthed something that seemed to satisfy him for the guilder quickly nodded, then cleared his throat, “Father, we have had word from the Barslovian people. They would like to live in peace with us. We must consider this. Even Ulfeid who would encourage war and conquest makes mention of their elite ‘Brazen’. I am no coward and I do not fear these men but there are many more of these Brazen than there are of our Skin-shifters and to think that our serf-militia, despite their numbers, can stand against the disciplined ranks of the Brazen is to underestimate their discipline, training, and weapons. No father… there is nothing to be gained from war; instead, let us live in peace, side by side, and perhaps we can even trade with them and prosper.”

For the majority of the court, the prince’s words were anathema and most of the nobility were disagreeing quietly with his words as he spoke but others, especially the guilders and some of the more progressive nobility were anxious to agree adding, “The prince is wise,” and, “Let us not waste our treasures on an unnecessary war.”

The four hulking warriors wearing their wolf pelts argued for raids by sea and through forest. The nobles agreed. They argued at the lack of respect shown to the Vanir by sending common sailors to speak with them. They spoke of the natural superiority of Vanir fey blood over man’s. Prince Ulfric was persuasive, diplomatic and well-spoken, again having inherited from his mother and his coalition gained ground with arguments of patience and the need to learn more even if later there would be war.

Ulfric’s way was not his fathers but the queen spoke next. Her people were not a warrior race like the Vanir. The tuatha were more prone to diplomacy and trade and she, like them, was loathe to spill blood, even that of men, without good cause. It was her words finally that swayed the king and so he proclaimed, “Go forth Ulfric and serve as my ambassador to these men of Barslov but should they insult us or our noble line, I will place your brother inc command of the war-parties and you know he is a man of the steel and blood and not of words.”

In the early morning a raven was sent south with a message for Vral of Barslov

and

Tales from the Lands of Winter Fay: Interlude 1: E! News interview


Giuliana Rancic Welcome back to E! News. For those of you just joining us, we’re talking with Alexander Skarsgård and Andreas Wilson who play the royal princes in Immaculate’s Helvan nation for Citana NES with EQCivFanatic. We were on the issue of setting. Alex, you said that for you, filming in northern Sweden gave you a chance to appreciate a beauty you had taken for granted?

Alexander Skarsgård Well,Guiliana, not completely I guess. I mean I’d been into the highlands and seen the mountains and the forests and the moors but seeing them on camera(1), that was different. I really felt that Immaculate did a really excellent job of conjuring a cold, unforgiving landscape that was none-the-less beautiful and majestic

Giuliana Rancic That could almost describe the Vanir themselves. Tell me about these people.

Alexander Skarsgård Well, they are based on Norse myth. Sort of.

Andreas Wilson Its really actually based on this faction in the Dominions 3 video game… well, a series of factions that all share this capacity to hide themselves in an illusionary ‘glamour’ and have a penchant for air magic. They are a tall warrior-like race much like the Vikings and the Helvan have this tie to death, much like one particular race in Dominions called the Helheim.

Giuliana Rancic Explaining why immaculate gave them their name.

Andreas Wilson Right. So they worship this goddess who they know is dead but for them, death isn’t really the finality that it is in many cultures or that it is in our lives. The Helvan king is known as a Hangadrott which means that he has died and has returned and presumably, because this is a great honor and he is much wiser for it, that’s a good thing.

Giuliana Rancic This is actually the father of the characters you both play.

Alexander Skarsgård That’s right. Whats weird is that the actor playing our father is the same age as us because when the character of the king died and returned to the Helvan, he stopped aging. He does have a scar to show for his efforts though- a thick cord of scar tissue around his neck that takes the make-up people about an hour to put together each time. Anyway, this is a scar from the king’s actually pretty gruesome death. He committed suicide by hanging from an ash tree.

Giuliana Rancic Hence why he is called a Hangadrott?

Alexander Skarsgård That’s never really explained but maybe. I don’t know.

Andreas Wilson Getting back to the death theme; another thing is the role of these ‘Desir’ in their culture. These are basically bad-*** witches who disdain the royal court or town living and hang out in gross caves where they do horrible stuff to animals and worship ravens. They are the link for the Helvan to their dead goddess but really they are just these dramatic devices for Immaculate to shock the audience.

Alexander Skarsgård I’m not sure that’s completely true. They have a pretty central role to the story. It was the Dis who uncovered the Barslovian curse after all. Importantly they can commune with the dead and do so fairly regularly, using Vanir blood as a sacrifice to enable this communincation.

Andreas Wilson Fair enough; getting back to the death theme though, there’s also the king’s wife, our character’s mother. We haven’t met her but the writers seem to be saying that she’ll be showing up in some future episodes, not sure if it will be as flashback or some sort of ghost or whatever. Anyway, our character’s mother is dead but she’s still a pretty important character. First off, you have to realize that she was killed by the Desir as a blood sacrifice to their dead goddess on this really auspicious holy day and because of that she’s sort of venerated and a popular hero for a lot of the Helvan people, including the king and our characters. Supposedly my dark looks and lighter build are from her.

Giuliana Rancic Whereas your heavier build and white hair are from the king Alex?

Alexander Skarsgård Yeah, that’s right. I actually had to gain nearly forty pounds of muscle for this role after my last one in True Blood. It took me six months with a dedicated trainer and nutritionist. In a lot of scenes I also wear lifts. Anwyay, yeah the Helvan have this thing with death.

Giuliana Rancic Right. And they have this thing with the wind and with illusions?

Andreas Wilson Yeah, that’s right Jewls.

Giuliana Rancic Please don’t call me that.

Andreas Wilson … Okay...? Anyway, yeah, the Helvan are all inherently skilled in illusion and cover themselves in glamour which is a pretty popular tool in fantasy writing for elves and stuff like that but basically what it means is that its really hard to see them. Immaculate keeps comparing it to looking at snowflakes in moonlight. They twinkle and there’s movement there but there’s no real form or substance to see.

Alexander Skarsgård And the thing is, glamour is tied to royalty and noble lineage so our characters have maybe the strongest glamour in the film outside the king and the new queen.

Andreas Wilson As far as illusion goes, many of the Vanir are inherently skilled in that too but with training they can extend it much further. It’s the same with the air magic and apparently the illusion and air magic are not really separate, though they are different than the death magic. Skilled Vanir sorcerers, and they are usually nobles not Desir witches, can summon freezing gales or strike their targets with lightning or summon spirits of the cold mountain winds or of lightning and thunder.

Giuliana Rancic You mentioned the new queen and that’s sort of the new and exciting thing the audience is talking about but right now its time for a break. When we return we’ll talk about your character’s step mother and your new half-sister. Thanks for watching (2) and hope to see you back after these messages from our sponsor.



(1) actually the reader’s imagination, there is no camera involved in this story
(2) you’re actually reading.

[Nosantee]

Tir na n'Og
Military Update
The general sits wearily in his chamber, mumbling to himself and his own monologue

We are defeated. Not in men, but in all other aspects. Our research lacks, our morale is crushed, and our lands drained and dead. Victory, cannot be attained for our people and we know it.

Only one last option remains. We will go, but not peacefully, not at all.

Mobilize. All. Mages. Begin the reconquista. We will all die in our last, fighting struggle. United.

[HoleyDooley]

Blood Bath!

That's the fighting spirit. I feel the same way right now!

[Excist]

OOC:

I have to say that this definitely is the most brutal game I have been in and I think the only nations that haven't felt that at one point or another is Helheim and Mictlan.

I, myself, had done some majorly expensive moves of desparation to save myself from the jaws of defeat that have luckily panned out well.

Fomoria's very existence and rebound into life is due to TNN and Hinnom bidding for my attention, so I am sure they felt that way. At peak I had a couple of months where I was combatting Marverni, Fomoria, Hinnom and TNN forces simultaneously. I've never seen anything like that before haha.

This game has been exciting and action packed all the way through.

[HoleyDooley]

I have learnt a lot over the last 2 weeks about the game. I would change a million and one things I have done to date. Thats the beauty of this game, a brutal learning curve. I am getting there, but still a ways to go. Good job Excist. I think you have me, but I'll go down fighting.

[Immaculate]

Yeah, i agree. it hasn't really been quiet for helheim to be honest. I picked a fight with a nation that ended up being much bigger and better armed than i ever thought it was. Also- a killer bless on their flying pegasus made things harder than it needed to be. Jotunheim can attest to that.

But yeah, non-stop fighting has been really fun. I am still upset about my poison golem though... :(

[Torgon]

OOC:

I have to say that this definitely is the most brutal game I have been in and I think the only nations that haven't felt that at one point or another is Helheim and Mictlan.

I, myself, had done some majorly expensive moves of desparation to save myself from the jaws of defeat that have luckily panned out well.

Fomoria's very existence and rebound into life is due to TNN and Hinnom bidding for my attention, so I am sure they felt that way. At peak I had a couple of months where I was combatting Marverni, Fomoria, Hinnom and TNN forces simultaneously. I've never seen anything like that before haha.

This game has been exciting and action packed all the way through.

I am quite amazed that I am still alive as well. Although in all honesty, the quality of my turns has bee diminishing rapidly. I think I've pulled off some interesting maneuvers in light of the situation I was placed in.

Looking back I'm pretty sure of a few things I would have done differently.

1. Make sure I knew what the Argathan bless was prior to attacking. Your scales and bless will probably doom you in the long run, but early on its pretty sick and nearly unstoppable.

2. Attack Tir instead of Argatha early. I was completely boxed in, so sitting back and relaxing wasn't an option I had to attack someone. I picked a fight with Argatha and lost horribly, basically ending the game for myself within the first year or so, even if I did keep holding on. I think my blessed unmarked could have held their own against an early Tir.

3. Not use the strat I focused on with such a cramped map. My strategy, while a bless focused one, was geared more towards the late game. The real unit that benefits from the W9 bless are Formorias morrigans all the way up at conj 6. I was never able to expand, never able to build up a good gem income, and thus never able to really leverage this advantage. I should have geared more towards the early game with such a tight map.

[Excist]

If it makes you feel any better you're not the only one to make mistake #1 & 2.

Marverni, Hinnom, and Tir Na Nog also made the mistake of attacking Agartha. ;)

I don't agree with your third self-critique since 10-12 provinces per is not too cramped, although it appears that you had a slower expansion than Fomoria should have which led to a cramped position. Also, your strategy should have been viable since it looks fairly powerful early, mid and late game. I think you ran into problems because of your slow start and picking a fight with a nation that expanded quickly and had more resources early on.

[Iron Duke]

Yeah, i agree. it hasn't really been quiet for helheim to be honest. I picked a fight with a nation that ended up being much bigger and better armed than i ever thought it was. Also- a killer bless on their flying pegasus made things harder than it needed to be. Jotunheim can attest to that.

But yeah, non-stop fighting has been really fun. I am still upset about my poison golem though... :(

I don't know where you got the feeling that I was more bigger and better armed than yourself, but such was not the case I think. I was fighting with niefelheim and his awake pretender(and I was just starting to win) then your thugs attacked. It was fun though, still learning to do well in mp.

[Immaculate]

yeah- i didn't know about the southern half of your nation or of your second fort. Also, when we started you had twice the provinces i did. so you were much bigger than i thought.

You fought really well- i've never tried a strong bless with acrosephalae. it seems like it really works better than i expected. Now i just need to hit all your forces with shimmering fields or some other mass AoE spell early to knock out your twist fate.

[Torgon]

If it makes you feel any better you're not the only one to make mistake #1 & 2.

Marverni, Hinnom, and Tir Na Nog also made the mistake of attacking Agartha. ;)

I don't agree with your third self-critique since 10-12 provinces per is not too cramped, although it appears that you had a slower expansion than Fomoria should have which led to a cramped position. Also, your strategy should have been viable since it looks fairly powerful early, mid and late game. I think you ran into problems because of your slow start and picking a fight with a nation that expanded quickly and had more resources early on.

I actually had a pretty good expansion, I didn't lose a single party. I just had a terrible starting position. I ran into another empire within one province from my capital in every direction.

[HoleyDooley]

So when the computer places nations at start, it doesn't attempt to place them with some degree of equality of being roughly the same number of provinces as all other nations?

[Excist]

It does, but the nations at the corners usually have a slight advantage in that they will have 2-3 outer facing provinces with no neighborly competition for expansion.

Also natural terrain such as waterways and mountain ranges can limit available paths of expansion. In hind sight both TNN and Fomoria were bottlenecked and one of them had to devour the other in the first year to have a real chance of making it to the end game.

That said I'm not ready to write anybody off since not many have had a smooth ride.

[Excist]

Btw, let's have some more RP posts! Especially from the underdogs. I'd love to hear stories of Arco nobles eating rats during a siege of their golden city for example! ;)

[Excist]

Ghalim scratched the bottom edge of his gut where it overhung the top of his trousers by a good inch or two while watching the Agarthan war camp make ready to march toward the heart of Hinnom. Look at them scurry like mice. Ghalim thought they looked like mice running through a maze searching for their cheese. You're better than this. Ghalim wasn't no rat to follow the cheese mindlessly. No, he was better than this. You should be the one giving orders. He should be the one choosing where the cheese was and which way the mice should scurry.

"This army should be yours" said the imp perched on a small boulder at the edge of the camp.

"That's what I've been trying to explain to you....I think.." replied Ghalim groggily.

"Oh, and I think you have a great point there" the imp chuckled as he idly watched as small bugs smoked and blistered under his hovering claw carefully placed a couple of inches overhead. He elicited great pleasure in watching how they would flee the heat moving infinitesimally slowly in one direction as he maneuvered his palm slightly quicker around to the other side. He always thought it was interesting how each individual bug seemed to realize they were moving towards the heat instead of away at unpredictable times. Often they burst open before they even realized they were cooking themselves as much as he was.

"Yes, and this all WOULD have been mine if it wasn't for....for..."

"Him."

"Him."

They both glared at one of the Lords from a minor House from the mining guilds that was tasked with putting the siege army in place as he wandered off to releive himself behind one of the Banded Hills these parts were named after. Ghalim thought to himself how he would surely have been chosen to lead this army and win the glory of defeating Hinnom if not for Ninlil being one of Mandred's many uncles. If only Mandred had died on his search for Harrow-gor. If only Mandred wasn't so paranoid that he would insist on filling every important post with one of his seemingly unending line of family members.

"I knew fate was looking down on you. Here's your golden opportunity! Let's go kill him and then clearly everybody will see you are the better Commander At Arms." The imp sneered as he jumped down from the boulder oblivious to the hissing and crunching when his claw came down on his forgotten toys.

"Let's kill him and.....then..I'm pretty sure we should kill him..." Ghalim droned as he grabbed his Obsidian Glaive and trotted after his commanding officer with intent to kill.

Ninlil's back was turned. 'This looks easy' he thought as he took 2 quick steps forward aiming his Glaive for Ninlil's meaty neck.

*CHIME*

The imp was holding his head screaming in some incomprehensible pain.

Somehow Ninlil was suddenly facing him with his single eye wide open in alarm.

Ghalim slowly remembered the situation and still unsure why it was desperately important, bent to reach down for the Obsidian weapon that he didn't remember dropping on the ground.

*CHIME*

The imp had clawed half it's own head to an unrecognizable pulp in an attempt to tear its ears off but now it seemed fully cognizant of its surroundings and in its ruined head his two eyes fixated on a singular goal. If he succeeded, Blood Bath would make him whole. Would reward him. If he failed..... There was no room for failure or his pain now would be insignificant compared to the eternity of his existance in Hell.

Ghalim picked himself off the ground.

Good, he had managed to hold onto his weapon during this blackout.

Bad, Ninlil had his magic dueling sword and golden shield in hand and was approaching him with the calm surefooted approach of a veteran fighter that had earned his rank through constant drilling in peacetime and years fighting in the Werk Enum border dispute against the Fomorians and the Purging (the Agarthan name for the War to kill the cult of Marverni). This was no surfaceborn milkfed noble.

It was too late to back away now. He charged forward swinging his Glaive down, but Ninlil just dodged to the side and then took two quick swings at Ghalim, the second scoring a deep cut in his side, straight through his cuirass and painfully into one of his ribs. Ninlil panicked a little, realizing his sword was stuck in the poor deluded soldier's body. Ghalim recognized his opportunity ignoring the pain to bring his Glaive down to strike true and end this fight. The strike swung true, certain to end Ninlil's life and then as though through some timely stroke of luck Ninlil's sword came free with such force that Ninlil fell back a rather unlikely distance avoiding the full length of Ghalim's blade.

*CHIME*

The imp clapped his claws down on his ears with such force that his head exploded and his body deconstructed into steaming waste as demons are apt to do when they perish.

Ghalim's first clear thought was full and complete regret as the enormity and madness of what he had attempted was realized with sudden force.

"I'm sorry!" he pleaded throwing down his weapon and holding up his hands in surrender. "I would never....I didn't mean to....It wasn't my choice....I don't know what....that....what happened.."

Ninlil didn't slow his approach as he calmly ran Ghalim through while oddly offering a sympathetic embrace. "I know. I'm sorry too. It has to be this way. If you are allowed to live it will be easier for others to fall prey to this enchantment. That cannot be allowed. I'm so sorry." Ghalim's eye lost focus as Ninlil twisted the blade and pulled it out of its warm bloody sheath.

Ninlil examined the so-called Cleansing Bell with newfound respect. It appears that Earth Reader knew what he was talking about. Ninlil had thought the idea of a Bell that warded against evil was nothing more than perhaps a popular folk lore from another time. He would have to donate to the Ministry of Earthrock when this campaign was over. The Earth Readers had saved his life today.

[Immaculate]

good story.

[Immaculate]

Surely the winds of fate are fickle indeed to bring a power as mighty and grand as the Hinnom low so quickly. Either that or their enemies are truly the greatest threat this world has yet to see...

[dojango]

Tepeyollotl stared into the dancing bonfire. The smell of incense and burnt offerings and the swirling smoke made his eyes water. He dropped the empty shells of the fire gems to the ground. Once again the fires revealed nothing. Exhausted, the old man slumped wearily to the ground. A servant materialized by his side.

"Bring me pulque. And something to eat," said Tepeyollotl.

The servant bowed. "Master. Some... people have been asking to see you. I told them you were not to be disturbed during your rituals, but they insisted on waiting."

"Are they from the capital?"

"No. They claim to be from Arcoscephale."

"What? Send them in, now!" Tepeyollotl snapped.

The servant quickly fled. Moments later he ushered in two dishelved and ragged men. Other servants brought in bowls of pulque and chicken stew.

"Sit, eat," said Tepeyollotl. The men quickly fell on the food and drink. Tepeyollotl examined them. One of them had a bloody bandage covering his head and eye, while the other had discarded a crutch when he sat. Their clothes were torn and filthy, not even fit for rags. "Just the two of you?" asked Tepeyollotl.

"The others didn't make it," said one of the men.

Tepeyollotl tried to remember the man's name. Mixcoatl? Omacoatl? Not even the leader of the twelve-man delegation he had sent to Arcoscephale a year ago. "Did you get it?" he asked.

The man handed him a small packet. Tepeyollotl snatched it from him and opened it, staring inside. The loss of so many promising young priests, the money and resources he had spent, it had not been in vain.

"It was bad. They kept guarding it until the bitter end. The ponymans were inside the walls before we could make our move. Xochipilli and Amimitl were cut down distracting the guards and Mixcoatl was killed by one of those... oreid women while we ran for it."

"What happened to Xolollotl?" asked Tepeyollotl distractedly. His nephew had been in charge of the operation.

"Uh, I think he was killed during the riots? They started attacking anyone foreign as the ponymans closed in on the capital. And then they burned the warehouse we were hiding in because they thought he was hoarding food. Diogenes, that is. He was a philospher we made friends with. He was hiding us, but the mob killed him. And a few others they caught with us. Still, once we got out..." the man trailed off as he saw that Tepeyollotl wasn't paying attention.

"Hmm? You may go now. Rest, we'll get you back into the field tomorrow," said Tepeyollotl, dismissing them. The high priest held the sacred acorn in his cupped hands. He could feel the vitality, the life radiating from the powerful object. He had served his god well.

[Immaculate]

And so the mother oak returns to guardians of order- that we might be stronger in the face of dangerous chaos.

[Immaculate]

I require an extension.

[Excist]

Lacking details, I have postponed hosting by 12 hours. If that is not enough, let me know.

[Torgon]

All,

Unless anyone has any major objections, I'm going to go ahead and set AI. I'm pretty much down to nothing and have been for some time. I'm going to script whats remaining in my capital to produce something nasty for whoever tries to take it.

If people have major objections I'll keep playing my turn, I just don't want to leave people waiting if I happen to stall, and there's no chance anyone would want to sub for me in my current position.

Overall it's been a great game and I've really enjoyed reading everything. I'll write up one final story about Balor and the kingdom of Fomoria, their unlikely truce with the Giants of Argatha after a bitter early war, their near defeat at the hands of their ancient enemies the Tuatha of Tir Na Nog. And finally the Armies of Argatha coming to liberate the brave realm of Fomoria with Balor swearing allegiance to the Argathan Lords.

[Excist]

Well, I'd personally rather people wait until they're down to their last fort is sieged to go AI, but don't want to be heavy handed about that if you have limited rl time.

In Fomorias (and Hinnom's) case I could understand an argument that there would be little to no difference to the turns whether done by an AI or a human at this point.

Whether you stick it out a little longer or go AI it was great having King Balor in the game and I was impressed with your use of Fomoria's ingredients to cook up some painful surprises. I hope you'll be part of my next RP game.

[Torgon]

I agree, I'd rather wait until I was down to last fort as well. But it looks like that still might be a few more turns which = about a week. I'm looking at a pretty crazy week and given what I'm doing I probably wont have access to a computer most of the time.

But as it stands, there's absolutely no reason to hold up the game on my account.

[Excist]

In that case, another option is I could force host if Fomoria is the last to send their turn in and it remained that way for at least an hour.

I don't think you've held up any turns recently.

[Torgon]

That works for me. Thanks.

[Excist]

NP.

Hinnom on the other hand should probably go AI at this point since, to the best of my knowledge, they have no provinces left or military to speak of.

[Excist]

OK, totally pissed off at myself. I just lost the game by sending in an army without my Oracle scripted to divine bless it. Total waste of an entire army, gems and equipment.

Was running out of time and sent in my turn when overtired.....big mistake.

[Immaculate]

we've all done that... now you get to go post in the 'doh moments'...


i summoned a big bad creature that cost me over 30 gems to summon, kitted it with 3 artifacts and other stuff, sent it against a ton of giant PD and had it zapped by the 50 turn timer after it beserked (wielding the heat from hell sword- forget its name)- even after the enemy had routed- there goes about 100 gems. i thought that cost me any chance at the game too...


also- i lost a poison golem with about 60 gem worth of materials (mostly death and water- i won't say what specifically) to acro's giant spiders earlier.



Yeah... bad stuff happens. you get to complain about it- but trust me- you aren't the only one who is making mistakes. (Not that mictlan is though- from what i can tell they don't make mistakes) dojango you are a way scarier mictlan than you are a patala.

[dojango]

Mictlan is way scarier than Patala. Also, not getting triple teamed by Atlantis, Marignon, and Tien Chi helps. As for mistakes, I make big ones all the time. In dreadful fates, I lost battles due to giving Ivan the gems and Igor the orders to cast the army-wide buffs. damn Russian names all sounding alike.

As far as "losing the war", the important thing is not necessarily how big the standing army is, but how quickly it can be replaced. Ultimately everything is disposable. With the resources of four nations at your command, you will be able to recover fairly quickly.

e: oh yeah, I saw that battle. Monolith armor, unquenchable sword and something else? Guy had a limp and couldn't make it off the field in the 25 turn grace period between auto-rout and auto-death.

[Immaculate]

no- i think he just popped cause he was beserking... he didn't rout.

How dare you question our honor!

[dojango]

I think everyone routs at 50 turns and dies at 75. this is to keep two teleporting sphinxes from staring at each other for eternity or something.

[dojango]

Wow, that was certainly a pyre-ic victory. Way to go, little dust priest.

[Immaculate]

what happened?

[dojango]

check out the hall of fame for Agartha's newest hero. phoenix pyre + soul vortex + masses of chaff = good times.

[Excist]

Wow, that was certainly a pyre-ic victory. Way to go, little dust priest.

Yes, I was already thinking that guy deserves a story, lol.

Agarthan army routs, Ur retreats strategically and then gets hit in the back of the head with a stray arrow and turns around all pissed off and lays waste to the opposing army single handedly.


Correction:
Soul vortex + Phoenix pyre + berserk + +11 reinvig = good times. ;)

Also I should say that we are officially down to 4 nations left, so congratulations to everybody that made it this far!

Whether you win or lose often is due to end game politics, but, making it to the End Game is usually a sign of skill and deserves a pat on the back. ;)

[Immaculate]

I need an extension. Something went wrong.

[Excist]

Hosting postponed by 12 hours.

[dojango]

maybe give him a day or two, that sounds ominous.

[Excist]

We're in the endgame I'd say, so I have switched to a 48 hours hosting schedule (from 36). If people want 72 that can be arranged too, but we seem to be humming along smoothly within 48 hours.

[dojango]

Kurgarru stopped and stared up at the night sky. If he squinted his eye, it almost looked like the comforting roof of the caves back home. As long as he pretended that those alien stars were just chips of mica glittering in the faint light. His new friends, these Mictlanese, were creatures of fire and light. He didn't understand them, they worshipped the cruel brightness and seemed to cluster around fires. They burned their food and they looked as if they had been burned by some fire as well. Kurgarru had never heard of the Mictlanese until a few months ago. He had been working in the plump helmet fields in the caves of home when some lord had made him change his shovel for a spear and march to war, to conquer the surface in Harrow-Gar's name.

But Kurgarru's old life seemed to fade away the more time he spent on the surface. He could barely remember the caves of home now, the faces of his family and children playing in the underground streams, working the loamy caves where their crops grew. The only thing he could remember clearly was the battle, the one thing he longed to forget.

In the chaos of his memory, he remembered being struck, not by a blow or a spell, but by a clear and crystal idea. Suddenly he realized that Harrow-gar had betrayed them. With that realization, he dropped his spear and opened his arms to embrace the Mictlanese tide. But they washed around him, drawing him in to serve.

The Mictlanese priests had been very helpful in explaining to him what had happened. Harrow-Gar must have been the one to weaken the seals. Harrow-Gar was sending the people to die on the surface lands to weaken the nation. Harrow-Gar was working in concert with the terrible umbrals that the Agarthans had sworn to contain. When they explained it to him, it all made sense, although the knowledge kept slipping away as he wandered the dark nights, dreaming of home. The one thing he knew for certain was that if he followed the Mictlanese army to the ends of the earth he would find his way home again.

[Immaculate]

plump helmets. guffaw!

[Immaculate]

We're in the endgame I'd say, so I have switched to a 48 hours hosting schedule (from 36). If people want 72 that can be arranged too, but we seem to be humming along smoothly within 48 hours.


lets move to 72h... most of the time it won't be necessary but sometimes it is- tonight i had to rush stuff to get my turn in and i feel bad for my other responsibilities.

[Excist]

Sorry about the delays guys.

I hurt my hand bad last night which kind of threw off my time for turns and I ended up working until 9:00 tonight and not getting home until 10:00.

Issues should be resolved soon and then on with regularly scheduled programming.

[dojango]

I've had a computer failure and it will probably be a few days before I can see about recovering Dom 3 off the hard drive (if it's even possible at all) so I will probably need a few days before we host the next turn.

[Excist]

YAY!!! Its not just me holding you guys up!!!!!


I mean...um....sorry to hear about your PC.

[dojango]

ok, back in busineses. can unpause game now.

[Excist]

Ok, glad to hear it!

New turn should process tonight after I get home.

[Immaculate]

Has this become a mopping-up operation? Is the victor really in doubt?

If not, i would be willing to concede a Mictlan victory and focus my time and attention elsewhere. This has been a fun game but if the result is not in question, maybe we should just call it?

I.

[dojango]

if you're willing to concede, I will graciously accept the mantle of victor.

[Excist]

Well, I would like to see my saints in action before I resign.

Is Helheim and Mictlan at war right now?

[Immaculate]

no- helheim is busy cleaning up some forts.

[dojango]

Well, I would like to see my saints in action before I resign.

Is Helheim and Mictlan at war right now?

we're still on guard against the dangers of a revanchist Agartha. That mega-army is quite ominous.

[Excist]

I still wonder how the game would have gone if the first battle against the zmeys and mages on patrol had my divine bless as I had planned...a good clash with my main northern army will at least give me some closure in that regard ;)

[Excist]

Okay, thanks for sticking around for 1 more climatic battle :D

It was some nice Eye Candy.

I want to extend a thank you to all who participated. This was the best Dom3 game that I've been part of and fun all the way through until the end.

And thanks to everybody that participated in the flavor text to accompany the game.

And finally, Congratulations to Dojango/Mictlan with his very well deserved victory.

Based on some of the comments I've seen I think he is the only player that made it through the game without any major mistakes.

[Immaculate]

Claws of Kokytos > 3 grendelkin.

Yeah- so... everyone share their pretender builds.

Mine was a rainbow druid that i empowered in blood. I don't know if you all knew this or not but i had really strong research for most of the first 2/3 of the game.

Who took the ruby eye? Mictlan?

[Excist]

Dom 4 (thus the pre-emptive strike against the bloodsaccing Mictlan) Druid Pretender with Magic paths F4 E9 S4 N10 B4

Turmoil: 3
Sloth: 1
Heat: 3
Death: 3
Luck: 3
Drain: 2

My plan was to roll over any high dom neighbors with my blessed sacreds early and live majoritively in any good dominion I could find (Hinnom's did nicely for quite awhile as I was able to out-eco everybody else even with only half of my territory in Hinnom's dominion)

Agarthan sacreds are cheap to purchase and cheap to maintain and with 13 attack value + stars and 28 damage (15 attack and 38 damage for the cap only version) when berserking meant death to most units and thugs even on a shield-hit and with ~20 prot and 10 hp/round regen they were pretty impossible to kill for the majority of the game.

[dojango]

Claws of Kokytos > 3 grendelkin.

Yeah- so... everyone share their pretender builds.

Mine was a rainbow druid that i empowered in blood. I don't know if you all knew this or not but i had really strong research for most of the first 2/3 of the game.

Who took the ruby eye? Mictlan?

I was using the Mictlanese Stone Head with 9F4N4B. Scales were O3S3H3G1L3M1 Dom 8. In my test games, turmoil 3 wasn't nearly enough gold income to fuel the starting expansions, so I went order with a slightly weaker bless, figuring as long as income > attrition, it wouldn't matter.

But I want to emphasize a few things. One thing, really. I was amazingly, stupidly, unfairly lucky. Mictlan's three weak schools are air, death, and earth, and I found a death mage and an air mage site in Pangaea's territory, which was pretty nice, because they provided a heck of a research boost in addition to forging skull mentors to power up my research (I managed to surpass Helheim by the end) and forge spirit helms and bows of war for my dudes. I also found the crystal amazons, who provided some archery oomph. And of course who could forget the 3000g windfall late year 2 that let me build three forts at once?


Oh yeah, and before I forget, I had the 30% blood discount site near my capital.

[dojango]

I still wonder how the game would have gone if the first battle against the zmeys and mages on patrol had my divine bless as I had planned...a good clash with my main northern army will at least give me some closure in that regard ;)

I'm not certain it would have made much of a differnce; given that I had something like 7 zmeys and a some demons and jaguars. You killed most of the jags and demons, but only one of the zmeys. Under GoH and with a lyco amulet, each zmey has something like 400 hp, regen, and fights to the death. Even if you had won the battle, I still had hordes of demons and vampires ready to attack.

I didn't have the eye, I had a bunch of the weirder artifacts, but none of the mega-boosters or hammers.

[Excist]

Well, losing half of your zmeys would have slowed down your raiding pretty considerably, and if I had won that battle with the divine bless + battlefield spells, then I likely would have kept winning at least a couple of more with the combination.

I never was able to rebuild and have the gem resupply for battlefield spells cast with penetration after that point.

My best guess is that it could have gone either way and at the very least it would have turned into a much more tightly contested fight (perhaps contested enough to allow Helheim to get in the mix).

30% blood discount gives you a hefty advantage with the amount of stuff you can summon, but even when being outnumbered 3 to 1 at the end and without the battlefield spells fatiguing your guys my sacreds killed 1/3 of your units and most of your demons on the frontline had close to 100 fatigue even without the fatigue inducing spells (flying is fatiguing), so with the divine bless on there is a good chance your army would have fatigued out before they were able to kill more than half one of my armies.

I was also producing 30 giants/turn and a Grendelkin every other turn and could have kept that production up if I didn't blunder my southern main army.

[dojango]

yeah, I wonder what Helheim would have done. he was obviously waiting for us to destroy each other, but would he have sided with the winner or loser of the war?

[Immaculate]

I was just surprised to still be alive. I played a good part of the first part of the game with about 5-7 provinces. What i am really surprised about is that i actually won against Arcosephale- they didn't mind hunt a single time but if they had i would have lost.

[dojango]

I was just surprised to still be alive. I played a good part of the first part of the game with about 5-7 provinces. What i am really surprised about is that i actually won against Arcosephale- they didn't mind hunt a single time but if they had i would have lost.

EA arco isn't great for mind hunts, need two boosters to make it possible on 1/4th of your mystics. But if we'd started scrapping, I would have made up for lost time. did you have any astral?

[Immaculate]

yes - by then i had astral. actually a fair bit. i had it for fighting neifelheim. That player was interesting. When i told him i was breaking our NAP he called me on but as soon as we went to war he decided he had had enough and went AI.

i knew this game was well and truly over when i saw your claws of kokytos take out the grendels. all i had was big tarts and devils- i had about 20-30 SCs, but thats ALL i had and... well... claws...

[dojango]

yes - by then i had astral. actually a fair bit. i had it for fighting neifelheim. That player was interesting. When i told him i was breaking our NAP he called me on but as soon as we went to war he decided he had had enough and went AI.

i knew this game was well and truly over when i saw your claws of kokytos take out the grendels. all i had was big tarts and devils- i had about 20-30 SCs, but thats ALL i had and... well... claws...

yeah, blood is kinda OP in that regard, should at least hsve some sort of check on it even if it doesn't actually kill the SC. I am kind of curious to see what would have happened when I dropped 20 sirens into your cap and had them lure your researchers into the sea. Ah well.

[Excist]

Hmm. For guys like wendigos and tarts doesn't claws just send them away for a few turns to get exp in hell?

[Immaculate]

good thing i had moved my researchers out of the cap :)

[Immaculate]

it would have devastated my crafters though.

[dojango]

Hmm. For guys like wendigos and tarts doesn't claws just send them away for a few turns to get exp in hell?

well, there are two spells, one sends them to the icy hells, the other to the fire hells. each turn you have a chance of being attacked by the denizens, and also a 10% of returning to the owner's territory. SCs that are not immune to ice/fire are likely to fatigue out and die in any combat, though.

[Immaculate]

as an aside, i think many of the high end blood summons come back from the hells with a higher chance per turn. they have a 'return from hell' tag in the wiki. Or something like that.

[Immaculate]

Please tell lamaserver the game is ended. I've gotten two e-mails to submit my turn now since the game has ended.

[Excist]

Dojango and I were going to do an experiment when we get a chance, and then you dragged me into your shared AAR experiment which has made that difficult ;)

I'll remove you from the game and turn off reminders.

[Excist]

actually it turns out that I can't administratively remove you. You have to set yourself to AI :)

[Immaculate]

k- no worries. didnt know u were running an experiment.

[Excist]

just when you get a chance you can send a turn just turning yourself ai and then I can force host.

messages are already turned off so nobody should be getting any more llamaserver spam.