MP Game - Yarnspinners

[Sedna]

Turn 12, R'lyeh

Undead are so mealy-tasting. Ghouls at least have a little texture, a hint of artificial flavoring. Soulless? Gah! And they never break, so after a while it's just chomp, chomp, chomp. Yet another minion from the beyond the grave, come to devour my brains. As if they could survive that experience. But they never really fill me up, I just get so tired and depressed. God... Yes? Sorry, little joke there.

But, for the greater glory of me, I am called upon to do unpleasant things every once in a while. For next month I've sighted a nice coastal province defended by not-too-crunchy humans. I expect sun-tanned, perfect limbs, with just a hint of salt, and maybe some tropical fruit flavors in there somewhere.

I see so many neighbors now. I'll try to communicate with them, but relying on dolphins to carry Messages has its drawbacks. Our minds have such different ways of handling syntax and meaning. And the brains of the smartest ones are like delicate little flowers of flavor... so I end up sending the dumb ones with Messages.

I really shouldn't carve these ritual history pillars on an empty stomach.

The rest is pretty much just shuffling minions; regrouping my forces to push further onto land into heavily defended provinces, where men dress in giant metal cans and ride tiny little herbivores. It sullies me even to contend with their kind- I've seen worlds snuffed out at a word, C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate...

[puffyn]

---- Arcoscephale, Turn 12 ----

Perhaps now I understand.

Whispers come from the furthest corners of this strange country. Men claim that the gods have returned, and flock to their side, forging empires out of what used to be quiet hamlets and backwaters. Thym... Thymbre knew that these madmen with delusions of god-hood had to be put in their place, or the light of human reason would forever be subdued to the darkness of religious slavery. To stop this descent requires a charismatic leader (Limmy), and a base of power, an empire (which is mine to forge).

This month we march south against Golana, the Last province bordering our home village which has not pledged allegiance to us. The locals describe the Golanites with all sorts of vile slurs, most commonly calling them "lizards" in the local dialect. I look forward to bringing these people together, by the sword if need be.

My new weapon is the mighty elephant. These beasts, far larger than any animal native to Greece, make fearsome weapons of war when properly trained by the locals. They have a tendency to startle easily, crushing our own men, but I am sure the valor of a full phalanx of Silver Shields will give all our troops courage.

Spring has come to these lands, and the slow trek up the mountains, and mad retreat back (in which Limmy was my constant, annoying companion) seem like a bad dream. When... I try not dwell on it, and realize what happened there... it is a bad dream from which I know I shall never awake.

If death awaits me in the swamps of Golana, I shall not cheat it again.
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