Atlantis Times v1.1 v03n12 From: JJC@MPA15AB.mv-oc.Unisys.COM Date: Tue, 27 Sep 1994 20:00:53 +0000 ######################################################################## =-=-= Atlantis Times v1.1 Volume 3 Number 12 =-=-= =-= September 26, 1994 =-= ######################################################################## Words from The Big Guy: The return receipt mechanism is broken again. You may get them on and off this week. No need to respond unless you keep getting them over and over again. Sorry for the trouble. I should have an updated rulebook soon. Send Times to: jjc@mpa15ab.mv-oc.unisys.com Send Orders to: JJC@MP068.MV-OC.UNISYS.COM Send problems/comments/bug reports/questions to me personally at: jjc@mpa15c.mv-oc.unisys.com I read the mail at the times address once a week, when I'm setting up the Times. I NEVER read mail where the orders go to, so don't send anything but orders there. Good luck, and enjoy. - TBG ######################################################################## Apologies to those reading this without a proportional font. OK, heck, apologies to all those who have to read this. *********** **** **** *** *** ** ** * * * * * * * Gue ssW * * ha t, * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * M s * * o n * * e?You'reDead!Ha * * * * * * * ** ** *** *** **** **** *********** ######################################################################## CRASH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Cad ducked and a priceless vase flew in his direction and shattered against the wall. Cad clenched his teeth and prepared himself for the worst. "YOU STUPIS IDIOT!!!!!", roared a seemingly frail old woman as she slowly searched the room for another object to throw. "Whatever possessed you to try to take a horse on board a ship?" "well, umm...I tried to get rid of him but he followed me on there was nothing I could do. He didn't want to leave me." said Cad hopefully. "Humph!", grunted the woman as she picked up a leather bound book and hurled it at him with uncanny accuracy. "I suppose that you expect me to believe that? Well I don't. You have really disappointed me. I think I am going to have to take some steps." "Now dont take that tone with me woman!, shouted Cad. "I am after all the leader of this army. You can't talk to me like that!" Cad puffed out his chest proudly. "WOMAN!!", the old lady's face became red with rage. "That does it Cad. YOU ARE FIRED!!!!" The old woman snapped her fingers and in walked two attractive young women, who looked remarkably alike. Cad's face blanched as he recognized his twin sisters Trixie and Dixie. "Come now mother do be civilized. I can do better I promise." "I'm sorry Cad but you leave me no other choice. You have made far too many stupid blunders. I am now taking control of the operation. You will go with your sisters and fight our enemies." , The old woman took a deep breath and added, "And Cad, Do try to do something right for a change." "Yes mother.", said the defeated Cad as he walked out of the room. Turning to her daughters the old woman said, "Try to keep him out of trouble will you." "Yes Mother.", said the sister as the walked out of the room. On their faces were huge evil grins. The old woman looked over the room. She bagan cleaning up the mess she had made. She realized that she has a great deal of work to do. Picking the last shards of the vase she broke she spoke softly to no one in particular, "Things will get better. Matron Malice is in chagre now!" ######################################################################## A figure was walking calmly in the night. The fires in the plain gave a little light. The ritual has to be obeyed. The night before a battle the Sacred Mushrooms have to be eaten. *LIGHT* *FIGURES* *MEMORIES* *COLORS* *MOTIONS* *AIR* *ME* *NO* *YES* *CALM* *RELAX* *COMFORT* And then he awaked. Smiling he arranged the troops for the Battle. Some Furry People were at his side. They were short in stature but big in courage. The plan was simple. Surprise attack. Even if one of four scouts succed in the mission the battle will be over before it started. And then...and then to the next battle. The enemy. Were they really the enemy?. He didn't know, but, one day they will be bigger and they will fight for the food, for the horses, the iron, the wood, the stones...or maybe they will turn in allies... NO. The Dream was clear they will have to be exterminated, and if later the battle will be even harder. In the other side four factions. Four factions that commited the most terrible mistake: *Do Nothing*. Yes, barbarians that is the word. We are barbarians. Call us that way if you want. Later if we survive, maybe we can build a civilization. Ships, buildings.....swords, armies and then they will call it war. Because this was a masacre the poor guys have no chance at all!. As a tactitian the battlle is completely clear. + + + + + + A voice: -It was a goooood battle you should have to be there, I killed four myself!. Another voice: -Yes, but i was catching some horses for our Chief. And thanks to him I wasn't required to fight. Four surprise attacks and that was all!. First voice: -Yes, nice piece of tactics, I have to say, and the mothers of our people are gratefull. No casualties!. + + + + + + After the battle he went to the tent and drunk the potion of the Holly Cactus. Everything was in its place. All is and will be...... ######################################################################## Clive, the founder and effective leader of the Atlantean Gnome nation, stood atop a low hill with one of his senior engineers and looked out over the harbour. "The Gnomulan Bird of Prey will be finished well within schedule", said the engineer proudly. "Good", replied Clive absently, his attention focussed on an odd- looking outrigger apparently attached to the ship's side by a pair of large suction cups. "What's that by its side", he asked. "A cling-on cruiser", announced the engineer proudly. "My own design - it'll add twenty percent to her hold capacity, making it that much easier for us to boldly go where Nomad has gone before. Wandering Nomad, that is", he chuckled. "I see", murmured Clive. He regretted having started that silly thread in the first place. He dismissed the engineer, and walked slowly back to his office, turning over in his mind the manifest for the great voyage. Were they taking enough food? Would they be able to defend against whatever perils awaited them on the high seas? There was no way of knowing. Clive sighed and wished, not for the last time, that he'd left that $5000 in the till. ######################################################################## This month is highly auspicious, as it marked the arrival of Plato's Lads to Atlantis. Their mission was announced by their leader, in a small news conference today. ``Our Old Man sent us.'', he said. ``We're supposed to investigate new forms of government, chat to the locals, and have a bit of holiday while we're at it.'' Plato's Lads welcomes all form of philisophical and economic questioning. ######################################################################## Bascon Diamante boarded the ship and looked around. Everything seemed ship-shape, at least to Bascon's landlubberly eye, but there was no sign of the crew. Then he heard sounds from the aft cabin. Inside the cabin, he found a tall, slim young man shadow-sparring with a wooden practice sword. "Take that, you Agrikian fiend! And that!" cried the young man as he jabbed vigorously at the wall. After Bascon caught his attention and calmed him down, the young man introduced himself as Hector Reynolds and explained how he and a group of young nobles had traveled to Atlantis to right the wrongs committed against the former Lord Reynolds. ('I thought he looked familiar,' thought Bascon. 'He's much like his uncle in looks and apparently in temperament as well. Just what I need, a whole gang of naive idealistic dreamers!') Hector was delighted to learn of Bascon's identity. "That Mecron crone said she'd zero in on Diamante blood, and I guess she was right!" "You teleported here by targeting Diamante blood? You're lucky you didn't end up in Vox's wine cellar." As the pair talked, they wandered out on the deck so Hector could cool down from his sparring. Bascon glanced around, and said, "Now, I don't know much about ships, but shouldn't those ropes over there be tied to something?" As if to answer Bascon's question, the wind picked up, the ship's sails billowed, and with a lurch the ship drifted away from the dock. Visions of sea monsters and the thought of dying once again flashed through Bascon's mind. He cried out, "Noooooo!" and lunged for the ship's railing. He tripped and fell, ripping his money pouch open on a nailhead; coins scattered across the deck, and his crossbow flew overboard. Holding closed the ripped pouch, Bascon got up and flung himself over the railing, landing face first in shallow water as the ship pulled further away from land. Aboard the ship, Hector Reynolds called out, "But I can sail the ship..." His voice faded away as the ship floated into the distance. Bascon got up and waded to the shore, picking up his crossbow, which was floating nearby. Ashore, he took stock of himself. "Blast it! Half the silver gone, and that stupid horse, too. At least I'm still armed." Once again, Bascon stood on the shore of a strange land, soaked to the skin. This time, he would venture east instead of north, and try his luck there. Sighing, and wringing water out of his cloak, Bascon set off toward the rising sun. ######################################################################## His horrible face turning a mottled purple, every muscle tense, eyes clenched shut in effort, lungs straining to their full and utmost capacity, Lord Vox focused every ounce of his energy on the tiny white bone held to his rigid, scale-like lips. Finally, with a tortured *POP*, there was a high-pitched whistling inrush of air, and Vox coughed and shook his head, holding the bone out in front of him. "Not as easy as most people think, you know, sucking the marrow out of a finger-bone." Vox gnashed his teeth in satisfaction, and taking out some fine steel carving tools, began carving holes in his new whistle. Musical pursuits weren't his first love, of course, but everyone needed a hobby during the slow times. Lord Vox understood, of course, the need to stay in Vashcort for the defense of the realm, rather than sailing with the First Fleet. But he had looked wistfully on as the ships unfurled their charcoal-black sails and crimson flags and set out on their mission of devastation. Of course, the University had provided a competent tactician, and the fellow certainly seemed to know his books well enough, but there was really no substitute for field experience. Vox hoped he was a quick study, but he'd sent along a Raptor or two just in case. Now which way had they sailed? Vox scratched his head, trying to remember; the resulting inch-deep furrows in his cranium were mildly annoying, but would heal quickly. Those damnable tactics equations had muddled his memory. Were they heading down to munch on Lemurs? Or had the Council decided that richer blood would be had to the East or West? Maybe they'd decided to follow the remnants of the Padishahs up North? Was it, perhaps a longer diagonal course towards a soft underbelly? Well, it hardly mattered, Vox mused; so long as they got there quickly to harvest some new blood. The delightful but limited stores of Lost Boy were dwindling rapidly, and Vox didn't relish the thought of subsisting on peasant blood in the slightest (though, admittedly, there was a *lot* of it to be had). Maybe if he was lucky, some Lemurs or a few of those mythical Greagrians would run aground nearby and supplement the cellars. But Vox wasn't holding his breath. ######################################################################## Second report from the Atlantis overpopulation conference The recent conference on overpopulation in Panyu has led to the case that the different nations on Vashcort have started to work on a resolution on how the overpopulation and destruction of natural resources can be slowed down. A first draft has been submitted to the high council of Vashcort for approval, but our reporter suspects that more hard negotiations will take place before the council finally can accept the resolution. The contents have so far been kept very secret but some secret sources have revealed that a further step will be to spread these principles outside Vashcort as soon as they have been finalised. The Church of Agrik have been very critical to the education of peasants as a mean to slow down the growth. High priest Chafin seems to be of the oppinion that the peasants that don't follow the resolution should be used for cheap blood-production for the people who can't afford vintage-blood like Padisha, Diamante or Reynolds. This last question has also been one of the main discussion points. The shortage of blood-wine. At the moment only poor peasant substitution can be produced. Different suggestion have been made on how to find new harvest places, but none of them have been revealed to the public yet. Some vague rumours tells that the one who could produce some bottles of Lemuria blood would be revarded a big sum of silver. Lord Vox had in his last press conference no comments to these rumours. Latest reports from Panyu Times reporter E. Atmuch ######################################################################## CHIP...CHOP...CHIP...CHOP... "All right ya little tree rat," the burly foreman shouted towards the branches overhead. "Any sign of them spotted owls? The Spellweaver says we can't chop down any trees with spotted owls. Damned pain if ya ask me..." "No spotted owls, but I do see something off across the bay," replied a youthful voice hidden among the leaves and branches. "It looks like a sail!" "I thought I told ya not to chew them weird leaves any more! There ain't no reason fer any ship to come here!" "No, it's definitely a ship! I think it's a clipper!" "Hey, Rick! Get over here!" A few hundred meters away, a lumber jack put down his axe and started jogging over. The foreman scrawled a quick note on a scrap of paper and handed it to the man as he ran up. "The tree rat thinks he sees a ship across the bay. Drake and the Spellweaver will want to know about this. Send this note off by pigeon right away." "Sure thing, boss," Rick replied as he grabbed the note and ran off towards the camp. "All right," growled the foreman to the rest of the crew. "Get back to work! This ain't no coffee break!" ######################################################################## "How is it that you know of the fate of the Belladonna when it is so far removed from our shores?" Nicolas, already adept at the dark arts, was keen to learn the secrets of the arch-mage, Akh-Greth. The old man turned his piercing gaze upon the young magician. "It is an elementary skill based upon the very fabric of the world we inhabit. I will reveal its working to you shortly. But for now, do as I have bidden, and take this news direct to the Seneschal." "Not, not to the triumverate?" "Bah, they are mere figureheads, put in place to placate the people during the recent troubles. The Seneschal is once again the true power in this domain." The old man paused, and his lips quirked into a humourless grin. "Apart from myself, of course." Cai was sitting in his private gardens when the young mage brought the good news. "Found land, you say?" Nicolas nodded. "And the inhabitants are not hostile?" "No, my lord Seneschal. In fact, we have a personal missive from one called Spellweaver who offers his greetings to you. They have extended the hand of friendship to our explorers, who were close to despair following their long voyage." "This is indeed wond'rous news, not the least in its manner of conveyance. How is it that such a far flung land can have heard of us, and how is it that we can receive their greetings over such vast distances?" Nicolas tried to look and sound as nonchalant as possible. "Oh, it is an elementary skill, my lord, for we mages." ######################################################################## From the Forests of Clatter and Caserta to the Mountains of Ardfert the tentacles of the Brotherhood streteched out and tightened their evil grip on the unsuspecting land. Deep in the black heart of Corrigaline the Father of Ultimate Destruction plotted and schemed to pit neighbor against neighbor. ANd every time that mistrust grows and wars are started the Brotherhoods aims come one step closer to success. Is it already too late to stop this monster? Is everyone happy to be pawns in his vile game? If Lord Vox was real and not just a story told to kids at nite, he would be no more than a puppy compared to the cunning ruthless and insidious Brotherhood. Act now before you too are devoured! Signed, Another Victim. ######################################################################## THE ADVENTURES OF THE STRANDED TOURISTS PART 3: Deroc's angry stare followed the android as Unisc left them. "He has failed you, my lady, shall I cut out his heart?" Deroc asked. "Er,..No." Janet sighed. She had tried to explain to Deroc that Unisc was a machine but he obviously couldn't understand. She must civilise him, why the man even believed in magic! In any case part of the fault was hers. She had given the android the money and told him to recruit some locals and have them trained in various skills but all Unisc had done was arrange menial work for the tourists. She must be more carefull with her orders. She turned to Deroc "Do you think the other factions are peaceful? Not one has contacted us. " "If they are not I shall cut out their hearts! my lady." "Really! Deroc you must stop saying that! Send them a message of peace." "As you wish so shall it be." to be continued ######################################################################## Lord Falken stepped into his tent, sighing. Things had not gone well. Somehow, the silver he had ordered to be sent to the lumberjacks in Oloron had not arrived, and almost half of them had starved. The peasants in Aghleam had not been able to support the troops there, and a few of them had starved as well. All in all, it had not been a good month. Little did Falken know it was about to get worse. Not having his wife's sharp eyes, he did not notice the man standing in the shadows with a knife in his hand. Then the assasin sprang, and for a brief instant Falken felt the knife tip at his throat. Reacting instantly, he threw himself backward, bringing his leg up and smashing it into the attacker's chest. A moment later Falken had drawn his sword. The two men faced each other for a moment, then Falken charged. The would- be assasin tried to dodge, tried to parry, but it was no use. Falken overpowered the man and brought his sword slashing down at his throat. At the last second, he shifted the angle of the blow, slicing the blade deep into the man's shoulder rather than decapitating him. The attacker collapsed, blood spewing from his wound. Falken knocked the knife away, then dropped his sword and grabbed the man by his throat. "Who are you?" he growled, "who sent you?" "No!" the man moaned weakly, his life blood seeping away. "Your name!" Falken cried angrily, all but cutting off the flow of air to the man's body. "Rut . . . Rutabaga," the man croaked, before dying. Rutabaga! Falken thought. Could he be . . . he had to have been conn- ected with Banana and his brothers. They had tried to have him killed. But why? Falken had thought that affair long behind him. True he had read about happenings in the Times, happenings involving talking horses and gnomes. He had not followed them closely, but now wondered. This matter would certainly bear more looking into. ######################################################################## =-=-= END TIMES 312 =-=-= ######################################################################## Up