Atlantis Times v1.1 v03n11 From: JJC%MP068@MPA15AB.mv-oc.Unisys.COM Date: Wed, 14 Sep 1994 23:52:47 +0000 ######################################################################## =-=-= Atlantis Times v1.1 Volume 3 Number 11 =-=-= =-= September 12, 1994 =-= ######################################################################## Words from The Big Guy: Well, it looks like Mail got us again. This is a repost of the times. I'm also resending the reports. My apologies if you already got one or both. Also, I'm putting off the next turn until Sunday, September 25, 1994. It gives us time to fix the mail troubles. You should have received a test return receipt from the Atlantis game. If you did not, and you did submit orders, let me know. I plan to set up a return receipt run once a day. You should only get one RR for each message sent. If you are getting more, let me know ASAP. Changes effective this turn: - Holes in loser's ability to GUARD closed. Units that lose in battle will no longer be able to GUARD even if they have the order GUARD 1. Also, TRANSFER of personnel from a unit that loses in battle to another unit will prevent that unit from GUARDing, and if already GUARDing, will reset the GUARD flag. - AUTOTAX flag available. This is a new boolean command, similiar to GUARD and AVOID. If set, a unit will attempt to TAX every turn. If reset, no automatic TAXing will occur, though the TAX command will still work. AUTOTAX boolean is reset after a MOVE or SAIL command is executed. 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 ######################################################################## The Adventures of the Stranded Tourists. Part 1 : The Tourists Arrive. Peasants lifted their weary heads as a strange light crossed the sky. Was this an evil omen or The Promised Sign which signalled their release from the excesses of the Evil factions by the Expected One ,the prophesised Queen Jannett the Peacebringer ? Aboard the shuttle the tourists stirred as automatic systems released them from the stasis field. The Tourguide looked with surprise at the planet which seemed to be looming too large and approaching too quickly. "Bugger!" said Janet dryly "That is not Beachworld." The shuttle shuddered violently as it slammed into the atmosphere of Atlantis.... to be continued ######################################################################## The Black Council, divided by petty jealousies and spread out over the island, were in no position to prevent Grieve from regaining control of the Brotherhood of the Mist, once he regained his original physical stature. Once in charge, the evil Black Father started once again to plot new ways to bring the peasants of his domain under his direct personal control. * * * Clodbarf of the White Cloak dropped his pack to the ground for the sixth time in an hour. It contained 100,000 silver pieces. He had protested weakly when Grieve had first assigned this mission, but the master had insisted that in Atlantis, one man could carry an unlimited amount of money on his back. So it was written, apparently. Clodbarf had no respect for writings. For the next month, Clodbarf sought out the vendors of rare and potent ingredients, as the Black Father had instructed. When he was done, the weight of the coins was replaced by the bulk of all manner of strange herbs, animal appendages and foul-smelling powders. He returned to the Inn, delivered the goods and awaited further instructions. * * * Two months later, Clodbarf was in Navenby on the last leg of his protracted mission. He sat down beside a stream, and carefully extracted his load from his pack. It was a vial containing the end-product of Grieve's labour upon the ingredients that Clodbarf had collected. It was probably the most valuable single object in all of Atlantis. He read the label - "Instant Mouse". With due care and respect, he removed the stopper and poured the contents into the stream. The next morning, he walked down the hill into the town below. As Grieve had predicted, it contained no people. Instead, the town was over-run by giant fieldmice. Clodbarf estimated the plague at about 2000 and calculated the cost per mouse at $50. This struck him as a coincidence of some sort, but he couldn't exactly place what it was. He approached the nearest rodent and spoke to it. "Take your brothers and sisters, and feed north and south wherever you can find enough grain." The creature seemed to understand, and scurried off. Clodbarf smiled, then set off to find the town's inn. ######################################################################## Drake looked out the window of his office in the small adobe building at the edge of the partially completed compound. The new cavalry units were busy drilling on the parade grounds. Already, they were beginning to look more like soldiers than the rabble he had recruited just a few months earlier. Still, they lacked weapons. The horses gave them an advantage in the plains province, but not enough of one to challenge the sea monsters which regularly raided the coastal villages. Drake turned his attention back to the reports on his desk. The lumberjacks to the east were finally producing wood. Soon, his troops would have access to bows. Eventually, the adobe compound could be replaced with a wooden fort. Drake smiled to himself. At least something was going well. Reports from the scouts to the east told only of ocean and more ocean. No new land had been discovered for several months. In the west, the new alliance was arguing over how to divide scarce resources among twenty factions. In addition, between sea monster raids, the local peasant had reported seeing strange lights off to the south of the village. That, at least, was no mystery to Drake. The mysterious Spellweaver lived a few miles to the south of the village and was busily engaged in his study of magic. Drake sighed. The young faction had come very far in the past few months. It still had a long way to go though. He gathered up the orders for his units to the east and headed across the compound towards the pigeon cages. ######################################################################## The Innkeeper's corpse lay gutted on the forest floor. The The Dreadseed had almost finished its growth phase, and was preparing to reform the remaining flesh into a more suitable carriage. The contract had been simple. The Innkeeper had been allowed to revisit his past, meet his mother in a vision and understand the basic meaning of his life. In return, the Dreadseed had taken that life quickly and painlessly, bending flesh and spirit into a form that it could use now that its epic slumber was over. If an idle onlooker could read its mind, he would not survive the experience. The Dreadseed's thoughts were chaotic, yet coherent in an alien kind of way. Formed before Time, their evil complexity would drive the mindreader mad well before their thinker bothered to feed on the senseless intruder. The Innkeeper's flesh grew dark, then black. Stiff bristles grew over chitinous armour while small, piercing eyes appeared along the length of the new body. Numerous legs, tentacles, claws, spikes and other appendages emerged as well. The creature stood motionless for a moment, completing some internal transformation, then moved off at a startling pace into the undergrowth. ######################################################################## The air was stiff with tension. Ten chairs faced ten chairs over a table wide enough to prevent undiplomatic incidents. On one side, the chairs were occupied by the leaders of the Knights of Avalon, or their emissaries. On the other, the chairs were empty save for the one occupied by the black-cloaked, foul-breathed leader of the Brotherhood of the Mist. In truth, Grieve was intimidated by the surly appearance and manner of Sir Eric von Wald and imposing presence of the ten negotiators that faced him across the table. He didn't show it. "So, when are you leaving our territory", blustered the fiery von Wald. "When are you?" snarled Grieve. In choosing to represent the Brotherhood personally, Grieve could not have made a worse choice. His manner was that of a man accustomed to being obeyed at all times. "We were there first", interjected Snidely of the Skulking Vermin. "Irrelevant!" snapped back Grieve. "The Brotherhood is there now in numbers that justify a true claim. I demand that YOU leave immediately". The bickering continued for hours with, predictably enough, no sign of progress. Eventually, the Minglewood representative ended the proceedings appropriately by leaping onto the table, dagger drawn. There was a flash and stench of sulphur, and Grieve was gone. ######################################################################## Report from the 1st Atlantis overpopulation conference As the delagates gather for the first time in the province of Panyu an more and more increasing catastrophy is discussed. The immense growth of the population of Atlantis. Can the land feed these masses or are they doomed to die of hunger. In regions with short food supply this has been the fact for a longer period of time already. Especially in the swamp regions the lower classes have starved in hundreds if not even thousends. This problem has also spread to many mountain and forest regions and the plains will probably also suffer the same fate if not strong measurements are started. Well what are the alternatives, birth control, abortion or other traditional meathods. No the conference has come to a very unorthodox conclusion. Drafting, recruiting masses of peasants into big hordes of military stop the explosive growth. This has been a successful meathod in more military oriented societies and seem to have worked fine. The peasants should be taxed hard. This oppionon is also new as the opposit oppionion was propagated in the early days. The only real conclusion that the conference came to was if nothing is done soon the resources of Atlantis will be emptied in many poor regions and only the rich countries in the world will profite from this development. Report from: E. Atmuch from the outskirts of Panyu ######################################################################## The Lost Continent Chapter 8 Jonathan stared angrily at Professor Chokelk. "How dare you teach surgery to a horse! If Lord Vox hears about this, it will mean both our throats. Look here, there is a horse claiming to know surgery in the Times. The University of Zamora is the only accredited school of medicine in Atlantis. The only possible place it could have studied was here and from you!" "Oh Great Teacher of All, the horse's credentials were good. It had a degree from Larson's school of higher learning." "Larson's school lost its accreditation and Larson himself has not published any scholarly works in over a year. Our own economics program has more advanced texts than his collected works. Besides, its previous learning was not important. All surgery classes are reserved for Skinflayer students. Lord Vox will be angry that one of his followers was bumped from class for a horse." Jonathan's two personal guards took one step towards Chokelk. "No your Highness! it will not happen again." "You are right, it won't happen again." One of the guards decapitated Chokelk with a swift blow. There was no damage to his skin and his blood was captured by a drain in the floor. "Take him to the vats for processing. Process him with the peasants; his blood is not worthy to be served to Lord Vox." Jonathan sat back in his throne thoughtfully. World domination would not come easily if he had to continue providing tribute to Lord Vox. To achieve ascendancy, the Skinflayer army would have to come under his control. Jonathan dismissed the court and went to the dungeon. He walked up to a heavy door with a guard on each side of it. The guards turned their backs to the door when Jonathan pulled the door's key out of his purse so that they would not know who was inside. Jonathan entered the cell and locked the door behind him. Inside the cell was a secret that only he and Dances on Oceans knew about. That was one person too many. Jonathan had not expected Lord Vox to allow Dances his freedom but to make a meal out of him instead. That loose end would have to be cleaned up soon. He looked down at his guest, Tamara. She was still in her coma and having visions. Jonathan knelt down beside her and placed his head next to hers. Immediately her recent experiences leapt into his mind. The vision he saw gave him hope to establish a colony where he no longer had to be subject to other lords. Tamara was standing on the shore of a deserted beach. Before her was a wide and marshy river delta. She followed the river and was surprised to see no signs of settlement. Beyond the delta was a narrow river valley occupied by only a few horses. Loneliness was a heavy burden on her and she longed for her university days to return. She spied a lone tree in the middle of the valley and went to it for shade. Underneath the tree she found some long needed rest. She awoke with a start and looked up into the branches of the tree. Sitting on a large branch above her was the strange little man. His long blue beard was wrapped several times around the branch underneath him. "It is time for you to return to the university, Tamara." ######################################################################## LETTERS TO THE EDITOR I wish to comment on the appaling display of fear and ignorance regarding the Sea Monster debate evident in correspondants to this Journal. I am not a Sea Monster and ( not living near the sea ) have never met one so I can write with total objectivity on this subject. Sea Monsters are not the malign smelly killers many erroneously believe them to be. They are sensitive, intelligent beings who deserve our sympathy and protection. The hunting of these beautiful creatures should be banned immediately. sgnd Janet Pres. Society for the Preservation of All Sea Monsters. ######################################################################## THE ADVENTURES OF THE STRANDED TOURISTS Part 2 : The Cult of Jannett " Heresy ! " cried the Meelan the High Preist " It is not the Expected One !" " But the Sign...? " argued Derok. " No ! I will hear no more of this ! Get out ! " Derok stormed out of the tent of the High Preist of the Cult of Jannett. He knew what he must do. The High Preist had grown fat and corrupt on the tithe extracted from the peasants. Later that night he, Derok the True Believer, would return to the High Preist's tent, take the money (conveniently $4800) which rightfully belonged to the Expected One and follow the Sign.. Janet looked down at the young man grovelling at her feet and stooped to pick up the basket which he had laid reverently at her feet. "The money will come in handy, and the flowers are nice, but what are we supposed to do with this ? " she asked, gesturing toward Derok's Blood Offering - the heart of Meelan - the late High Preist. ######################################################################## As the setting of the sun brought with it the chill evening winds, Gordon was once again glad that he wasn't spending the coming icy months in the northern mountains. There would be precious little food for the hosts that gathered there among the barren rocks. But gather they did, in their hundreds. Gordon wondered at what drove the strangers. What made them build their sad, cold fortifications, shunning the companionship and friendship of ordinairy folk? Gordon had read all of the reports coming from Ardfert. He knew only too well how hard the envoys had tried to make peace with these nameless invaders. And he had read with joy those first tidings that spoke of an agreement. The sovereignty of Ardfert would not be threatened by the invaders; they said they wanted peace too! How hollow and treacherous the words were now as Gordon recalled them. Now, when Hasdrubal's gallant but hopelessly outnumbered peacekeeping force was a martyred memory. Why had the invaders been so keen to attack? Was it nothing more than a sport to them? From the records that had been kept over the months, Gordon knew that well over a thousand lives had been lost to the wanton slaughter of the infidels. Now, on the darkening plains, Gordon shivered as he looked at the mighty host that was gathering to avenge the outrages of the Nameless One (TM). ######################################################################## Lord Vox grew steadily more impatient with the dark, shadowy man whispering to him in the lurid glow of the blood torches. He was too valuable to sacrifice as appeasement to hunger, but irritating in his roundabout language. Spies! Bah. He rumbled his discontent. "I grow weary of these foolish details. I asked you to find out about this professor, this 'Jonathan Idaho' who has blackmailed me into a position of..." Vox shuddered slightly in obvious disgust. "...mercy, towards my traitorous scout. I have no interest in these foolish details of 'tenure' and 'dissertation' and such!" The dark man backed off slightly from the bared fangs and hideously rancid breath of his Lord. "My Lord, I must insist, all these are most important to the University of Zamora. It determines Idaho's influence and position within..." Vox's outburst resulted in a small explosion of dried skin, shed claw-casings, spare teeth, and charnel-scented sweat to scatter throughout the room, much to the spy's distress. "FOOL!!!! GIVE ME HIS SUMMARY!!!" The spy blanched white, utterly destroying his natural camouflage ability, and blurted out: - Jonathan Idaho (2992), faction University of Zamora (21), avoiding; Professor of Dentistry. Vox's eyes grew wide. He stepped back and sat down heavily, a stunned expression on his distorted face. "A Dentist!" Vox took a deep breath, scratched his maw with a talon-like finger, and looked thoughtful. "I have worked hard indeed on my reputation as a ruthless, evil, demented, demonic, vicious, torturing, soul-slaying vivisectionist. I was assured that I was the clearest personification of True Evil in all of Atlantis. But...you saw this clearly? He is a Dentist?" The spy nodded, smug in his vindication. Vox blanched a bit, face turning from mottled burgundy to a moldy crimson. He covered his maw nervously for a moment. "And claiming to be a teacher of Dentists, at that. I must respect this level of ruthlessness. Great Agrik, the tortures my former scout must have endured in his clutches...I can feel no more anger towards Dances on Oceans, despite his betrayal." Vox dismissed the spy and summoned his blind and smell-impaired body servant. "Ho! Scalescratcher! Cancel my travel to Zamora next month. Tell all scouts to monitor the movements of this Jonathan Idaho. Increase my personal guard by two hundred." Details attended to, Vox relaxed a bit, taking a sip of the new serum Shiraz. "Hmph. No wonder he knows blood. Long as he keeps his distance." Vox gnashed his teeth thoughtfully, and winced. ######################################################################## +---------------------------------------------------------------+ | | +--+ NEW and IMPROVED +--+ | Dr. Neve Erils Rogue Strength Blood Coarsener. (tm) | | | | When some friends have gotten a good taste of your family it may be | | necessary to be truely distastefull to disintenterst them. To help | | nobles in such a plight Dr. Neve Eril has made his Rogue Strength | | Blood Coarsener. It will give your blood all the charecteristics of | | the less tastefull elements of the common folk. Just a sip of your | | blood will leave an aftertaste just like Cutpurse, Old Nag Monger, | | and Advocate. | | | | Remember - a drink a day keeps that jinx away | | | +--+ Warning - May cause a skeptical attitude toward the law. +--+ | But, so what, your a noble - You are the law. | +---------------------------------------------------------------+ ######################################################################## General Atom sat at his favorite table, studying maps of the area and contemplating his new endeavor. The Confederation of the Shield had grown from a simple idea into a group of unified factions. Young though they were, by cooperation they now had access to all the elements of growth. Things could only get better. ---- The Confederation of the Shield is still taking a limited number of members. Requirements are that your faction be under 6 turns old and you must send your sector (and sectors explored) information as a "good faith gesture". Also, any factions that sent in information to join and that did not receive a newsletter this turn, please resend your information, as our mail server bent bonkers last week. ######################################################################## From the Chronicles of The Brotherhood of Northern Warriors October, Year 3 - Doedbygd Lord Falken looked at the parchement in his hand and frowned, then smiled. So, the Lord Doctor Vox did not care for the name the inhabitants of Lemuria had chosen for their land, eh? Well, not everybody could be expected to understand the signifgance of the name, even if it had been clearly spelled out in the declaration. Surley it was better to name one's homeland after a great land of legen than for a silly bit of doggerel. Ships will be ate indeed! Where had that man learned to speak English, anyway? And Falken thought it unlikely that any ships would be eaten, unless the sea monsters in the north were quite a bit stronger than those around Lemuria, or else the sailors quite a bit weaker. But then nobody had ever accused Vox, or the North Wind Alliancce he seemed to incarnate, of an unusually large degree of culture, nor intelligence. What all did seem to agree on was that the man was a vicious, cunning, and powerful leader, with quite an army at his command. He was supposed to be the best tactician of Vashcort, the way Falken himself was of Lemuria. Some day, he was sure, the two men would meet. Whether it would be over a bargaining table or a battlefield, only the gods knew. And perhaps not even them, for it was said that Odin himself could not always see the future. Falken put the Times away. There seemed to be less and less of interest in it these days. If it wasn't the best method he had for keeping up with what was happening on other islands, he would ignore the thing all together. Much more interesting was the pile of recent correspondences laying on his desk. Negotiations with other factions never seemed to cease. Some were going good, others not so good. At least, he thought, the war with the Doom Army was finnally over. Although Hobi himself had been granted his life, his soldiers had been killed to the last man. Smiling once again, Falken scooped up all of his papers and dropped them into his satchel. His buisness here was done, he and his troops would be returning to their own lands again. Where they would be reunited with their comrades, and he with his wife. It would be good, he thought. The coming months should be more relaxing than the last year, and he and his warriors had well earned it. ######################################################################## =-=-= END TIMES 311 =-=-= ######################################################################## Up