Atlantis Times v1.1 v03n09 From: JJC%MP068@MPA15AB.mv-oc.Unisys.COM Date: Tue, 23 Aug 1994 01:03:36 +0000 ######################################################################## =-=-= Atlantis Times v1.1 Volume 3 Number 9 =-=-= =-= August 22, 1994 =-= ######################################################################## Words from The Big Guy: No game changes this turn. If you submitted a bug report/question, I'll get to it as soon as I can. Coming soon: - Tax Flag boolean. 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 ######################################################################## Lord Vox stared grimly at the University messenger through the slits of his cracked and peeling eye-sockets. A diet of thin peasant blood was not improving his mood. He looked with some considerable hunger at the messenger's throat. Would an ally be more tasty than a peasant? Vox sighed wistfully. No, one must have friends as well as enemies, and there were continents full of fresh blood nearly within reach. "Speak, Professor." The old man with a crafty gleam in his eye knew just what to say. "Five liters of finely crafted Padishah March Shiraz, spice-aged. And two-hundred-fifty of the youthful, fresh Lost Boys vintage harvested from Zamora." Lord Vox seemed to swell slightly, and numerous flakes of greenish-black hide fell from his neck and face as he sat erect. "You seek to play a dangerous game, Professor. I *thought* there was a shortfall in the Padishah raw. And the spice. To what or whom do I owe this new bounty, such as it is." The old professor gave a small, grim smile. "To your erstwhile scout and disciple of salt water, who fled to my caves after your little...confrontation. Seems he has quite the talent for corking." The room's temperature increased by several degrees. "Dances on Oceans! The traitor who sabotaged my attack on that abominable Tinkerbell? He is no more a bloodvintner than a military mind! What foolishness is this?" "None at all, my Lord. He has certain well-kept secrets, and is in fact a man of some resourcefulness. I believe he hopes to bargain for your mercy with his newest vintage. It is a *very* fine wine." Lord Vox paused, looking meditative. His lips, or what passed for them, seemed to grow a bit wetter. "Very well, Professor, I will consider the matter. Perhaps the fool has some usefulness after all." Vox returned to the carnelian seat. The professor humphed. "Ah, yes, my Lord Vox. And then, there is the little matter of our cellar space, tutelage, um, persuasion, and certain arcane assistance which has been generously rendered by the University of Zamora on your behalf...?" Vox narrowed his eyes again. "I take it the price is a bit higher than mercy, then. Very well, Professor. I will listen, this once." ######################################################################## +------------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | ANNOUNCING | | Dr. Neve Erils Blood Coarsener. (tm) | | | | Do you suffer from that embarrassing blue blood that has been | | lately proven to be so unhealth. Do you have that wary feeling | | that someone is watching out for your neck, and licking their | | lips? If so, then Dr. Never Erils Blood Coarsener (tm) could | | be your salvation. Just a daily drink costing just a few silver | | will give your blood the look, feel and yes taste of 100 percent | | pure peasant blood. That is surely the safest blood in Atlantis. | | Dr. Neve Eril suggest all your family take his Blood Coarsener | | because in his years of research he has found that its safest to | | have a totally distastefull bloodline. And for the noble that is | | allergic to many common foods it even has a taste like champagne.| | | | Guaranteed to work or double your money back. * | | | + - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -+ | Warning: taken in large quantities it may cause public | | swearing, flatulence, nose picking, crotch scratching | | and butt cleavage. # | | | | | | * must be claimed in person | | # not a complete list of possible side effects. | +------------------------------------------------------------------+ ######################################################################## Atom sat in the new headquarters, wondering at his new post. "General", he thought. "So I fought in the wars years ago. That doesn't qualify me to be a general!" Only weeks ago was he a simple farmer. Now he commanded a handful of couragous, yet inexperienced men. Factions had popped up all over the land. It was the only thing to do! Nobody knew what kind of leaders these new factions had, and being a father himself, he felt a duty to protect the common peasants from tyranny. So Atom accepted the nomination, in hopes of guiding the faction toward a peaceful future. Honor was at stake. "Barely enough silver to feed ourselves, not to mention recruit followers", he muttered to himself. "I should simply pack my family up and head for less populous territory". Then it stuck him like a bolt of lightning! "The other factions started at the same time! They are no more powerful than our own minor republic!!! Perhaps others feel the same way as we do, and banding together may solve many problems!" General Atom called for a scribe to post his newfound plan. (tacked up on posts all across the new faction lands) +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ o o Attention all fledgling faction leaders! In the spirit of cooperation and personal survival, an alliance is proposed!!! Only factions in operation less than 5 turns are eligible to join. A weekly newsletter/report will be compiled and mailed to all members. A pooling of resources and information is the only chance we have of surviving our initial stage of existance. If interested in joining this yet unnamed alliance, send email request to: flick@cwis.unomaha.edu I repeat, only NEW factions may join. This is not to snub other factions, but simply a way for factions with common needs to interact. This is NOT necessarily a military alliance. Together we will prosper....together we will survive!!! o o +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ ######################################################################## The Lost Continent Chapter 6 This was a most dangerous moment for Jonathan. He was standing before the infamous Lord Vox. The pretense of the visit was to make an offering for the life and liberty of Dances on Oceans who was seeking asylum at the university. Jonathan had kept the secret of their visitor quiet lest Lord Vox became angry and turned his anger against the university. He knew that he must join the Northern Wind or face extinction. The five bottles of the finest Padishah wine symbolized this knowledge. These bottles would be the last. The Emperor himself might have fled Vashcort, but he did not survive. The masters of the sea had consumed his flesh. The Emperor only had enough time to scribble on his latest map, "there be monsters here" and sent it adrift before being eaten by the sea monster. The advisor to Lord Vox announced the guest to the court. "Most Ravenous and Lethal Liege before you is the most humble and loyal Professor Jonathan Idaho of the University of Zamora." Jonathan stepped forward slightly (to avoid being too close to the grasp of Lord Vox's claws) and made the offer of Padishah and Lost Boy vintages in exchange for Dances on Ocean's freedom. The agreement was made and the alliance between the two factions was sealed. The university had placed its future with the mighty Northern Wind. * * * * Dances on Oceans made his first public appearance in four months at a huge tent revival on the eastern shores of Zamora. The tattoos that marked him as a member of the Skinflayers look incongruous against his pallor. The fresh, cool salt-air invigorated Dances on Oceans. He had missed the shores of Zamora. The smell brought back memories of his first trek across the sea. His face flushed a bit when he recalled the vision he had the previous night. Today would be long remembered not only in Zamora but in all the lands of Vashcort. Behind him the sun was beginning to rise over the ocean; he knew his moment had come and the revival was begun. The revival was a complete success. Over one thousand peasants were converted into disciples of Agrik. "The people of Vashcort will never need to fear invasion from the likes of King Greagrian. Behold!" Behind the tent, a fierce sea monster rose from the ocean and climbed up onto the beach. The crowd was terrified. "Fear not!" The sea monster lowered its serpent-like head near Dances on Oceans and he climbed up onto its neck. The monster raised its head up high. "The monsters from the sea serve the Northern Wind. They will defend our shores against invaders. Any ship approaching the shores of Vashcort shall be eaten!" The crowd's roar was deafening. "Long live the Northern Wind!" The sea monster slipped into the ocean with Dances on Oceans riding on its back. The return to the sea made him feel invincible. "Onward to Menter," he commanded the monster. ######################################################################## Robert Mecron stood in the center, holding the hand of Blair Diamante on his right and the technician Lefevre on his left. Lefevre wore a leather backpack holding his precious case. At the Sorceress' signal, the three stepped through the portal in unison. Robert gasped as they were surrounded by swirling patterns of grey and white. Wind-like forces tugged the trio apart, and Lefevre's hand pulled free of his own. He felt his fingers slipping from Blair's hand, but the small woman held on with surprising strength. Suddenly, a black oval appeared directly in front of them. With an effort more of will than of body, the pair stepped through the portal, and landed in a field of tall grass, swaying in a gentle breeze. Robert stumbled when Blair released his hand, and took a moment or two regaining his balance. He noticed with chagrin that Blair seemed to recover more quickly than he did. He wiggled his fingers to restore feeling to them as he gazed around. Acre upon acre of grass and crops stretched as far as he could see. Roads ran in several directions, and Robert could see smoke rising in a dozen places. He turned to Blair, intending to suggest they head for the closest source of smoke. But he found her already a dozen paces up the nearest road, waiting for him, seemingly impatiently. "Coming?" she asked with the slightest trace of amusement, then started walking briskly away. Robert hurried to catch up to her. * * * Bascon Diamante sighed in disappointment. It wasn't his first sigh, and wouldn't be his last before he left this forest. The place was positively bursting with peasants; their hovels and dirt-piles filled virtually every open space among the trees. Nothing was going right. There were people here who wore the livery of House Reynolds, and they bustled about on their petty tasks, but Bascon recognized none of them. And nobody was in charge! The fletcher who gave Bascon his new crossbow had hinted that this region could use a noble to run things, but Bascon wasn't about to condemn himself to some rotten little province again. Not this time! The peasants were open and servile in the way all peasants were when dealing with true nobility. They paid their taxes promptly when asked. But that was his due, and nothing special. Even the tavern wench last night had yielded to his overtures easily enough, but he could tell her heart wasn't in it; she was too formal, too submissive, too cool. Whenever Bascon would begin to truly enjoy himself, he would catch another glimpse of the dirt caked under her nails. Very frustrating. Today, Bascon was resolved. If there was a place, it certainly wasn't here! The weaponsmith had said there were Knights to be found further north, so he would go there. Bascon left a few coins on the dresser, packed up his meager belongings, and rode out. ######################################################################## The scribe quickly scribbled on the parchment trying to record all of the tenants of the treaty that was being formed in the ramshakle hut at the hastily built military camp directly in the middle of the lands of the three factions to whom the buisness at hand directly applied. Capt. Tuttle was heard to declare "I demand that if I ever attempt to jump out of a helicopter that you remind me to take along my parachute." "And I demand", said Sir Robin the Brave, "that if I ever retre... err, make a tactical mistake in combat that neither of you tell my minstrels." And so the Count Ryil stood suddenly, slamming his mug loudly onto the table. "It is decided! We shall form a union in the city of Brodick. We shall try to find all all other factions who call this land home and join together to peacefully share and live in peace and prosperity. We shall guarantee freedom, equality, and ..." "And free beer for all! I demand free beer!" shouted another voice, as a chorus of demands from the those present were heard from the room. for information on joing the Brodick Federation be in Brodick and write to Count Ryil of Xanadu (phjhk2@utacnvx.uta.edu), Sir Robin the Brave (steinke@c3.lanl.gov), or Capt. Tuttle (Jeff.Kronenwetter@ ccmail.GSFC.NASA.GOV). ######################################################################## He looked around at the devastation about him. Over the last month there had been a huge battle and many of the new factions had been destroyed. He shook his head sadly, he didn't know why his faction had been spared or why such small factions felt they needed to fight. To him the only real winner was the other older factions who would make short work of the survivors. He knew he must move his faction soon (if not now) to avoid a similar fate. From some of the messages he was getting it seemed some of the factions would come to his aid and work together with him. He went back to prepare his followers. ######################################################################## Underneath a giant tortoise shell, painted to look like a boulder, Seff crawled about the mountain, collecting nuggets of iron ore. Over the last couple of months, he had found enough for his brother Clement, hiding in a cave, to produce eight swords. So far he and Clement had remained unnoticed by the other inhabitants of the area, but how much longer could this continue? Not too long apparently... An especially sharp-eyed lookout on a nearby ridge turned and Seff pulled his head inside the shell just a second too late. The lookout grabbed the arm of a nearby miner, and whispered excitedly, "Hey, did you see that?" "What?" The miner squinted, bleary-eyed in the sunlight after coming up from the dark shaft nearby for a noon break. "Over there, that rock moved I tell you!" "You mean there might be danger of an avalanche?" "No, well maybe, but it wasn't a rolling stone, it looked kind of like a turtle! A quick and furtive movement next to that big boulder." "Bigfoot!" exclaimed the miner. "What?! The Brotherhood of the Mist? Here?" A look of panic washed over the lookout's face. "No, I'm talking about Bigfoot - not a Big Foot. It's a legendary species which many people claim to have seen in the mountains. None has ever been captured, and none of the reports has ever been verified. We could be the first to positively identify one. Just suppose there is one hiding behind that boulder." Wishing he hadn't left his pick in the mine, the miner began to creep down the slope to the left, motioning for the lookout to go around to the right. Reaching a point downslope of the boulder, he saw nothing behind it, only the lookout staring at him puzzledly from the other side. He got up, dusting off his hands and walked over to the boulder. He was just about to make a snide remark to the lookout about wild goose chases when he noticed some holes around the base of the boulder. The lookout came over to see what he was staring out. "Could have been some kind of varmit, went into one of these here holes", ventured the lookout, stooping to peer into the nearest. It was to dark to see anything. "Hey! Don't get too close!", warned the miner. "Somethin' might leap out, get on your face, and put a parasite down your throat which eats it way out through your chest, and then raises hell in the mine." Responding to the opportunity, Seff flipped a rubber snake out of the hole which, except for the small "Made with pride by the Merry Pranksters" inscription on the bottom, looked remarkably life-like. The lookout reeled back in horror, his heart trying to rip it's way out of his chest without any outside (or is that inside?) assistence, and he tumbled backwards down the slope. The miner, tough old Minglewood Drawf that he was, siezed a nearby rock and beat the rubber snake senseless. His eyes narrowed as he saw that he had been had. He grimly side-stepped down the slope to where the lookout had rolled to a serependitious stop in a brambly patch of sage brush and helped him to his feet. Grabbing up a dead branch, he approached the hole as the lookout looked on. Then with a sly glance, he walked around to the opposite side of the boulder and jammed the stick into another hole, the one against which Seff had backed up. There was a muffled yell, and the entire boulder shifted perceptibly. He and the lookout eyed each other, the realization stealing over both of them at the same time. With a nod, they leaned down as one, reaching into the holes on each side, and flipped up the tortoise shell. "A Gnome!" grumbled the lookout. "On OUR mountain!" added the miner. By this time a number of miners had gathered on the ridge and were looking down upon the scene. Shouts of "Hang em!", "Lynch em!" echoed down, along with the occasional "Give em the chair!". A wave of revulsion silenced the chorus as a particularly sleazy skulking vermin scuttled over from the supervisor's shack to see what the ruckus was about . "A Gnome?" it chittered. "Why you want to kill it - this is the most fun we've had all day!" It prevailed upon the miners to get back to work, who grudgingly disappeared back into the mine. "You must leave immediately!" it intoned to the cowering dwarf. "Or next time you may not be so lucky!" With a raspy laugh which made Seff's skin crawl it skittered away. Seff beat a hasty path back to the cave. "We've got to leave right away", he panted to Clement. "We've been discovered!" In front of the cave, Clement made ready to depart, tying up the heavy bundle of eight swords and hefting it up onto his shoulders. "Here, hold onto this," said Seff, handing him the four large nuggets of iron ore which he had recently found. Without another thought, Seff took the lead, rappeling down the face of a cliff. At the bottom, he continued down a mountain trail without looking back. Clement found, to his dismay, that he couldn't possibly rappel down while holding onto to eight swords and four chunks of iron. In fact, even the eight swords proved to to be too cumbersome and heavy - the most he seemed to be able to carry at once was five. He was loathe to leave the valuable ore behind, and determined not to abandon three of the swords he'd so tediously hammered out. Clive had impressed upon him the need for metal weapons to help defend the ships which were even now under construction against the marauding sea serpents. He examined his meager funds. Hmmm, barely enough to pay one sherpa, and not enough for him to eat on after that. Well, he'd just have to pay somebody to carry down part of the load for him while he scraped around for something to eat. From down in the valley, Seff looked up at the tiny figure of his brother. Now he realized what he had done. "Damn", he said. "It'll take me a whole month to get up there again!". The thought of the scabrous skulking vermin waiting up there convinced him that he'd rather proceed in the other direction. In a nearby village, he found a sherpa porter. "Here", he offered, "I'll pay you 50 silver plus expenses if you'll just climb up that mountain there and help my brother get back down." With that he headed north towards home. ######################################################################## From the Chronicles of the Brotherhood of Northern Warriors September, Year 3 - Doedbygd Lord Falken looked at the battle scene in awe. It would be an even bigger battle than the First Battle of Lorthalm! The Brotherhood and Adventurer troops were badly outnumbered, but were much better armed and trained. He didn't care much for the Doom army's chances. Still, his heart was heavy. Warrior though he was, he hated to have to march to war. He wondered if such a battle had ever before been fought on the face of Atlantis, with over two thousand men on either side. If it had, he had certainly never heard of it. And so much - the fate of all Lemuria, perhaps, and even of Atlantis itself, depended on the outcome of this one conflict. The question uppermost in his mind was, just how good a tactician was Navarre, the famed sheriff ot Teba? From General William's description of last month's battle, the man was good, but not as good as Falken himself. But the sheriff had had a month to study, while Falken had been forced to spend the time marching. If the man had gotten enough better, it would make the battle much harder for Lord Falken and the troops he lead. They hoped to win the surprise, and get a free round of attacks. If they could not, it would be a much more even battle. Only the future would tell, Falken knew. So he resolved to wait patiently. Or as patiently as he could. It was hard, knowing that a few more days would bring the results to the most important battle yet fought in Lemuria. But there was nothing else for it. ######################################################################## =-=-= END TIMES 309 =-=-= ######################################################################## Up