Atlantis Times v1.1 v03n05 From: JJC%MP068@MPA15AB.mv-oc.Unisys.COM Date: Tue, 26 Jul 1994 01:04:37 +0000 ######################################################################## =-=-= Atlantis Times v1.1 Volume 3 Number 5 =-=-= =-= July 25, 1994 =-= ######################################################################## Words from The Big Guy: There is a slight change to the report. Battles are headed by the line "Battles during turn" while all other events are headed by the line "Events during turn". I am proposing the following changes. Please let me know what you think of them: 1. TAX is a flag, like AVOID, GUARD, etc. 2. MOVE or SAIL causes GUARD and TAX flags to be reset. 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 ######################################################################## Grieve, one-time Black Father of the Brotherhood of the Mist, strode into the Inn and surveyed the scene. The place was a mess, and it reeked of ale that had lain in pools on the stone floor for days. There was a time, reflected Grieve, when he would have had someone executed for this. But not now. It was hard to assert oneself when only half an inch tall. He started trekking to the bar. The journey took some minutes, and Grieve used the time to review the events that had brought him to his predicament. It had started with an unfortunate encounter with the accursed Innkeeper and his Feet. If he had been a split second later with the shrinking spell, he would now be little more than a pile of broken and bleached bones on the Plain of Xaza. Shrunk to his present size, he had been just able to shelter beneath the knuckles of those giant toes, then escape unseen into the grass. The shrinking spell had been an invention of his own, and he had once been quite proud of it. Unfortunately, the counterspell involved swallowing a spider, and this presented practical difficulties that he had overlooked in the design stage. With nowhere else to go, he had begun the very long journey back to Carrigaline and the Inn. Fortunately, he had managed to hitch a ride on a passing wagon for most of it, so the trip had only taken a few months. Now that he was back, he faced the daunting problem of restoring his former stature. For that, he knew that he must somehow gain access to the Cellar... ######################################################################## Roman Diamante surveyed the men and women gathered with him. All noble-born; some from families affiliated with House Diamante, some from other Houses. Himself, Blair Diamante, and Hector Reynolds from House Diamante; Philum Trafalgar and Joachim Melrose from House Trafalgar; Lilian and Helmuth Donato, twins, from House Donato; and Robert Mecron from tiny House Mecron. Roman addressed the others: "Friends, the latest reports have finally trickled in from this other world, this Atlantis. In Jervbygd there was a total rout; between Vox's cannibals and Jonathan sailing away, morale collapsed and the workers were slaughtered to a man. From Carbost there was an organized retreat, led by some peasant named Lurvy who granted himself a title, but they got backed into a corner and Lurvy disbanded his units rather than allow their arms and wood to fall into PATO's hands. But finally, worst of all, the ship on which Jonathan escaped - well, they could've possibly fought off one sea monster, but two proved to be too much for them. Lost with all hands. A tragedy, but inevitable, all things considered." Lilian Donato sighed and said, "Well, I guess that's that, then. The question of what to do about Jonathan's declaration of an independent House is answered - there is no such House any longer." "But the important question is NOT answered," said Hector Reynolds. "The lack of support by the High Lords of House Diamante simply cannot be excused! This was a breach of honor, an insult to all nobles who have declared allegiance to a House. This insult must be answered!" Philum Trafalgar asked, "But how do we answer it? You don't dare try to make an issue of it here - the High Lords of Diamante would have your hide, and Roman's and Blair's too, if not your heads. Probably ours too, even if we belong to other Houses. The only possible thing we could do would be to go to Atlantis ourselves to try to restore the lost honor. But no mage of House Diamante would ever open a portal for us!" Robert Mecron, normally silent, cleared his throat and said softly, "Perhaps I know a way around that. I know the other Houses view House Mecron as small and weak, but we do have a few resources. We just do not brag about them much. Anyway, I think perhaps someone in my House could help us gain access into Atlantis. That is, if anyone actually wants to go there - I fear the journey would be one-way only." "So that's the question now, cousins," said Roman. "We all feel the failure of Jonathan's efforts was unfair, but who has the courage to try to correct things? I am ready to go now. Know first, though, that anyone who goes is sure to be outlawed by their House. This would be a one-way journey even if it were possible to return here. Knowing that, what say you all?" Hector Reynolds immediately leapt up and declared his readiness to depart. The others, calmer than their young cousin, glanced silently at each other for a moment before making their decisions. "Very well then," said Robert Mecron. "Let us set our plans, then I'll make the necessary arrangements. This may take a bit of time, but we should reach Atlantis before the summer is in full swing." ######################################################################## Thought For The Day: "What ever happened to the N.A.?" ######################################################################## Their armour glinting brightly in the sunlight, the Knights of Avalon rode onwards in their attempts to bring peace to the land, protecting the younger races of Atlantis. No longer would they be treated with disrespect, as the former Newbie Alliance reached its maturity, to gain the respect of all peace loving nations. ######################################################################## Omar tried to contain himself. $200 of magic training and the best the magician could do was to pull a rabit out of a box. Not a particularly USEFUL thing to be able to do but omar would't have minded had the box NOT been a rabit hutch in the first place. "THAT is the best you can do ? " "Aagh... well you see ... " "And you want annother 200 coins this month too" "Well , err yes ..." "So you can pull TWO rabbits out of the rabbit hutch ?" "Aagh, wea wa err noo " "I could have FOUR peasants working the land for that 200 coins and all you can show is the ability to move rabbits with the power of your ARM." Omar's voice rose and his face took on a decideidly Purple tinge, a vein in his temple began to throb. "and you want ANNOTHER 200 coins and all you can say to convince me is 'Wa err wa err' ". His fist punched the table, hard. Then he decided that if he came up against any _real_ mages he would need something to counter with or at least bluff a while. He swallowed long and hard, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You can have your 200 coins but if i don't see some impressive magic by the summer you're going on a diplomatic mission to see doctor VOX , now get out." The mage skulked from the room, life looked as though it could turn out to be quite short. And only a few months ago he'd had a lifetime of diging the fields to look forward to. ######################################################################## Lord Heterington was happy. The longboat had return after the scheduled two months after being single-handedly sail across the ocean between this pennisular and the homeland. Further, the warriors on board had managed to the peasants before leaving on there voyage and had arrived flushed with money for his colony. He divided the extra between the colony and the ship and sent the longboat on it journey of exploration. ######################################################################## The gnome pointed across the yard towards a small bungalow. He was obviously still terrified at the prospect of becoming a disintegrated pile of fashion accessories, and shrank back into the bushes in response to the Innkeeper's warning glance. The mage left him there, and made his way stealthily towards the low building. Through a small half-open window, he could see another gnome sitting at a desk, absorbed in paperwork. The Innkeeper looked at the ridiculous hat, the gaudy jacket and bellbottom pants. Could this be Clive, leader of the whole gnome nation? Definitely. Would he reveal the location of Cauliflower if asked openly? Possibly not. The Innkeeper elected to await developments for a while longer. He didn't have to wait long. Another red-nosed, pint-sized character, this time sporting a blue serge uniform with bright brass buttons, knocked and was bidden to enter. "Report", ordered Clive in a bored voice. "Its the prisoners, sir, the ones that we're holding in jailhouse C, which you can reach by taking the first left just down the road, then continuing on for about two and a half miles, then turning right at the old elm tree, and its just behind a small grove of pines..." "Yes, yes, I know how to get there - what have they been saying?", interrupted C live impatiently. "Absolutely nothing, sir, a quieter bunch of prisoners we've never had", reported the soldier. Clive shook his head and dismissed the gnome. The Innkeeper knew how he felt, but was also concerned by the clumsy dialogue. Could it be a trap? He decided that it was just too obvious for that, and resolved to follow the directions to jailhouse C. He returned to his companion. "You can go home now", he told the gnome, "but you can forget everything that you've seen and heard for the past week. Do you understand?" The gnome nodded furiously and, needing no further encouragement, disappeared into the woods. The Innkeeper headed off in the opposite direction, down the road. ######################################################################## "What do you mean there's something terrible in the mountains?" The Senescahl was not happy, and this latest report only added to his exasperation. The messenger looked to the Lady Jean de Keswick for some moral support. She returned his gaze with an impassiveness befitting an aide who had risen to the status of royal concubine. "Well, my Lord, the iron harvests are down this month..." "So? Those Southerners are overstepping their quotas and encroaching on our ore seams. That's merely a matter for our diplomats. A few stern words, possibly a rattling of swords, nothing more. Hardly worth panicking about." "Um, there's , ah, more sire." "Well, come on, out with it!" "The sage has been preaching again." "What, the fellow who warned of the dangers of the seas? Just before those huge evil-smelling things ripped the bottom out of the tourist market on the Costa del Kashmar?" "The same one, sire." "Damn! What's he been saying now?" "Um, 'Beware the great evil in Mountains', sire." ######################################################################## "I just do not see the point, the peasants in this region are barely scraping an existance from this fetid swampland" Aelyx looked at the swamp surrounding the small rise where they set up their camp. Several other members of their troupe were trying to scrape mud from their boots. Dael just sat there in apparent exhaustion staring up at the trees above. "Even if we do perform the rituals, I don't think that we will get enough offerings from the local peasants to survive ourselves." "No," Dael replied, sitting up "no, I agree with you, we will not survive here by dancing. I have been studying these trees, however, and I believe that Aeolius would be very interested in our discovery. Dionysus provides for us in many ways other than just making the crops come on time. It was more than a random wandering that led us to this realm. I believe that it was Fate. Perhaps Dionysus led us here to show us these trees. Tonight we will rest, but tomorrow we will go back to that village and see if any of the peasants know which trees are best for building and making weapons." Aelyx looked up at the foliage doubtfully "As you see fit, but still we cannot eat trees, and our food will run out soon." Dael turned "Write a message regarding our find to Aeolius and send it back with one of the homing-doves. If he does not send help within two months then I am wrong, but I must trust my instinct on this. ######################################################################## Dances On Oceans was elated, his heart leaping like a bright dolphin on the waves! It had been months since he had brought the rag-tag crew of Lost Boys and Peter, their young leader, to the swamps of Arelux, following his vision of seafaring splendor. At first, Dances had been frankly apprehensive; these lads were so *young*, and appeared hardly competent to learn the difficult skills of cutting wood and building ships! But his amazement grew in the coming months as they quickly trained in skill, soon harvesting Arelux to capacity, and building a lovely little longboat, the Tinkerbell. True, shortly thereafter, many of the boys were clapped into chains by a sergeant of Dances' evil master Lord Vox, and the boats they now produced were grim, functional, and looked like birds of prey. But still...the Tinkerbell! Peter and his hand-picked crew of seventeen had launched boldly out onto the waves in their delicate ship, and Dances On Oceans had literally wept as he watched them make the short hop to the plains of Fanders. The ship fairly *flew*, and it was every bit as beautiful as Dances had imagined his own ship, though a good bit smaller. Perhaps it was the love the Boys had put into their ship, knowing it was their last hope for leaving this war-torn continent and the ravages of the butcher-cannibal Vox; or perhaps it was merely the knowlege of the bitter bargain they had been forced into, sacrificing their whole faction to servitude to allow the precious few to escape. Whatever the reason, the little boat fairly danced with spirit in its new berth in Fanders, as Peter readied it for its long journey "second star right, east till sunrise." The time had come at last for the final goodbye. The Boys were ready to pull anchor, the easterly wind was blowing, and Dances went inside to the dockhouse to retrieve the bottle of champagne to break across the bow. He walked inside and stopped suddenly. In a chair, darkened by shadow, sat a huge hulking figure, strangely deformed, with eyes that seemed to glow, hideous orange through the black shadow of his face. Lord Vox had returned. "Perhaps you were looking for this, little scout?" Lord Vox's voice was a sinister rumble. Out from the shadows, a claw emerged. Calling it a hand would be as unlikely as calling a saber-tooth tiger's fangs "teeth", although it might once have been a hand, many months ago. Clasped in the claw was a glass bottle, about the size and shape of a wine bottle, but with an awful dark red liquid within. Dances stood rooted in terror as Vox stood up, walking into the ray of light and freezing Dances' own blood with his terrible countenance. "Your little friends the Lost Boys seem to be in a hurry to leave. I can't say that I blame them, considering they have been leaking valuable scouting information to factions in the South. Perhaps they and I should have a little talk." Vox grinned, skinning lips back from a positively horrifying collection of razor-sharp teeth. Dances On Oceans tried to seek within himself for the joyous power of the Oceans, but was barely able to speak. "Sir...I mean...Lord...V-V-Vox, sir. I...uh...I can't imagine that they, uh, would be, uh, spies or anything, they're just little boys! Why, the oldest is barely twelve, and...uh...could I ask how you, uh, found out about this?" Vox leaned closer to Dances, and whispered, with breath like a charnel-house: "Let's just say I have some contacts. Perhaps a noted Economics professor let it slip. You know how economists are with gossip, eh?" Dances backed up a step. "Um, er, couldn't it have been those Prankster guys instead?" Vox narrowed his eyes to slits. "My information is QUITE accurate, thank you. I'll deal with the Pranksters shortly, as soon as I find a fast enough boat. Like, perhaps, that one in dock?" "Er...uh...Lord, you don't plan on, like, doing anything, uh, *messy* about this, do you? I mean, you *did* agree to let them escape with one boat, and they *have* worked very hard building your shipyard, and there's only a very few of them, hardly a full meal...I mean..." Outside, Dances heard the beating of a huge set of wings, and knew that one of Vox's giant Raptors had taken to the air. Vox smiled again. "Why, no, my faithful scout, it will not be messy at all. Of course, I suppose that depends on your definition of messy. I shall frankly find it most appetizing." Tears fell from Dances On Oceans' eyes as he heard the childlike screams begin outside. He knew they would never even have the chance to pick up their little custom-made bows, or for Peter to recite the words of the great spells he had discovered. And the decks of the beautiful Tinkerbell would run red with blood. And the vile Lord Vox would have yet another delicacy for his ever expanding table. Dances wept bitterly, with Lord Vox' peals of laughter shrill in his ears, mixing with the last tortured shrieks outside, until finally all was still. +++ [ATLANTIS LOYALTY LESSON #1: If you're going to have split loyalties, primary loyalty should be to the group nearest you with large numbers of pointy objects.] [ATLANTIS LOYALTY LESSON #2: Don't trust *nobody*.] ######################################################################## The Lost Continent Chapter 2 Tamara rubbed her eyes with disbelief. It was not possible to see a fish swimming through the air. She looked again and did not see anything. The shock of a whole village disappearing must have caused her to hallucinate. She walked over to the nearest tree and sat down underneath it. Within seconds she was in a deep trance. In the trance she could communicate with the disciples of Agrik. Surly the most powerful and omnipotent Agrik would know what happened. Deeper into the trance she when, but she could not detect the disciples. This had not happened to her since she was an acolyte in the temple of Momu. She cleared her thoughts and attempted to contact Agrik again. Standing before her in her trance-vision, she saw a little man. The little man was completely unexpected and completely hideous. He had a long, blue beard that reached the ground; his eyes were red and his teeth green, a most ugly sight. The little man pointed his finger at Tamara and said, "So you thought that your faith could save you! You think that you can lead a mighty nation in this world! The weight of your pride has caused your mighty university to sink into the ocean. Beware of the serpents of the sea!" The little man vanished in a cloud of yellow smoke leaving a foul smell behind. Tamara thought that the vision was nonsense. How could the university sink into the ocean. The ocean is a month's journey to the south. Opening her eyes, Tamara noticed that it was already getting dark. She must have been in the trace for hours. She got up and hurried back into the village. There was no point in risking robbers by being out after dark. These days were dangerous to anyone who did not pay tribute to the mighty armies that passed through. She hurried into the gates of the university and closed them behind her. She then went to her room and loaded her traveling pack. It may be necessary to be gone a long time. It was not safe in Zamora; a disappearing village proved that. The basement of the president's tower was dark, but she dared not light a candle. Feeling her way to the back room, she bolted the door and waited for daybreak. Even in the hidden dark of the basement, she felt as if her every move was being watched. In the morning, she would head south. The answer must be there. ######################################################################## From the Chronicles of The Brotherhood of Northern Warriors April, Year 3 - Lorthalm Lord Falken was well pleased. It had been some long months since he had last seen his wife. She had been in the north, teaching magic to many students and standing firm against the Ballindine's aggressions, while he had been forced to stay in the south, studying tactics in prep- aration for the confrontation that he knew would someday come. But now he had been needed in the north and, though he could not long stay in Lorthalm, he had spent one very pleasant day and night with his wife. As a wise man once said, if you have never made love with a beautiful woman who is also a skilled sorceress, well then you're just letting the best things in life pass you by. Now he was marching south once again, but he was marching with purpose. The Ballindine Alliance had sued for peace after the Second Battle of Lorthalm, and there had been hope that the great diplomat Lame Duck (a curious name for a diplomat, but there you have it) would succeed in forgin an island-wide alliance. But the Archmage Hobi since withdrew from the Ballindine Alliance, declaring war on Falken's friend and ally, General William. Of course the Brotherhood would stand by their friends, so it looked like there would be war for a few more months. But that was not a source of regret for Falken. Quite the contrary, it was a source of joy. For for what does a warrior live, if not for war? His heart warmed as he looked at the ranks of Brotherhood calvary ridding behind him, each man mounted and armed with a sword, and half of them dressed in chainmail as well. Behind them marched rows and rows of archers and bowmen, as skilled with their weapons as any the Lord had ever seen. And behind them came the even more numerous army that General William had sent. All of them were marching south, with the hope of engaging the enemy in Oloron. Of course, it was likely that the enemy forces, who now called themselves simply "Doom" (Though, in his most optimistic moments, Falken had often thought it should have been "Doomed") would not still be in the swamp when the army arrived. But it was of no matter. They could not run long, and could never hide. Brotherhood and Adventurer forces were garrisoned all around the eastern parts of Lemuria, and the Doom armies in Oloron were indeed doomed. Falken worried, though, about what sort of forces might even now be marching in from the north, where Hobi and what remained of the Ballindine Alliance had made their capital. Whatever happened, it was certain that this would be a long and glorious war, that the bards would long sing of. Surely the Valkeries would be busy collecting the souls of the honored dead, who would sit with Odin in his halls, in preparation for the final battle against the Giants. Yes, it would be a great war. And there would be no talks of peace to halt the glory. This time, the war would not end until one side or the other was completely destroyed. With a grim smile on his face, Falken held the reins to his fine war horse in one hand. The other slipped down to the hilt of his sword as he rode. South. To war. ######################################################################## =-=-= END TIMES 305 =-=-= ######################################################################## Up