Atlantis Times v1.1 v02n12 From: JJC%MP068@MPA15AB.mv-oc.Unisys.COM Date: Tue, 14 Jun 1994 03:19:32 +0000 ######################################################################## =-=-= Atlantis Times v1.1 Volume 2 Number 12 =-=-= =-= June 13, 1994 =-= ######################################################################## Words from The Big Guy: Not much to report this time around, except for the delay. You all should have gotten a message from me regarding the delay. New factions now start with 20 men, instead of one. Let's see how that works. REMEMBER, send game problems to: jjc@MPA15C.mv-oc.unisys.com. I don't read the mail at the other addresses!!! 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 ######################################################################## Following the disappearance of their leader, Grieve's elite assassins were able to seize control of the Brotherhood of the Mist. Calling themselves the "Black Council" they conducted their business only at night and only behind closed doors. As there was no-one left with the skill and knowledge required to prepare the Recipe, the Council's power became based on greed and fear. * * * Deep underground, the Innkeeper stirred his vat which was starting to boil despite the absence of any apparent heat source. A turbulent blue mist rose from the surface, and spread about the cellar. The Innkeeper stood away from the vat, and waited patiently for a sign. A rat appeared from beneath some stones. It regarded the Innkeeper pensively, then scratched at the cobblestones. "The Brotherhood is a thousand strong, and has been delivered to the Ten, as you instructed. My work is done, as agreed. I claim my due, being the restoration of the memory of my past, as you promised. I want to know my mother." The Innkeeper awaited the response in silence for a full two minutes. "Look into the vat", replied the rat finally. The Innkeeper obeyed, and the boiling blue liquid became still. A scene of rolling hills and a tumbling stream appeared before him. Soft breezes played in the treetops and peasants toiled in the fields below. "This is Sigenum, the land of your birth", squeaked the rat. "It lies to the north and holds your past." "Show me my mother!", demanded the Innkeeper excitedly. "I cannot", replied the rat, "because you had no memory of her when I found you on the beach. This creature, known to its friends as Cabbage or Cauliflower or something similar, is now in Morella and may be able to help you." The scene changed to a barn, where a figure stood half covered in straw and other things, with a companion in the background. The rat paused, and cocked an ear as though listening to someone, but the Innkeeper could hear nothing. "Your service to the Mist has been exemplary", the rat continued, "and as a reward, you are dismissed." With that, the rat scurried out of sight and the Innkeeper was left alone to consider his future. ######################################################################## Those cowards, the most untrustworthy leaders of the Padisha Empire and the House of Reynolds, former House of Diamante, have opposed the holy command of the almighty God Agrik and fled the continent of the Northern Wind. Behind them they have left the remnants of the once gloryful (NOT!!) empire either to starve in the swamps or be slaughtered by the troops of the infamous Lord Dr. VOX. We hope that other factions will punish these fugatives when they try to invade another continent. If anyone has any sightings of either the Padisha empire or the House of Reynolds we wish it to be published here in the times so that these outlaws can be brougth back and punished severly. May the word of Agrik be spread over the world Chafin Of Araku High Priest og the Holy Church of Agrik ######################################################################## The sea monster continued its approach into the village. Sixty of the village's finest young men stepped forward to defend the town, but they were overwhelmed by the monster. The monster deftly picked up nine of the villagers and swallowed them whole. The villagers attacked the mon- ster with their pitchforks but could only scratch the surface of the monster. Satisfied with its meal and annoyed my the pitchforks, the ugly sea monster crawled slowly back into the ocean and swam out of sight. The mayor of the village was hung from the nearest tree in cele- bration of the monster's departure. ######################################################################## War of Ballandine Aggression, Report from the front #4 Dateline Lagos November Year 2 The front was quiet this turn as the Army of the Ballandines stayed put in Lorthalm. They increased their number of swords to 532 and they have 194 iron. At least 100 of it will be converted next turn, so they will have well over 600 swords. 10 crossbows and 7 longbows are in their missile forces. Next week: Another report on the Ballandine Aggressors army movement and strength. The above report generated by the scribes of faction 59, "Larson's Adventurers", formed in Gurkacre (9,14) on Jan 01 reachable at "Bill_Larson@ncsu.edu" ######################################################################## The young scout, wearing blood-resistant hip-waders, slogged up to Lord Vox, saluted sharply, then stared in astonishment. Lord Vox was casually munching on a banana. "My Lord...excuse me, most Noble and Ferocious one, but...a banana?" Vox grinned, exposing his neatly filed incisors, now filled with banana pulp. "Quite so, my lad...everyone needs a bit of variety now and again. Besides..." Vox chewed carefully and swallowed. "...they taste just a bit like Padishah nobles' flesh. Maybe a bit more fruity, if that's possible." Vox finished the banana and began picking his fangs with a sharp finger-bone toothpick, as he awaited the scout's report. "Well, my Lord, we still believe that two longboats managed to escape before the armies arrived. And we believe we've discovered why the third boat, even though it was loaded with Reynolds nobility, is still in harbor." Vox looked interested. "We sent a spy to examine their boat, and on board with the other nobles, there appears to be...well, frankly, a Horse." Vox broke into a hideous grin. "A Horse, you say? They took a Horse onto their longboat? My, now *that* would certainly lower the keel a bit, now wouldn't it? Why do you think they would do a silly thing like that?" "Well, m'Lord, we have two theories. One is that it is their best tactician. The other, that one of the nobility simply couldn't *bear* to part with his favorite warhorse for the trip. We thought we would let you decide, Sir." Lord Vox chuckled. "Well, either theory sounds perfectly sound. But if they think *that* highly of this Horse, I certainly want it as my PERSONAL steed. Let's go lighten the load a bit on that boat, shall we?" Vox dropped the banana peel from a claw-like hand, and it sank slowly into the bubbling ooze of the swamp. Through the trees, a grim-sounding war song started up, with a chorus something like: Yank 'em from the boat, Drown `em in the swamp, That's how we do The Jagukoner Stomp! Make the lightning sizzle, Make the arrows Thomp, That's the way to do The Jagukoner Stomp! ######################################################################## To: Commander Crenshaw From: Captain Aldo Sinclair Sir, I truly hope that this finds you in good health. The men and I have finished cleaning up in Mizip and have moved northward to prepair for battle. The men are nervous about the big battle but I have The utmost confidence in them. When we arrived here. We found several alters built to Agrik. It seems that the peasants have found religion. They have been spending much of their time draging the nobelmen of the now defunct Empire to the alters and offering them up to Agrik. It isnt a pretty sight. I am not sure if Chafin has approved the manner of sacrifice, however, the locals find it fun to slit them up the middle and slowly remove vital organs pausing long enough for the poor slob to get a good look at his innards. The start with the least important organs and move to the more important ones to drawing out the torment of the victim. When they are done removing an organ they toss it on a pile and the cooks of Lord Vox fight over them like dogs for a bone. They are all eager to impress their Lord. Well, that is about all. Next month is a time of battle. I will write more next month. Yours in Service, Captain Aldo Sinclair ######################################################################## Chevalier Larry peeked out through the arrow slits of the tiny fort defending Carbost. Octagonal Pit and PATO scum everywhere, with just enough Skinflayers to man the cooking pots! "So, our great lord flew the coop, did he? Well, I'm responsible for the lives of all these people, and that's more important to me than fool pride! Send a messenger to the enemy camp. Wait - be sure to send a skinny guy - I'd like them to read the message, not eat the messenger!" After a few rounds of futile parleying, Larry was impressed by the intelligence and wit of the enemy leaders, but utterly depressed by the failure to reach an agreement (and the quantity of pots and barbecue sauce he had seen in the enemy camp). He said to the nervous archers with him inside the fort, "I recall reading somewhere that the best psychopathic killers were quite intelligent and interesting individuals - when they weren't hacking you to bits, that is. These folks certainly qualify! It's been nice knowing you all. I suggest you get your affairs in order, for surely we will be dead and eaten by the first snowfall." * * * * * Somewhere asea, Lord Reynolds sat in a cramped cabin with his few followers. "I still think it would've been better to stand with my troops. I should never have allowed you to persuade me to leave." Master Lenin sighed and replied, "My lord, we've gone over this a dozen times. You know as well as I that we stood no chance of surviving against such a large army. Your legacy must live on! It is your duty to your family to seek survival at all cost. Your cousin Larry is a capable man; he'll do as well as you or I to handle the situation." (And besides, Lenin thought to himself, if you had stayed, you'd have made the rest of us stay behind, too! Lenin enjoyed life too much to waste it over some silly principle.) "Hmmph. I suppose you're right, this is the best I could do. Still, I don't have to LIKE it!" * * * * * Sir Pilsner gazed into the swirling waters. If he stared at the foaming waves long enough, he could almost return to a dream state like the one in which he had had his first vision. Pilsner was a man on a quest. SOMETHING was out there, waiting to be found! Pilsner didn't know what it was or where to find it, but he knew he would seek it until his death. Every night, the vision returned, driving him forward, ever questing. At first he didn't want to leave Carbost, since he hadn't finished exploring that continent yet. But as he sailed further into the unknown, he became more and more certain that the answer lay ahead, not behind. That the emblem on his shield had changed from Diamante to Reynolds, didn't matter. That his brother knights had been stewed and eaten by barbarians, he didn't even acknowledge. Every man dies sometime, somehow, but blessed few had the vision. The vision was all! ######################################################################## Laurathoron yawned. He sat on a bluff, his back to the smooth trunk of a tree. Twilight was settling comfortably in place, a graying of the light, crickets were beginning to chirp and fireflies were winking into view. He drew his knees up against his chest, he hadn't slept for almost three days now, and fatigue was catching up with him. His eyes closed involuntarily at the prospect of curling up beneath his cloak and drifting away. They snapped open again instantly, he must stay alert. He thought of his daughter living her last months in Ebonok, most of all he pictured their last meeting, Islena had refused to return home, and they had argued long into the night. In the end, he had given in and left her. His daughther was now dead and Laurathoron's world could never be the same again, the world was in turmoil. He let his gaze wander, a hoot in the trees behind him caused him to turn, looking for any sign of disturbance... he found none, one of the horses pawed restlessly and went still again. He leaned back and closed his eyes momentarily, feeling himself drifting, letting it happen.... 'She's gone' Iridal said quietly drawing Laurathoron's eyes away from the head stone and meeting them with her own. 'We must leave her now, We must go on because that is what we have sworn we would do and that is what she would want' He jerked awake again, the darkness was all around save the moon. 'You fell asleep' he chided himself. He remained awake after that until Laitha came to relieve him at dawn. ######################################################################## Major Zachari twirled the dagger carelessly through his fingers. 'So I am a usurper then, am I?' His expression darkened further, as he plotted unmentionable acts so barbaric that even baby orang-utans would not be used as instruments of torture this time. Moving from the desk, he entered a small alcove and knelt before a rune covered altar. As he began to pray for demonic guidance, a loud noise startled him. He spun to his feet gracefully, drawing his sabre in a lightning manouvre, to find himself facing a ghastly manifestation. 'Do not fear me, I am the shade of Lord Banana' it wailed. 'To become truly evil you must seek out the Lords Zucchini and Cucumber. If you seek well, you may step on the path towards enlightenment.' The creature seemed to snap into a trance as it droned 'I see your future clearly now, you will destroy many innocents as you come closer to the secrets of true power. We shall meet again in the appointed sanctuary Brother Gherkin!' 'Huh?? Brothe.....?!' Zachari trailed off in astonishment as all traces of the apparition had disappeared. Later, as he sat deep in thought, he found the prophecy almost appealing. But what did he mean when he said Brother Gherkin? .......... To be continued ??? ######################################################################## And Goddess said..... ----------------------- He awoke with a shuddering breath to the smell of grass and the warmth of the sun on his face. "Am I mortal now and having died gone to the plains of Elysium," he thought. "No," she replied, "but you will find things somewhat different this time." "How long?" "Five score millennium I've worked here to prepare our way." "How long did I sleep in the chaos?" "I do not know my love. I experienced the rebirth." He sat up with a start. NEVER before had she been banished from a continuum by the mass disbelief of the mortals. Not their always beloved goddess, Aradia. A shifting from the old to a new, but never a return to chaos. His mind leapt out to map the wyrd of this world. His perception ran the length and breadth of probabilities contained within the web in an instant of mortal time. Though he felt the knife edge quality, the precarious balance of possibilities in her work, he couldn't immediately discern its source. There was a randomness to the wyrd which even the mind of a god could not grasp without some effort. Then he saw it. Thin, almost indiscernible threads of white brightness, order, piercing the boundary of chaos. She had linked the wyrd of this world to the heretofore indecipherable, yet fundamental order that underlay chaos. The realization of what she had done instilled awe.... and yes, even a touch of fear. She had initiated a melding of the twin pillars that uphold the cosmos; positive and negative; yin and yang; light and dark. She risked destroying the contrast which gave birth to the multitudinous material planes and the physical perceptions. True, it was the ultimate means of removing their dependency on mortal belief to incarnate into the physical planes.... but the risk she took. Was it worth it? He sensed her presence close to him. "A notable achievement beloved, but worth the risk of losing our immortality and utterly destroying the physical that you are so fond of?" "I sacrificed the total exclusiveness of our powers to insure our immortality this time. We may pass between at will now, but all mortals partake in some part in the abilities we have. Magic is now opened to some, and many others will be able to perceive the wyrd as soothsayers. Whether they chose to exercise such for the good or ill of this world I can not say. This world's destiny is now subject to the will of all, not just that of the gods and goddesses. Only the nameless one was not affected by my work, but that was to be expected." "Come though, what I have done is done and it can not be changed without greater risks than I've already taken. Can you not hear Pan playing his Syrinx? And see the dryads and satyrs frolicking across the plains? An unexpected but welcome result of my work. Many former companions have found their way from out of the chaos on my lifelines, and I imagine we shall see many more return before long. Let us join in their games," as she takes his hand, "and later we can explore those pleasures which only the material planes can provide." ######################################################################## Once upon a time. Crohyze the great rode his mighty fire spitter swiftly through the night air. Wind blowing in their ears. Exhilarated. Heart thumping up his throat. Hands twitching against the reins of his steed. The powerful flight muscles of the old spitter rippled beneath him. As they left their wake in the crakin grass. As cool dew soaked his feet. Ahead. A dim glow grew steadily brighter. Warmer. In another beat. Crohyze was home. And there were his elders. He was dismounting. They were shaking him. Smiling. Laughing. Jabbering about the old fire spitter. He was warm again. Secure. Tomorrow would be his formal initiation. But now. Sleep. To be continued. ######################################################################## Capt. James T. Hooker sat in his office mulling over the events of the last month. The wanted posters for the two alledged criminals, Cucumber and Zucchini were spread out on his usually clean desk. There was no crime to speak of in Morella, and his usual tasks consisted of throwing drunken Gnomes into the pokey on Saturday night, settling the occasional domestic dispute, and acting as a judge at fashion shows. So he had nothing better to do at the moment than consider the posters before him. Something was nagging at him - this part about being wanted for "giving vegetables a sleazy name". His aging father, Richard A. Hooker (retired), who had worked as a constable in Morella decades before, had once mentioned a scandal involving a Baron who had given fruits a bad name. Now if he could only remember the name... it was something with a K... "Sergeant Dachsund", he called out, "name me a fruit whose name starts with the letter K." "Konan the Hairdresser?" "What?! I meant the edible kind." "Uh, Kiwi?", offered Dachsund. "No, no, that's not it, try again." "Kohlrabi?" "No, you idiot, that's a vegetable!" "Kola nut?" "Hmmm, I don't think so", muttered Hooker, "keep trying." "Kapok?" "No. And you can't eat those anyway, unless you like the taste of life-vests." "Kumquat?" "THAT'S IT!", exclaimed Hooker in jubilation as the name suddenly came back to him. "Dachsund, go through the archives and see what you can dig up on a Baron Kumquat." Dachsund did as requested, and later in the day Hooker was scanning through musty reports, yellow and brittle with age, which described a series of incidents starting in the year -25 and ending in the year -23 with the apprehension of the notorius Baron Kumquat. The Baron had apparently constructed a monster, sewing together parts from both human and horse cadavers, which he had then brought to life through some evil magic. There were no details as to which parts had been used where, but Hooker had a sudden sneaking suspicion. The monster had escaped from the laboratory, as monsters are wont to do, and had ravished a number of the local maidens, and not being satisfied with that, had gone on to molest horses, cows, sheep, and other livestock. It had finally been cornered in old MacDonald's chicken pen and killed, amid a great deal of squawking and flying feathers. Baron Kumquat had been burned up in his castle by a torch-bearing mob of peasants. The former maidens, whose reputations had been irretrievably sullied, had been sent by their disgraced families to a faraway convent in a place called Gurkacre. Rumor had it that several of them were showing signs of being with child as they left, but nothing more had ever been heard from them. Gurkacre, where had he seen that before? Of course, in an add for the Brotherhood of the Northern Warriors! Now it all fit. Hooker decided that he would have to look into this deeper and perhaps get in contact with this Lord Falken. Perhaps there were some records in Gurkacre which could shed further light on the matter. In the meantime, he could investigate the talking horse. ######################################################################## "Well, you great big oaf", said Arrete kindly,"What is the news you bring from your meeting with the Seneschal?" Gar was silent for a moment. "I've been asked to lead an expedition." "So why do you look so uncomfortable? You've taken several deputations into the Southern mountains, and been very good at it. Of course you're the Seneschal's choice. Where to now? Not the swamps, I hope?" "No, not the swamps. Um, this time we don't go by land at all." Arrete's face registered surprise, then sadness, then anger. "What!? You mean you're to captain a ship?" Gar nodded, resigned to the dark woman's impending outburst. "You can't be serious! What do you know about the seas? You're a horseman." "Well, riding horses can't be very different from riding the waves." "And if you believe that, then your silly expedition will be very short. Horses don't run aground on rocks, and horses don't lead you into the jaws of sea monsters. Why, it's less than two years ago that you first even saw the sea!" "True, my lady. But how have we all changed in that short time." ######################################################################## To whom it may concern: Although the Padishah Dynasty has been forced from its home in Mizip during the War of Cannibalism (probably not the last), it is certainly not dead as Chafin states. The False Prophet and his allies have not yet defeated us and we will rise up once more. You must not forget that we have the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam on our side; how do you think that Emperor Shaddam IV was resurrected? And for Dr. Vox's information, that was not the Emperor's body that he ate, nor was that woman of nobility. The most important leaders of the Padishah Empire, the Reverend Mother, Emperor Shaddam IV, Bishop Talleyrand, and the leaders of House Reynolds, are safe. We must warn all other factions in the region (the northwest corner of the map) about these treacherous barbarians. Any interested in information about these enemies can reach us at ckim@skidmore.edu. Furthermore, the Padishah Maps will once more be published, starting January of the year III. - The Imperial Leadership PS:Vox has managed to kill just about everyone else, but like his incompetent archers, he keeps missing the target! Care to try again? - ES4 ######################################################################## It was a useless discovery. She could not justify the research effort that had gone into producing the Staff of Lightning. Admittedly, the user didn't have to know the Lightning spell to use the Staff but the user did have to have studied magic for one month which was sufficient to learn the Lightning spell outright. Demi was not impressed with the Staff and stomped off to face to music. ######################################################################## From the Chronicles of The Brotherhood of Northern Warriors December, Year 2 - Lagos Sergeant Erik made his way down the rocky, snow-covered path, stepping carefully. The last thing he needed to do now was to sprain an ankle. He was still smarting over his recent demotion down from Captain, but would not let it effect the way he did his job. The Lord Falken had explained, in his message, that the Brotherhood was going to a new ranking system. Erik's knowledge of tactics simply wasn't good enough to qualify him for the rank of Captain anymore. It was close, but he needed at least another month's study until he would be as good as Captain Rakasha. Until then, she would be the only Captain. It didn't really matter, he knew. Even Rakasha, he was quite sure, would be no match for the wiley Sir Aubec, who commanded the enemy forces they were going to meet. It was rumored that even Lord Falken himself was no match for the Paldadin, which was why he was remaining in the south, desperately studying, while the bulk of the Brotherhood was moving off to war in the north. Erik wasn't exactly sure he belived this. Falken was the most brillant man he had ever met, and he was sure the lord had some plan or other up his sleeve. Shifting the weight of his longbow for the hundreth time, he looked back at the rows of troops marching behind him. Over a thousand of them there were, all told. Not all, of course, were members of the Brother- hood. Many were followers of the renowned General William Larson, Falken's close personal friend and ally. Together, the armies were marching to drive the invading northerners out of Lortham. And, Eric thought, perhaps a great deal further back than that. Ahead of him, the rangers scouted out territory the main body of troops would be passing through. Skilled swordsmen, the rangers were now considered the elite of the Brotherhood. Although Erik privately believed that many of the archers and bowmen under his command were every bit as deadly. "What are you thinking about?" a soft voice asked him, and Erik looked up to see the Lady Rowena standing behind him. She was not only beautiful, she was a powerful mage, and her bright eyes did not miss much. It was Rowena who had taught the rest of the mages how to shoot bolts of lightning from their fingers. That skill might well help them win the battle. "Just thinking about the fighting that awaits us in Lortham," Erik answered, "many of these soldiers will be dead before two month's pass, or I miss my guess." "Yes," Rowena agreed, "and possibly you and I with them, Sergeant." Erik winced, more at the use use of his new title than the reminder of his own mortality. The lady went on, "these young men, boys really, follow you, because you follow Falken, and they believe in him. And yet I wonder, are we not simply leading them to their deaths? Even if we are victorious, as you assure me we must be, many of them will never benefit from our victory." "It is true," Erik agreed, "but how many more might die if we allow this invasion to stand? These men have pledged their oaths to Falken because he has pledged his to them. He is sworn, even as they are, to protect these lands. Their families, their sons and daughters, sisters and mothers, fathers and grandfathers live in these regions. Would you have them be ruled by such as come from the north to attack us?" "Nay," the lady answered, "I would not. But it is a hard world we live in, where we must make such choices. Where we can march off to war or let it come to us, but can never escape it." "Yes," the Sergeant agreed, "it is a hard world indeed." ######################################################################## Chronicles of The Paladins of Ballindine Hobi stood up from his studies and made a futile attempt to rub the strain from his eyes. As the familiar surroundings of his secluded laboratory came into focus he noticed his witless apprentice Gort fidgeting nervously in the anteroom. "M'Lord, the Sheriff has been awaiting your counsel." studdered the apprentice. "The Sheriff..." muttered Hobi. Now there was a man who knew how to get things done. It had been what, two years now? He had to admit, the Sheriff's idea about cultivating an army of Paladins had resulted in amazing support from these gullible peasants. Last report, new recruits were arriving by the hundreds. Five months of intense training for the opportunity to die for ME! And though die they must, there would be hundreds more to take up the call to become a revered Paladin of Ballindine. The most nefarious plans were those least suspected, thought Hobi. These thoughts put a spring in the great mage's footsteps as he descended the tower to meet the 'honorable' Sheriff of Teba for this month's report. . . . . . . . . "Amazing." smirked Hobi to no one in particular as he looked out over the expansive courtyard. Row after seemingly endless row the courtyard was arrayed his glistening knights. All eager for the moment to test their mettle on the field of arms. In a loud voice so that all could hear, the Sheriff addressed his leige. "These, my lord, are the men that have attained the Order of Paladinhood and will soon depart to champion the cause of the oppressed against the evil expansionists of Larson's Adventurers." "HSSSSssssssss..." responded the assemblage. The great mage of Ballindine stepped forward to address them. "Friends and warriors, it is a glorious time for the valiant Paladins of Ballindine. A moment in history when noble and courageous men would distinguish themselves on the field on honor." "Hazzah! Huzzah!" cryed the assemblage. "But, I have news of mixed blessing." Hobi announced as a hush fell over the men. "As you have heard, the unfortunate slave forces of Larson The Misguided are no match for the true and courageous knights of Ballindine." "HSSSSssssssss..." responded the men at the speaking of their enemy's name. "However, this did not stop him from wasting the lives of over 200 of his recruits in the Battle of Lorthalm. OH, THE INHUMANITY!" cryed Hobi. A grim pall fell over the men thinking of the hedious atrocities of which they'd all heard the barbarians of Larson practiced on the meek peasants. But Hobi also knew that they would also be thinking of the reverence and honor bestowed upon the 6 knights which fell in that battle. "But this is not the worst of it my galant knights!" intoned the mage. "Even now, they are held confined to the mountain of Lagos and are starving the innocent peasants to feed the barbarians! Have they never heard of the fate of Masada!" As the great mage spoke on, he could see the men become more and more resolved, their eyes become hard in thought of the inner resolve they would all commit to the crusades to come. "I fear, my faithful, that though I still have hope, all our diplomatic efforts have failed to sway the irrational minds of Larson and his accomplices. Go forth and free the slaves of Larson!" concluded Hobi. The charm of Hobi was complete. Yes, these men would die without question to thwart the inconvenient plans of Larson. And maybe, just maybe...there would finally be an end to that damned economics drivel. As Hobi retired back into his private sanctuary, the foremost question on his mind was wondering if Vox's Phadisha baths were really better than Sea Monster icor for preserving the flesh. "Gort! Bring me that virgin scheduled for sacrifice to the Sea Monster of Akbou. I may have other plans..." ######################################################################## The Baron sat alone in his small, thatched hut, hunched over a table. It had been fourteen months of study and research, but it had been well worthwhile. The figure sat back, leaning into his old, rickety chair, smiling. A sentry burst through the door, exhausted from running. He was dirty and bleeding from an arrow wound to his arm. "Master, the enemy has been seen moving toward us from the northeast armed with crossbows and swords! They must number in the hundr..." "Ah, yes," the Baron silenced him. He vividly recalled the slaughter that happened many months ago. In the forests northeast of Doctor Vox and his vile minions, a few enterprising young individuals had been ambushed by a malignant force intent on collecting the meagre amount of silver they carried. What was not known was their link to some rather powerful druidic sorcerors to the southeast. It seemed that this danger should be taken care of as soon as possible. "We must prepare the ritual." The Baron turned, in an afterthought. "You may go now." The sentry bowed, turned about and quickly left out the door. It had been many, many months of tiring research, but it had been well worthwhile. He had managed to create a special brazier, when invoked with a blood sacrifice, would allow the summoning and aid of netherworld demons. As a test, he had invoked it once, calling the demon upon the hapless peasant population. What havoc it wreaked! The Baron had never seen so much power in even a hundred trained soldiers. He was sure to defeat the enemy, with several of these beasts at his side. The Baron stepped out of his ramshackle hut into the sunlight, where several scores of swordsmen were busy training, ready to mobilize for war. His army was not very large, a casualty in the expensive researching of dark magicks. He was supremely confident that only the mightiest of armies would be able to withstand his magical assault, however. The Baron called a sentry with a quick snap of his fingers. "Call the inner circle of sorcerors to me now. Arrest fifty of the peasants here and bring them also. "Aye, my liege." The sentry hurried off. We shall avenge these needless deaths, thought the Baron. There is no need to prey upon hapless novice travellers, and we shall teach a lesson not soon to be forgotten. Of course, it would also be nice to take control of those forests, he thought. The Baron looked out over the plains, and watched the sky turn a crimson, blood-like red. Perhaps it was an omen of things to come. ######################################################################## From deep within the earth it started. A hammering, drilling babble that soon rose from a barely audible whisper to a great drowning flood of noise the likes of which hadn't been heard since Lord Vox finished "playing" with the late Diamonte's unfortunate daughter. Louder and louDER and LOUDER it wailed, a cacophany of sound rivaling the errant sea monster's romping steps upon the mainland. It reached a crescendo...and stayed there neither rising nor falling in its intensity. A buried juggernaut rising from the depths. Well, not really. "Spiner! Get your lazy butt up and get back to work on that blasted contraption! We're falling behind and you know what that means, more work, more work, and MORE WORK without overtime pay! Hear me? Now get off your fat rump and lay into it. I SAID NOW!!!" From a relaxed position seated atop a pile of mine tailings, the diminutive man, Spiner, shot a hate-filled glare towards the new foreman. He didn't like the new man one bit, but had to feed the family thus keep his job. The old foreman had been much easier allowing the men breaks on the hour every hour. So what if it cut into production? Not as if things were a-hoppin' and people needed the stuff badly. Well, that was in the good old days. Now, the men worked like slaves to meet production quotas and woe to him who didn't, a swift kick in the pants and they were sent into the fields to work as <ick> farmers! Not Spiner though. He'd avoid that partricular avenue of existence for as LONG as possible! "Gods be damned! I said NOW, Spiner! And when I say NOW you JUMP!!" the foreman's voice rose to a shriek rivaling even that totally deafening sound echoing off the rock walls of the tunnel. Casually Spiner the miner pushed himself to his feet. He wiped the dust off of his pants and brushed at the beads of trickling sweat rolling down from his clean shaven head into his stinging eyes. Mine work was hard work. But, he reminded himself as he had been every day for the last two months, it's definitely better than trudging through the fields behind some smelly old workhorse plowing the fields. "There that's better, start 'er up and lets get this load out of here and up to the surface." Spiner did as instructed and soon the stuff was on it's way up to the surface. From there it would be carted to the smithies who would mold the raw materials into fine armaments and sell the finished merchandise to the highest bidder. "Damned if I ever see the profits," muttered Spiner who barely existed on his take home pay. Better than the fields, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time. "WE HIT A MOTHERLODE!" came an excited shout from the swaggering foreman. Spiner sighed, wiped his brow with dirty hand, then cursed profusely. Now he'd never get home in time to eat a hot dinner. He'd be here all evening working the newly discovered vein. He cursed again, making sure the foreman didn't hear him. That'd get him the all-night shift. Not something he was keen to do. ######################################################################## =-=-= END TIMES 212 =-=-= ######################################################################## Up