Atlantis Times v1.1 v03n01 From: JJC%MP068@MPA15AB.mv-oc.Unisys.COM Date: Tue, 21 Jun 1994 01:07:11 +0000 ######################################################################## =-=-= Atlantis Times v1.1 Volume 3 Number 1 =-=-= =-= June 20, 1994 =-= ######################################################################## Words from The Big Guy: 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 ######################################################################## A parapet broke off, and fell to the ground with a crash, almost terminating Fletfin on his daily rounds. He picked himself up, and dusted off his cloak with a sigh. Another one. Since he'd been keeping records, the damage to Castle Creep due to "natural" causes had been running at around five percent per month. Fletfin went over the calculations in his head for the hundredth time. Castle Creep had been designed to last for centuries, but at this rate it would be razed by the elements in a couple of years. He marvelled at the apparent power of the wind and rain. At that moment, deep within the earth, the Wind and Rain were working out in the Gymnasium. "Do you ever wonder about the Cosmic Balance", puffed Rain between chin-ups. "Can't say that I have", replied Wind, "what do you mean?" "Well, the Little Folk are to be challenged by Atlantis, according to Genesis, and we're doing a pretty good job of erosion, I reckon. Thanks to us, their castles have a half-life of little more than a year, and that's if they use stone. They've just about given up trying to build anything big out of wood." "So?", grunted Wind, realizing that he had the wrong weights. "So the little blighters are still breeding like mice. Someone's not pulling their weight, um, so to speak. I blame Sea Monsters." Rain stopped abruptly as Sea Monsters entered the gym, clad only in a towel. "Yo-ho, guys", called Sea Monsters cheerfully. "Did you hear about my latest romp in Nihot? Swallowed 17 Little Folk in one massive gulp! Is the bike free?" "Seventeen?", replied Wind incredulously, gesturing permission to use the exercise bike. "Your average Atlantean plain is churning out over 200 new peasants per month these days. You're supposed to be doing something about it." "I can't help it", replied Sea Monsters glumly. "There are such things as stomach size limitations, y'know." Losing all interest in sharing the gym with his fellow deities, Sea Monsters left in a huff. "Well", sighed Rain after the door had slammed closed, "maybe Mist has some ideas". ######################################################################## There was much feasting and slipping of butts as the Amazons celebrated the completion of there first sailing vessel. Despite the fact that it was only big enough for 18 warriors, the feastivities went late into the night. Soon the chosen few would set out on a voyage of discovery and danger. Stories of sea monsters had reached the forest two months ago but there was not a single woman who would not take up the challenge to be on that boat. ######################################################################## Once upon a time. It was the day of formal initiation for a young rake named crohyze. The fire spitter he had taken the night before was now to be sacrificed. She was a powerful wind rider and possessed the wisdom of ages. But this day. Her time of rest had come. According to custom. Crohyze had spoken to no one since his awakening. Calmly polishing and sharpening his sacrificial sleen blade. The success of the birth depended as much upon the power of the sacrificial spitter as upon the swiftness of the honed sleen. At last he was ready. Crohyze set out to pledium where his fire spitter was tethered. His elders gathered. But kept a respectful distance. And crohyze entered the pledium alone. To be continued. ######################################################################## Sludge looked at the assembled hucksters. Ten new recruits, each sitting somewhat restlessly atop a small pony. They made a comical sight, especially since none of them had been taught to ride. "Okay, boys," Sludge said to them, "here's your job. Ride out into the lands and generate interest about the Skulking Vermin's performances." One of the hucksters raised his hand. "How do we do that?" Sludge scowled. "Ride around, fall of your horse, let the horse fall on you, carry your horse, just about anything you can think of to draw attention to yourself. Preferrably something that looks painful." Sludge smiled. "The crowd loves pain when it's happening to someone else". The same huckster raised his hand. "Is it too late to go back to farming?" ------------------------------- The Skulking Vermin! World renowned entertainers and vagabonds. More laughs than a root canal! ------------------------------- Skulking Vermin (109) ######################################################################## Major Zachari cursed at the slow effect his mystical chants were giving. 'Damn thing should already be here' he mused. He twirled his daggers impatiently, and casually stabbed a passing peasant. As he stared out towards the ocean, the horizon appeared to be moving. 'At last' he thought, 'Soon I shall find these Lords Cucumber and Zucchini, and all shall become clear. Then I shall take my revenge on the Colonel.' A huge shape arose close to the shore, and the peasants began screaming and running in all directions. " A Sea Monster!!" rose the alarm, as the yells spread to those busy at their labours, as yet unaware of the impending doom. Zachari watched impassively as the monster slaughtered a few dozen peasants, then steeped forward. "Enough!" he snapped. "You are here at MY bidding, and it is my bidding you will follow!" A huge neck craned towards him as the evil head of the serpent hissed towards him, it's beady eyes gleaming with malice. "What isss your wissshhh Massster? " it inquired. Climbing aboard its neck, Zachari proclaimed "you shall take me across the oceans to the north to the lands of the Mist." As the huge monster turned and moved out into the ocean, a wicked smile crossed Zachari's face. 'Soon I will become invincible.' .............................. To be discontinued ? ######################################################################## Thallen rose from his bed of leaves exhausted from a week of chopping thick vines which blocked his exit out of the swamp. Last night he had fallen asleep hungry as the last of his food rations had been finished days ago. In his effort to stand, he felt his legs almost collapse beneath him. He groaned "This damn swamp offers none of the comforts of home". Unhooking the waterskin from his belt, he took a swig and stoppered the skin. He then flexed his tired muscles and shivered as a curtain of thick mist hung in the air surrounding him. Kneeling on the soft earth he packed his few belongings. Since he could not see very well, he listened intently....nothing stirred through the silence...Thallen wondered if this swamp was alive, as the swamp vines seemed to grow constantly, changing around him. The mist was so thick that as Thallen stood up, he did not see the swamp sprawl a few yards in front of him until he stumbled over a dead stump falling a few feet into the murky water below. Struggling to keep his balance he then waded through waist-high water to the bank. Sagging, Thallen rested his back at the edge of the bank, he shivered not because he was lost, cold and wet; but with fury for losing the last of his drinking water to the black brackish waters of the swamp. Lifting his hands, he took off the leeches that clung hungrily to his flesh. " Surely there is not much further to go" he thought...if he travelled one more day he must be out of this place. Thallen closed his eyes against the rain....for days he had travelled, not slowly for a sense of urgency was strong within him to return home; but would he be in time? His orders were to scout, and not to let his presence be known on pain of death.... that's why he travelled this God forsaken way...very few would be mad enough to reach Ebonok via Daingean although it was shorter in distance.....no one had ever returned. Yet Iridal needed to know about these large settlements, and it seemed fatigue would beat him and prevent him completing his task where no other man alive could. In truth, sleep weighed down on him, and he was afraid of surrendering to it, releasing the tight rein on his body, which had kept him alive these many years, betraying himself and the many others who relied upon him. So he slowly climbed up from the bank and began his slow walk towards the west. ######################################################################## Dr. Tamara was embarrassed. A full year of planning and prepara- tion for Atlantis Bowl II ended in failure when the team had to forfeit. The December weather was harder than expected, causing most of the team to become sick. Only two players were fit enough to continue, but that was nine too few. The team left quickly to avoid being attacked by dis- appointed alumni and were last seen heading to the east. Tamara's report to the regents of the university needed something to brag about to compensate for the defeat. The news would also be bad for raising donations for the new stadium in Turia which was planned to host At- lantis Bowl III next year. A few days later, letters began to arrive from the several research expeditions that were sent out to investigate rumors that Atlantis was sinking. The costly expedition was the only hope of quelling the unrest caused by the rumors that Atlantis would become a lost continent and by the news of an ugly sea monster that could eat people whole. Not only were the peasants worried about drowning, but they also would end up being lunch for an overgrown fish. The researchers were now in position to make the measurements and observations that would put an end to any notion that Atlantis will sink beneath the waves. Not good news, but certainly not bad. Tamara could make this report sound good. Tamara now understood why Dr. Zamora resigned, running a university was hard work. She sometimes felt a spark of envy when she saw Zamora in town with his new bride. Just before the deadline to send her report to the regents, Profes- sor Duncan brought her his final draft of his latest work. It was about nutrition. She chuckled at the though of Lord Vox reading the work. Duncan had recommended that there should be plenty of vegetables in one's diet. This included cucumbers and zucchinis. The vision of Lord Vox savoring a cucumber was too much to bear. However, news of a com- pleted work would add the final touch she needed to her report. ######################################################################## PEASANTS DISCOVERED HOARDING BURIED TREASURE A group of peasants in the shire of Parc were hung in a public demonstration of law enforcement by the local Baron. These peasants had been discovered with far more food on hand than they could possibily have farmed last month. Their only explanation they could give was that they had bought it with money they dug up in their fields. "Rubbish!" said Baron Von Wild at the trial. "And in any case, if they dug up money in _my_ fields, it was obviously mine. Since they did not return it, they stole it. Make an example of them." Since the trial, the Baron's men have reportedly been seen searching in the fallow fields with shovels, but nothing has been turned up. However, observers have been unable to come up with any other explanation for the peasants unexpected bounty. ######################################################################## Letter home from private Bob: Dear Mom, since I was recruited to the armies of The Rowing Doom there has happend alot in my life. The recruiting officer promised us that we would help the poor peasants oppressed by the evil emperor in the north. Well in a way we have done that but I'm not so sure that everything has gone the way that I imagined when I joined those long months ago down in Monamolin. Our journey has led us up to the mountain Grisbygd, over the plains of Farafra and Mizip and now finally we have ended up in the swamp of Carbost. During all these months we have defeated one imperial army after the other. Our commander in chief VOX and his uncanny group of mages has done the task quite easy for us simple soldiers. You have all probably heard the horrid roumors of cannibalism and strange blood orgies. I can just write to you and confirm that all you have heard and even more is true. But our high priest Chafin of Araku has declared that this is the will of the mighty god Agrik so who am I to critizise. Even if the Emperor was claimed to be killed a couple of times he was seen resurrected more than once. It has even been claimed that he has left the continent in a small boat to sail of to an unknown land. Well the only thing that remains of our crusade is to clear out some small pockets of resistance from the house of Reynolds. Then I hope that I can return to the peaceful plain of Monamolin once more Greetings Bob. ######################################################################## Extracted From The Journals of M.E.E. "Seriously, sir, we are having trouble acquiring funds to maintain the operation," said the badly shaking mine foreman, hands clasped tightly before him, legs quivering under the strain of confronting the leader of M.E.E. with such unwelcome news. "We may have to shut down for a while and send the men out to work the fields." The thin, wiry yet strong man with long black hair reaching past his shoulders, stalked in front of his desk, itself overridden with Alliance communications, economic reports, and other assorted information. He stroked his chin in thought, eyes creased in concentration as he considered plans and counterplans by which to maintain the fledgling mining operation. He turned, eyes stabbing into the nervous foreman like spears cast at an advancing enemy troop. "No," he said quietly his lips hardly twitching. "That is not a course of action to which I am endeared. We will continue the operation. I will personally see that the men are paid their wages. You on the other hand are an incompetant lackey." The last said in steel tones brought visible bumps of fear out against the foremans blanched skin. "I had thought you would do better, but alas it seems I misjudged you." "Sir, no. What are you saying?" gasped the stunned foreman jaw dropping in absloute shock. His skin took on a pastier appearance. David Minglewood stepped around the desk coming to a stop inches from the profusely sweating foreman. Slowly almost cruelly, he poked the man in the shoulder with an extended finger. The foreman cringed back at the uncompromising look cast across his masters face. David grabbed him by the neck in an iron grip and held him in place. "Are you scared?" he asked casually rubbing the hilt of the sheathed longsword hanging at his side. His eyes narrowed. "Why? Do you not think you are performing well?" "Y-Y-eeesssss, sir. I-I-I t-tho-uuu-ght so," said the foreman voice quivering with the weight of expected death. He kept his head down unwilling, unable to meet the masters cold eyes. Slowly a lump formed in his throat. He began to have trouble breathing. "Wh-aaat c-c-can I do?" "Nothing. You have not performed as expected. My patience is drawn thin. I will not abide by incompetance!" Voice rising until it filled the canvas tent, he continued relentlessly on, "What am I going to do with you?" David's grip on the ex-foreman's neck tightened clamping down on vulnerable windpipe until the lackey's face began to grow red, beet red. "P-P-P-Pleeeea-sssse," choked out the foreman as David's hold continued to tighten. His eyes began to bulge out from their sockets, tongue protruding at an awkward angle from white lipped mouth as the pressure increased. His nostrils flared attempting to draw in suffucient air to breath, but to no avail. The choke hold tightened. "Did you not think I would notice the missing funds? Your suddenly fatter wallet? Did you think to steal from ME?" hissed David each word biting into the foreman like drops of burning acid. The hold continued to tighten. "Foolish man! Nobody cheats me. At least no one currently alive," he added with a low cruel chuckle. Face turning blue from lack of oxygen, the ex-foreman tried desperately to speak on his behalf only to emit a choked gurgle of sound. He attemped to struggle free of the hold, but is already to weak to break away. The master of M.E.E. casually lifted the foreman into the air until his feet hung flailing helplessly in the cold empty air. David grinned into the dying man's face. There was a certain indescribable pleasure in retribution. "You will cheat no one else ever again!" With a powerful sideways motion of his wrist he broke the swindler's fragile neck. A sickenly audible <snap> reverberated through the tent. David dropped the twitching corpse to the ground and brushed his hands together in satisfaction. "No never again," he whispered. Returning to his seat behind the desk, he yelled, "Spiner get your fat ass in here on the double!" The tent flaps flew open and Spiner the Miner rushed inside nearly tripping over the body of the ex-foremen. He gulped at the sight of his ex-boss eyes quickly taking in the bruised and broken neck, brain putting two and two together. Catiously he stepped over the body coming to a halt before the desk. "Sir?" "Spiner, my good man, this is your lucky day," grinned David. "You get a raise and are now my new mine foreman." He paused for a reaction, but the stunned miner just stared at him eyes occassionally twitching towards the limp body behind and to the side of him. "I'm counting on you, Spiner. Do a good job and you'll be rewarded. Perform poorly and," the master pointed to the body of the ex-foreman, "your reward will be a bit less than pleasant. Now, get out and get to work." Spiner turned ready to leave. He looked down at the body again a cold shiver passing through him at the gruesome sight. He was determined to avoid such a future. He would rather be a lowly farmer than dead. Resolutely he stepped over the corpse and headed for the exit. "Spiner. Get that stinking maggot out of my tent, too!" commanded David Minglewood as he reclined back in his chair and lit his pipe. "And make sure you give severance pay to his family with my regrets that things didn't work out." ######################################################################## The shipment from Lord Vox arrived at the Citadel site just before noon. The tired delivery-boy lurched in with his pack-horses full of boxes that tinkled and jangled, and was met by one of the drawbridge guards (a man who took his job seriously, in spite of the fact there was no drawbridge anywhere nearby). "Blood, right?" the guard queried, with a rather resigned expression. "Yep, more blood. Got 40 bottles of Padishah August vintage, 70 of Diamante August/September, and 200 carboys of Reynolds/Diamante fresh November. He wants those decanted, processed, rebottled and stored in the Citadel blood cellar. You got that finished, right?" The boy grinned, showing his sharp filed teeth, all the rage these days. The guard grimaced. "NO, you plathering excuse for a straw-sucking scavenger, it's not FINISHED! It's not even STARTED! How are we expected to get a Citadel built without any STONE! All we've managed to do so far is teach all the builders how to make mortar." The boy blanched a bit, turning his already pallid skin even whiter. "Uh, but, uh, what about that new stone from Olyzeke, didn't the horses get there and all...?" The guard's face turned a rather greenish shade of red. "Auuugh! Cad's quarrymen got into this big fight with PATO's transport, and went on strike...the horses all came back empty...I *HATE* being a foreman!" Suddenly the guard's face brightened just a bit. "But hey, check out this new mortar the builders came up with!" The boy's gaze followed the guards gesture, over to a giant vat of viscous burgundy-colored substance, which was being constantly stirred by a tired group of men. "Wow!" the boy exclaimed, eyes widening. "How'd you get stone mortar *that* color?" The guard just grinned. Understanding, then horror, grew on the boy's face. "Oh no. You didn't, like, uh, use that *last* shipment of blood to..." The guard grinned wider and nodded. "Great innovation, eh? Came up with it myself. A whole Citadel of the Northern Wind, stuck together with enemy blood. Smells nice, too. Think Lord Vox will like it?" The boy pursed his lips and sat down, a bit dizzy. "Well, uh, all I can say is, when he shows up here, I'd like *YOU* to tell him what happened to his favorite beverage." The guard's eyebrows furrowed a bit, wondering about this little implication. "And if *I* were you, I'd be wondering whose blood he's gonna be sippin' in the fall." But of course, our innovative guard wasn't the ONLY one pondering this question... ######################################################################## "Yaiieee, this is WONDERFUL news my dear Sheriff!" exclaimed the great mage Hobi slapping the Sheriff of Teba on the back. "Yes M'Lord?" puzzled the Sheriff. "But how could you be so joyous about the villain Larson's final decent from the mountain? With the enormous troup strength indicated by our principal tactician Sir Aubec, our forces will surely be crushed!" "Nonsense! The bigger the army, the bigger the stupidity when it is mis-directed." scoffed Hobi. "M'Lord, perhaps you didn't understand the report. Larson's army of over 1,500 men is currently IN Lorthalm with our forces. He will most certainly attack our forces THIS MONTH!" yelled the Sheriff. "Navarre...friend..." said Hobi quietly. "You have a great command of tactics but don't ever let that go to your head. Tactics alone cannot defeat a foe so efficient as our nemesis Larson. You must also possess gile and imagination. Also a thorough understanding of The Rules never hurts..." "The Rules, M'Lord?" "Just know this - that you should never become too cocky in your tactical knowledge Navarre. There is a greater force at work in our world than most mortals will ever know. There is a fabric which binds all behavior in Atlantis and this fabric is called 'The Rules'. But more importantly, there has occurred a tiny rift in this fabric which can be exploited by those of great awareness to alter reality." "Are you sure, M'Lord?" "Trust in me Navarre. Trust in me and The Great Cotugno Rules Change! We will pin down this nucklehead Larson's army so that it cannot move while we escape to pillage the softer underbellie regions of the evil economist lord. The best part is that it can be done with only two men! Of course, it is unfortunate that my dear friend and ally Sir Aubec must die..." "Aubec is going to die!?" gasped Navarre. What's more, it sounded to him as though the dark mage was going to sacrifice him! About the only thing Navarre was trusting in at that moment was that his resume' was up to date. This mage was clearly nuts! Hobi, seeing the expression of the Sheriff's face, smiled at his minion, "Have you already forgotten the mysterious manner in which Larson evaded complete destruction in the first battle of Lorthalm?" The Sheriff nodded. That had been most unexplainable. "It too puzzled me greatly. But I have spent these past months communing on occasion with the Great God Cotugno and have come to know his insights. They are mysterious indeed, but as they say - 'The Rules ARE The Rules.'" Yep, thought Navarre, he was definately going to be sending out those resume's. "Now leave me. I must concentrate my email, er, energies on channeling The Rules to the will of Sir Aubec." commanded Hobi. As the Sheriff began to leave, Hobi placed a hand upon his shoulder. "Oh, and Navarre...Send a communique to Larson. Ask him if he's ready to cooperate now that he's blundered in to my trap." ######################################################################## Map of Atlantis --- -- -------- January, 3 Edition Emperor Shaddam IV of the Padishah Empire ---> Send donations to unit #3! <--- Send new information and corrections to email address <ckim@skidmore.edu>. The most recent edition will be will be published in the Atlantis Times and will be mailed to the Atlantis mailing list. Please note that if no new information is received, new maps will not be published for that month. 111111111122222222223333 0123456789012345678901234567890123 0 -----O-------O-O------------------ 0 1 ----OSO------O-O------------------ 1 2 ---OSPSPP---O--OO----------------- 2 3 ----MPPO----O----O---------PM----- 3 4 ----PPP---------P----------OFP---- 4 5 -----S---O-----------------OFPO--- 5 6 -----P-----O---O-----------PPPPO-- 6 7 ------------O-O------------POPP--- 7 8 -------------O-------------POPPP-- 8 9 ----------------------------OOFO-- 9 10 ----------------------------OPSSO- 10 11 -----P----------------------OPPFMO 11 12 -----------------------------OOPO- 12 13 -----M---------------------------- 13 14 -----F---P------------------------ 14 15 -----P-M-------------------------- 15 16 -------P-------------------------- 16 17 --------SO------------------------ 17 18 ---------------------------------- 18 19 ---------------------------------- 19 20 ---------------------------------- 20 21 ---------------------------------- 21 22 ---------------------------------- 22 23 ---------------------------------- 23 24 ------------P--------------------- 24 25 ---------------------------------- 25 26 ---------------------------------- 26 27 ---------------------------------- 27 28 ---------------------------------- 28 29 ---------------------------------- 29 30 ---------------------------------- 30 31 ---------------------------------- 31 32 ---------------------------------- 32 33 ---------------------------------- 33 34 --------------O------------------- 34 111111111122222222223333 0123456789012345678901234567890123 Legend: F=Forest, M=Mountain, O=Ocean, P=Plain, S=Swamp Please note that row 34 is directly accessible from row 0 (Going north from (10,0) will get you to (10,34). This map has been printed on paper made of bamboo cloth. No animals were harmed in its production. All people who donate map information will remain anonymous. Your messages are deleted immediately after your data has been added to the map. ######################################################################## The head of Gnome Security twirled a dandilion stem between his fingers as he sauntered down the road leading to the farm on the north side of town. His woven straw hat, worn flannel shirt, and patched dungarees, held up by fraying rope in place of a belt, lent him the look of a simple peasant. It was a masterful disguise. He was in deep clover. Only Sergeant Dachsund and a few trusted men were informed of his plan to surreptitiously observe the talking horse at the farm where it was now being interred. Two men were standing with the horse in a corral, one holding onto the horse's halter, the other brushing him down. Hooker leaned on the wooden fence railing, trying to appear casual, then had to fight to keep a look of astonishment off of his face as he noticed a strange resemblance - between the men and the horse! As he temporarily forgot the horse, and examined the men more closely, the hair on the back of his neck began to rise as he recognized none other than the fugitives Lord Cucumber and Lord Zucchini! The horse caught him staring. "Hey guys, look, it's a G-man!", it said tauntingly with a couple of derisive snorts added in for good measure. "You can always tell by those gumshoes." Hooker looked down at his feet. Drat. He had forgotten one thing. His cover was blown. "All right, nobody move!" he commanded loudly, "You're all under arrest!" Cucumber and Zucchini, now coming to the realization that their cover was also blown, turned to run, but Sergeant Dachsund and a couple of men brandishing crossbows appeared from behind the barn to block their escape. * * * Clive wasn't sure what he should do. Neither Cucumber nor Zucchini had broken any laws in Morella, and both claimed vehemently that they had had nothing to do with any crimes committed by the late, notorious Lord Banana. Should he deliver them to Lord Falken and wash his hands of the whole affair? Rumors were running wild. In the week since they had been arrested, all kinds of stories had been circulated. An old man had taken one look at them as they were brought in and had run off ranting about the spawn of Kumquat's Monster. A man with a two-headed calf claimed that they were evil sorcerers who had put a hex on his prize cow (even though they had arrived months after the calf had been born). Three women were claiming that one or the other (or in one case both) had fathered their children and were demanding child support payments. An ugly lynch mob had gathered outside of the jail cell. Sergeant Dachsund was holding them at bay with a crossbow. Meanwhile, Zeke and Cody were providing guided tours of the barn where Cucumber and Zucchini had lived and selling souvenir straw cones. * * * In a remote, top-secret, government facility (a large barn painted in camouflage colors) Gnome scientists were hard at work on the "Morella Project", an attempt to breed a herd of talking horses which could be used to create a new type of smart-cavalry. On the basis of a theory supplied by Capt. Hooker, who was extraordinarily observant, (if not particularly talented at disguises), they had come to the tentative conclusion that the talking horse must be a result of the experiments of Baron Kumquat, namely a descendant of the offspring of the escaped monster and a filly. The only question was, why did the talking ability only manifest itself now? In the 25 years since the time of Baron Kumquat, nothing like this had ever been recorded. "Perhaps there have been talking horses in the past," theorized one scientist, "but they were too smart to get caught. Consider the watering-down effects of generations of breeding between the original offspring and normal horses. The intelligence of each generation would be decreased until one was stupid enough to talk in ranks." "That would mean, Leslie" replied another, "that if we use the talking horse we have now for further breeding, the offspring would be even more stupid. We need an alternative." "But Robert, we don't have the original monster to work with," added a third, "so what do you suggest? We can't use a normal human and a horse because we know that nothing results from attempting to cross-breed them. The example we have is obviously a special case resulting from the particular combination of horse and human parts used to create the monster, in conjuction with the unknown magic that brought it to life. But all of that knowledge was destroyed a long time ago, along with Baron Kumquat. We have no hope of duplicating the original monster. We can only work with what we have." "The talking horse we have now is not a normal horse. It still has some human capabilities", answered Robert, "so perhaps we can successfully cross-breed IT to a human and then use the resulting male offspring to reintroduce a high level of intelligence into the talking horse line." "Brilliant!" the other two exclaimed. "Let's ask your wife Kitty if she's willing to help out." * * * Upon being confronted with the proposition of the scientists, Kitty gasped and replied hotly, "I would doing anything for Gnomes, but I won't do THAT!" The scientists beat a hasty strategic retreat, then went off to find someone else. * * * Clive followed Leslie, the project administrator, on an inspection tour of the top-secret barn. The scientist had reported that the project was still in the experimental stages and that no results were guaranteed, but that they had found a volunteer for the next phase. They came to a stall door, which Leslie opened proudly. Clive stepped into the stall. An exhausted white horse lay snoring in the hay. Next to it lay a voluptuous, blond-haired woman, her naked body glistening with sweat. She languidly inhaled from a cigarette, then glanced up and regarded him with a look of sublime satisfaction in her large enchanting eyes. Clive's breath caught in his throat. "SIMONE!!!", he cried. ######################################################################## "What troubles you, my Lord Seneschal?" Cai turned a weary gaze towards the young aide, a wench from the Keswick plains who had but recently joined his retinue. "Know you how large is the domain which I am charged with managing?" "No, my lord." The aide's eyes shone, her mind full of the vast glory of the burgeoning empire which now commanded her alleigence. "Neither do I. It grows more cumbersome each month. It used to be a matter of minutes to determine whether there was too much iron for the weaponsmiths, or if more trainee longbowmen needed to be pressed into service. But now ... now the days are wearisomely long, and I feel as though I am losing touch with everything we do." The young aide smiled naively. "But that is why you have enlisted my services, my lord." ######################################################################## War of Ballandine Aggression, Report from the front #5 Dateline Lorthalm December Year 2 This turn there could be a massive battle in Lorthalm. I and my allies returned to Lorthalm for a rematch. This time we have a significant edge in total numbers and missile troops. Our swordsmen are not as trained, due to having all but 8 of my swordsmen wiped out in the First battle of Lorthalm. Good Guys Ballandines Swordsmen 506 653 Longbows 647 4 Crossbows 123 11 Others 322 233 Total 1598 901 The biggest weakness in our army is leadership. The Ballandine Aggressors are led by a skill 5 tactician, Sir Aubec. This ensures that they will get a "first shot" in the free round (note that if we take a single casualty, we can't launch any more attacks against avoiding troops). We have enough men though that Sir Aubec must make a very difficult decision. Lead the entire force of the Ballandines into battle, which will result in massive casualties on both sides, deny me tax revenue, but ensure that Sir Aubec lives to fight another day, or lead a token force into battle (and have the rest of the army avoid), which will result in the death of Aubec and his force and collection of taxes by the good guys, but allow the bulk of the Ballandine army to escape. Note that 300 of the "others" in my army are totally unskilled peasants recruited last turn in Lagos. Their presence in the front line will allow our forces to survive Aubec's free round and 2 full battle rounds, before the Ballandines break through to our missile troops and wizards. By this point they should already have exceeded 50% casualties. While their fighting skill is minimal, they have as good a chance to kill the sword skill 5 (riding 2) men in the Ballandine's Army as any swordsmen in my army (1%). Their recruitment also solved a potential overpopulation problem in Lagos. To return very briefly to economics (and hopefully annoy the Ballandines and Dr Vox), let me ask the following question: Given; A mountain (or forest) province with 1667-2000 peasants, that is fully taxed. Question: Who effectively ends up paying maintenance on the peasant population that exceeds 1667? Next week: Results of the Second battle of Lorthalm. Depending on Sir Aubec's decision, there could be a 1000+ casualties and 40+ lightning bolts thrown. 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" ######################################################################## What are ships worth ? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Well it has often been said that something is worth what you can sell it for. I am all for haggling and i believe that any price is negociable, but it is still helpfull to get some sort of base worth for the vessles. I base my calculation on what i consider to be the maximum reasonable price | for a ship-builder to charge for a boat. Of course __|__ if the buyer desperately needs to escape an | advancing army then it can cost more, a lot more. ___|___ I base my 'maximum reasonable costs' on assuming | that the builders workers are level 2. ___|___ At level 2 a clipper requires 100 man months of ___|___ wood and 100 man months of shipbuilding. I base \ : / my worth of people on what they Could have been \ : / doing instead, thus assuming they had been level 2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ entertainers they could have brought in 200 man months of level 2 entertainment which is $8000. If the shipbuilder has level 3 builders then only 67 are required but they could have brought in the same $8000 as entertainers and so the price is independent of the skill involved. Of cource if the wood producing area cannot support entertainers due to overpopulation or heavy taxing then the builders could not have been entertainers instead but that does not reduce the price of the ship. The extra cost for transportation of the wood to a costal area is negligable if horses are used and in year three no-one should be still hauling merchandise about by foot. Thus the cost of ships are as follows /~~~~-,._ | TYPE |Wood Required| Capacity | Cost | '~-~-_~ ~-_ |----------|-------------|----------|--------| \ ~ ~ ~-_ | Longboat | 100 | 200 | $ 4000 | _|_ | ~ ~ ~ | Clipper | 200 | 800 | $ 8000 | _|_ / ~ ~ ~ | Galleon | 300 | 1800 | $12000 | \ / /~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Some people might argue that a Galleon is worth more than three times a Longboat as it can carry nine times the cargo but i disagree. Longboats will always have their place even in the end years as exploring with a Galleon is wastefull and i would rather have to go to sea in two Longboats than 2/3 of a Galleon :) . The above article was created by Ekij of the MUSADites (133). reachable at u9127658@athmail.causeway.qub.ac.uk ######################################################################## From the Chronicles of The Brotherhood of Northern Warriors January, Year 3 - Lorthalm Sergeant Erik stood, looking across the table at the rows of men who had gathered to share the morning's meal with him. His hand fell unconsciously to the hilt of the knife he wore at his belt as he began to speak. "Brothers," he said, "I greet you. May Odin the Allfather smile upon you. May Thor the Thunderer smite your enemies." He paused after the ritual greeting, then went on. "Today we march into what is certain to be an epic battle. Indeed, it will be a battle the likes of which have, I believe, never before been seen on this world of Atlantis. It will be a battle as great as it will be terrible, and there will be much honor to be won." He paused again, then continued, repeating his opening sentence. "Today we march into what is certain to be an epic battle. And tonight, we will celebrate what is certain to be a glorious victory!" He had to wait several minutes, while the warriors cheered, before he was able to resume his speech. When he did, his voice had a solemn tone that had not been there before. "Some of us," he said, "will feat here amongst the plains of Lorthalm, once more a free land. And some of us will feast in much more honored company, in the halls of Odin. For I kid you not, we march into grave danger. But grave danger, faced with great honor, is not a thing to fear." There was a long period of silence, as each warrior considered the import of these words. Many of them would be dead before the sun went down that evening. But they took a measure of faith in their leader's reassurance. "Now," he said, "finish your meals, then go to your weapons. Those of you who have armor, do not neglect it. Let no man fail to do his duty, to himself, his faction, and his brother. When we meet again, it will be to march to war!" The crowd once again burst into cheering, and Erik sat down to finish his breakfast, though he no longer felt the least bit hungry. * * * The sun shone brightly that afternoon, and it was reflected off a thousand points. Erik looked down the ranks of his troops, and thought the warriors looked ready. Beside them, Larson's troops were arrayed, and together the army numbered more than a thousand. Swordsmen in front, some mounted others on foot. Interspersed amongst them were the milia, simple peasants armed only with pitchforks and case knives. Erik was saddened when he looked at these poor men, who he knew would be slaughtered in the battle to come. But how could you tell a man he could not defend his family, and his land? You could not. So the milia would fight at the sides of the warriors, and surely the bards would long sing of their courage. Behind them were rows and rows of archers and bowmen, their faces grim and ready. And in the very back stood the council of wizards, eleven in all. Drawn from Larson's faction, the Blue Wizards, and the Musketeers, as well as the Brotherhood, they were lead by the Lady Rowena, who had taught them all to throw lightning bolts from their fingers. Erik knew that she wished she could be by the side of her husband, the Lord Falken. And Falken, he knew, would have given almost anything to be able to be here, leading the troops to battle. But he could not be, yet, and it was therefore Erik's job. He gave the army one last look, then turned his gaze towards the enemy, who waited for them below. Surprise was not possible in the wide open plains of Lorthalm, and the Paladins and their allies would be ready for them. There was nothing else for it, but to begin the charge. Raising the war horn to his lips, Erik blew a loud, clear note, followed by several more in rapid succession. It was the signal. Instantly, the air filled with arrows and bolts. There was a crackling boom as the first of the lightning bolts was hurled over the heads of the attackers. The swordsmen and milia in the front line let loose with their war cries, and the battle was on. ######################################################################## =-=-= END TIMES 301 =-=-= ######################################################################## Up