Catostrophy

The Commonwealth of Ruhn "To Him we give our praise, to Them, we thank for our blessings. To Him, we beg for their protection, to Them, we honour their memory. Vessels discarded--holy and sanctified. Laid as link--witness through bone. Watch and wait--patience of eternity. Their duty is finished--their Duty has now begun. His power, their Hand." -The Rite of Interment The chanting of the Temple acolytes was observed by a silent throng of commoners and nobles alike in the Grave Garden. The rattling of the priest's bone-covered vestments were the only noise breaking the otherwise venerable silence as the body of Hanz Bruger was lowered into his resting place. It would be improper to cry at such a time, as he was not truly lost. He had gone to join the ancestors in the serenity of the afterlife to watch over his descendants and the people of Ruhn. There, he would be with He-That-Waits, and whisper the prayers of his family to Him. As the Acolytes carefully covered the grave with soft earth, the crowd quietly evaporated. The man’s son had donated a finger-bone to the Temple, and the acolytes were very eager to place it with the others. Grave gardens were not as morbid as the name might imply. If a visitor had not been told that the dead were buried beneath the dark green grass, they might think the land was a public park. Beneath the shady willows and wildflowers, the dead were interred into the earth as per tradition. Graves themselves were unmarked, so one could always expect to dig up another’s ancestor or two. Aside from the slight awkwardness of it, the act wasn’t profane—the acolytes would re-sanctify the bones and be reburied. If burying them again wasn’t an option, the remains would be built into holy necklaces, staves, and apparel for the priests, or crafted into idols for smaller shrines around the Commonwealth. Even in death, the citizens would perform their duties. It was important for the dead to be honored, and in this place they could all be honored the best. Lord Chancellor Johann Bruger gave one last silent prayer toward the place his father had been buried. Some day another would be interred in the same spot, and he wished to say his final farewell while his body was still mostly whole. By the graces of his other ancestors, he wished his father well in his new Duty. He only managed five steps before the first of the day’s problems trudged up towards him. “Humble blessings, my Lord,” a short, wiry man with a thick beard wheezed as his quickly removed his hat. “I pray your father had an easy passing?” Johann nodded slowly. Lord Treasurer Fitzroy Velburg was an opportunist at core, and the most aggressive bean-counter in parliament. Though he was respectful in holy places, he straddled the line of decency as closely as possible. “It was dignified and silent, much like the man himself. It took a whole night, however.” Johann looked to the acolytes walking back to the chapel. “Though I know Him to be infinitely patient, I imagine even He was tired of waiting.” Fitzroy nodded quickly, showing a surprising amount of sympathy. “May he judge you fairly.” “Walk with me, Lord Treasurer,” Johann commanded as he departed the garden. A sycophant he may have been, but Velburg could always be relied upon for timely reports. The pair ambled down the merchant’s road toward the Grey Manor. A sea of black, white, and brown coats and hats shunted around the busy street. Silent, mail-clad guards watched them carefully and ran down cut-purses and pickpockets among the crowd. They stood to attention as the lords passed, and even the local merchants and market-goers bowed reverentially. The less scrupulous offered discounts on their wares to the pair, but were politely ignored. “The Hakanites and Karel welcome our merchants happily, my Lord. No doubt we’ll be seeing their stalls among our own soon enough.” “A fine way to report that the Free Cities have declined our offer.” “Ah, well, yes. They have indeed refused. But what does it matter, my Lord? They are but profligate heathens! If I recall, however, we do have some soldiers still in the area...” Johann sighed. “What are a few heathen farmsteads compared to the prosperity of the Commonwealth, Lord Bruger? A few burghers and caravans cleaved could certainly make the Free Cities reconsider-“ Johann stopped in his tracks and stared down the Treasurer with a cold glare. “Your advice is noted, but I will confer with the appropriate authorities on the use of our axes. Now, if you will excuse me...” The Lord Chancellor marched away from the frustrated treasurer as quickly as possible towards his private quarters in the Grey Manor. It was true what was said about funerals—they were more likely to make one irritable than sad. Gold Accumulation: Base: 9000, Merchant’s Guilds: 6000, Taxes: 7500, Trade: 2000, Vault: 2000, Military Upkeep: -3000. Total: 21,000 gold. Spending: -At the request of First Rector Melchior Hoffman, a larger, centralized temple is to be constructed in out of respect for the ancestors and He-That-Waits. Many of the older citizens are giddy at the opportunity to be the first interred within the grand structure. (-10,000 gold towards a Temple) -Colonists from the mountains begin settling along the newly claimed western riverlands. The first farms begin to spring up, no doubt with more coming in later years. (-5000 gold towards farmlands) -To act as both an administration centre and drop-off point for millet and barley, a small settlement is established right at the river’s fork. (-5000 gold towards settlement, represented by the arrow) -The remaining 1000 gold is placed in the vault for future use. (Total of 3000 gold in the vault) -Missives are sent to the Realm of Hakkan to inform local merchants that the Commonwealth is seeking to hire two ships with generously proportioned cargo holds for an expedition to the south. Prices are negotiable. Stats: Population: 2,612,500 citizens. Cities & Investments: Ruhn (Merchant’s Guild, Temple [next turn]) Bruger (Merchant’s Guild) Riveruhn (settlement) [Next turn] Defensive Structures: Fortress Bergen Other Investments:

”What did that guar ever do to you, outlander? You n’wah!”

Commonwealth of Ruhn In the windy southern mountains, the droning warble of a bugle echoed between the crags and cliffs of the rocky climes. A formation of clanking, jingling soldiers marched in unison down a wide, cobblestone road that weaved between the high peaks. The small unit was on a standard - albeit pointless - patrol along the stretch of the Vulture Highway; the long, winding road between Ruhn and Bruger. It was pointless in that there hadn't been a single bandit on the road since the Vulture Wars. The Commonwealth had butchered every degenerate mob of rabble from East to West. At the head of the procession marched a captain, only discernible from the other troops by the red cloak he wore. His eyes were fixated on the dancing black shapes further down the road. They were unmistakably the vultures that the highway was named for. There were far fewer of them since the fighting had ended, but their presence always foreshadowed a corpse on the road. Sure enough, the unit stumbled upon a cart with squawking vultures scattering away from the carrion. As per their training, the soldiers unlimbered their axes and raised their shields. Most "civilised" countries used swords for their infantry, but swords required finesse. Any peasant could swing an axe, and in these mountains breaking shields was more important than a timely riposte or stab. With the crossbowmen behind the shield-bearing soldiers, they formed a circle around the cart while the captain surveyed the scene. He could tell it was a standard tribal attack even with the vultures having their way with the corpses. The removal of the heads and mutilation of the genitals pointed clearly at that conclusion. The victims were a father and son, yet surprisingly no mother was present. She would probably have been taken for their "amusement," if she existed. Most likely she was dead by now anyway, so they needn't hurry in their investigation at least. One of the soldiers called him over to a trail of footprints and blood. Standard orders were to track malcontents and deliver lawful Commonwealth justice. The captain left ten men behind to deal with the remains of the man and the boy--it would be disrespectful to their souls and ancestors to leave them for the birds if they could help it. The dour party, ninety men strong, moved off-road and followed the trail of the tribesmen. The savages were poor at covering their tracks, and one of their party was bleeding badly. At around midday they found the mother. The tribesmen had treated her poorly. Had her throat not been sliced to the bone, her other varied injuries would have seen her depart regardless. Perhaps she would have preferred death by then, judging by her other injuries? The captain made note of this as he tallied up their crimes; robbery, murder, dishonoring the righteous dead, and now this. Two men were left behind to deal with the woman's remains, and perform the ancestral rite. She would be honoured appropriately, buried, and then the two would join the others back on the road. The remaining host continued following the trail. After hours of marching up and down steep slopes, they spotted smoke in the waning sunlight. A camp of forty, dressed in furs and tattered cloth. The majority of their men appeared to be old, or adolescent. The fathers of the boys must have been killed during the Fighting. The younger ones must have just touched manhood, thus the elders thought it best to teach them tribal ways. Perhaps the elders took the young widows as wives? The captain ordered his men to stay put, and out of sight. As darkness fell and the savages returned to their tents, the soldiers surrounded the camp. The sentries were quickly dispatched with a few, well-placed crossbow bolts. One elder had attempted to scream with two bolts in his lungs. It amused the troops, at the very least. The axe-wielding soldiers marched into the camp itself, and the slaughtering began in earnest. What few fuzz-chinned warriors awoke offered little resistance to trained killers. The tents were drenched in blood as axes landed on soft, unprotected bodies. Shrill screams echoed around the mountains as each man was dragged from his tent and methodically dismembered. The captain himself was not exempt from this work--he himself delivered the appropriate punishment to multiple tribesmen in the camp. Spotting a unspoiled tent, the captain tore down the fur that covered the entrance, and spotted two profligates cowering at the back. A mother and her young daughter. The woman looked up at captain with a face of fear, anger, and hatred. She babbled out in broken Ruhnnic begging for mercy, as she hugged her confused and sleepy daughter tightly. It was good that she drew the girl so close to her. One less swing to make. With a vile, violent crunch, the captain delivered Ruhn's law to the two dangerous criminals, and departed for the next tent. Ruhnnic Parliamentary Citizen’s Missive All citizens are informed that the Lord Chancellor and his cabinet, with approval of the gathered Lord Ministers, have ratified the Ruhn Expansion and Reclamation Act of 1500. It is the opinion of the Parliament that in order to safeguard the future prosperity and safety of the Commonwealth the borders of the nation must extend to both deter aggressive acts on her core territories and obtain important resources. The Commonwealth is currently seeking citizens with a penchant for forestry, farming, and adventure to be sponsored as pioneer colonists. One ought seek the Commonwealth State magistrate’s office for further information and documentation. Those unable to read or write may request a reading from the magistrate, but this may incur monetary compensation depending on the hour. All documentation must be signed with the individual name or special mark unique to that individual. X’s are no longer considered legal declarations of consent due to influxes fraudulently signed paperwork. With patience, and in duty, The Commonwealth Parliament. Treasury Expenditure: 45,000 gold for this turn. -18,000 gold for two merchant’s guilds. -10,000 gold for 10 unit’s worth of iron armour, -15,000 gold towards farmlands expansions. -2000 gold placed in the great vault. (Total of 2000) Misc. Actions: Offers of trade are sent outward into the surrounding nations of: -The Free Cities of Triad, -The Kingdom of Five, -The Realm of Hakan, -Kingdom of Karel. Even if some of them contain unusual looking humans, the Commonwealth citizens do not judge for the most part. All people who enter Ruhn are advised not to disrespect the shrines and priests present there, lest they themselves wish to be added to the shrines themselves. A great honour for any Ruhnnite. 4,000 Ruhnnic Soldiers march out of the mountains on the first phase of Ruhn’s expansion plans. 2,000 march west, securing and claiming the lands before the river, but avoiding the lands already claimed by the Free Cities--not wishing to cause problems with a possible trade partner. 2,000 march east to the ocean, both to secure the remaining land and investigate reports of a construct seen in the distance. Statistics: Population: 2,500,000 Cities & Investments: Ruhn, Bruger, Defensive Structures: Foretress Bergen, Other Investments:

Nation Name: Commonwealth of Ruhn History: The mountain ranges squashed between the Hungry Sea, Trader’s Bay, and the Scorching Loba Desert had always been a haven for exiles, miscreants, smugglers, bandits, and all manner of uncivilized sorts. During the time of the great collapses, towns of refugees started popping up in the steep crags. Of course, with civilization comes organisation, and with organisation comes war. Raiding was rampant, confederacies came and went, new towns were founded and wiped out overnight, and blood poured down the mountains in thick, pungent rivers. This was the case until the City of Ruhn consolidated itself. Its natural defensive position high on a mountain made taking the city via conventional means almost impossible. Thus, people flocked to it in a bid to escape the chaos outside. This not only bolstered the city’s numbers, but filled it to the brim with all manner of displaced specialists and warriors--all of whom were desperate for protection, and willing to swear allegiance to whomever could provide it. To keep order, leaders from tribes, tributary towns, and local warlords were invited into the Ruhn governing authority, evolving into a (somewhat) meritocratic commonwealth over time. As the centuries dragged on, Ruhn slowly consolidated its hold over the mountains. Its greatest strength was its willingness to take in anyone and everyone, regardless of crime, ability, or faith. One of the most repellent faiths managed to find a home among the dour and hard-minded Ruhnnites--that of the God of Death. Its worship shaped the people of Ruhn just as the faith was shaped by them. Piety was prized among the people, who saw the God of Death not as a destroyer or plague-bringer, but as a gentle guide and protector of their ancestors. Great crypts and grave-gardens housed generations of families who visited and honoured their memories with offerings and prayers. The edifices of human bones that adorned the temples were symbols of serenity and unity, and almost every family had bones on the great alters. At the dawn of the new era, Ruhn found itself in a long war with a neighboring city of similar circumstances. A decade of conflict passed with armies butchering one-another along the Vulture Highway between the cities, until the rival metropolis was captured and purged. Thousands of bones now adorned wayshrines along the roads, as a testament to the dominance of Ruhn, and in honor of the fallen and He-That-Waits—the nameless lord of the hereafter. Now that their dominance over the mountains is secure, they have begun looking beyond the peaks. The people of Ruhn are survivors at their core, and they do not fear death. Culture: “Grim” would be the best word to describe Ruhnnites. This is partly due to hardship, and the bloody mountain wars still fresh in many people’s memories. Though there are times of merriment and levity in Ruhn, most people consider excessive celebration to be improper. Clothing rarely carries much colour due to few pigments being available in the mountains. The worship of ancestors and He-That-Waits are the primary pillars of faith. Their dogma exemplifies acts of duty and gratitude from the living towards the departed, for they judge and aid their descendants. Similarly the departed punish them for blasphemy or lapses in their duties. Though the services and prayers to the dead can differ drastically between towns and regions, it matters little as long as they are honored appropriately. Bones are gladly donated to the shrines and temples, as the priests will reverently add them to great idols believed to ward off cruel spirits from the sanctified places. The resting places of the dead are tended to by both priests and the families. These can range from beautifully decorated crypts carved into the mountainside, to gardens of graves where commoners may communally visit their ancestors and priests may tend many at once. The ancestors are said to pass the prayers on to He-That-Waits, and worshipers hope to gain his protection, and thank him for watching over their honored dead. If there was one word to describe Ruhnnites overall, it would be ‘dutiful.’ Race: Human Nation Government System: An aristocratic parliamentary commonwealth with a Lord Chancellor overseeing executive decisions, while laws and general governance are debated and voted on within the parliament. Though the Lord Chancellor is a hereditary post, his chief advisers and top positions in his “cabinet” are selected from the parliament based on their skill. This all takes place in the Grey Manor -- the former palace of Hanz Bruger -- which acts as the primary seat of government within the Commonwealth. Economy: 6 Trade flourishes on the mountainsides, despite the poor conditions. A sordid history of crime, smuggling, and fierce ‘competition’ have made merchants a noble class of their own, though they have the good fortune to be able to ignore the politics. Education: 3 Educated people are not altogether unknown, but it’s mostly found among those who can afford it. Size: 4 Ruhn is a relatively small place, but out sized by its ambitions. Military: 4 The soldiers are still recovering after the Vulture Wars, but are no pushover. (6,000 medium infantry, 4,000 medium archers) Mysticism: 4 Respect your ancestors, and know them well. For they hear your prayers, and whisper them to He-That-Waits... Key figure 1: Lord Chancellor Johann Bruger Key Figure 2: Lord Protector Charles Ortmeir Key Figure 3: Lord Treasurer Fitzroy Velburg Unique Unit: Hillmen ??? Spooky fruit: lichi

“Do not be offended, good Mali’ame. Though most non-Mali’aheral are equally lesser than ourselves, our Elven cousins are above the other descendants by a grand margin. I think that to be a nice thought, wouldn’t you agree?”

Synth-Wine Currently 50% Off at All Participating Stores! The barren, rocky landscape of Hades rapidly passed below the luxury transport. One of the finest, automated flyers to come out of Rudolf-Kessler Automotive that year, it was the current rage in subsidiary admin and executive circles. Alaya Penrith wasn’t entirely comfortable with the prospect of having no pilot, but lately she had found privacy very attractive. Being able to drink while in the transport also appealed, where other private vehicles would require her to be entirely sober. Certainly no fun to be had there. She sighed, and leaned back in her hand-made leather seat. “Olga,” she spoke to the autopilot after another sip of wine, “how much longer until we reach our destination?” The transport’s computer only accepted human languages, which bothered her. English and German were barbarous, unpleasant languages to vocalize. They lacked the subtle and smooth nuances of the Terraskolarian and Sayrn language trees. The calm, female voice of the autopilot answered. “Approximately two hours, twenty-three minutes, Frau Penrith, not accounting for local smog-fields and traffic.” Alaya smiled and swirled the wine in her glass. The anticipation was nearly unbearable. At first she was in tears when Ryan Seacrest brought her the evidence of John’s infidelity, but now she only felt righteous anger, and vengeful glee at the brutality of her next move. She would reap the field of the past fifteen years and make his life a living hell. She could still remember the day John Penrith had walked into the Grand Alliance’s psionic academy. So confident and funny, he was. And how playful he was with his words when they first met. She was barely sixteen at the time--so young. So utterly naive and stupid. Fifteen years she put up with lonely nights, and lonelier days. He grew increasingly distant as the years dragged on until they only saw one-another every few weeks. She had foolishly thought he was busy being a CEO, now it seemed so much more obvious. If only her anchor hadn’t arrived, she would be happily divorced a decade ago. One must always do right by one’s children, even if they were irritating. But in the here and now, there was very little wine left; very little wine and so many, many hours to go. She had noted that one of the transport’s features was a built-in local holo-communications system. There was a fire burning in the depths of her stomach, and she was ready to spew it out vitriol and all. “Olga, please connect me to John Penrith.” She tilted her glass up high, and emptied it in one gulp. She wanted to see his face sink when she told him, and she couldn’t wait any longer. “Ja, Mrs Penrith. Sending contact request codes. Your call will connect soon. Thank you for utilising Quant-Tel Local Holo-Call.” Alaya rolled her eyes with a sigh. Even the smaller Hephaestus eccentricities were beginning to grate on her. After a tense moment of electrical beeps and buzzes, the stern face of John Penrith flickered on the holo-display. Cigar in one hand, and pouring a glass of whiskey in the other, the man seemed almost resigned. Perhaps he suspected she knew? “Hello, Alaya.” He said monotonously. “I thought you had another week on Aphrodite? I hoped you’d at least finish that very expensive holiday-“ “Don’t you lecture me on money, you cheating, pre-spaceflight monkey.” She spat, digging her fingernails into the leather armrest. “I came back early because I have some choice words for you and those whores you’ve been entertaining.” John clenched his jaw, and slowly extinguished his cigar in a crystal ashtray. “Name your price.” Ayala paused. This was not the reaction she had anticipated. John was usually far more animated when they habitually argued. “My price?” She stammered. “Yeah, sweetheart. How much money do you want so you won’t tell anyone?” John wasn’t even looking her in the eye, but instead staring at the bottom of his whiskey glass. This seemed to deeply annoy her for some reason. “Well let’s see, John. How much is my entire youth worth in HEcreds? Adding in a little extra for a decade of humiliation, childbirth, and wasted affection, I’m rather sure you don’t have enough money to give me.” John closed his eyes and nodded. He looked very uncomfortable, and this was at least a teensy bit satisfying. “I’ll tell you what I do want, though,” she continued. “I’d like a little bit of Hephaestus stock. Specifically, your stock, John. About half of it would be ample compensation, along with the divorce papers, yes?” John rubbed his temple and shook his head slowly. “You know I can’t do that.” “Ah but you see, John,” Alaya grinned. This would be the first time she’d ever invoked this little power. Her voice was almost shaking with excitement. “If you don’t give me this stock, I will inform my brother, Emperor Datrax, that you have been cheating on his sister all this time. I have a feeling the Lithruans will be far less disposed towards Hephaestus. All those trade contracts, all that good-will, ‘poof.’ Finished.” Her grin widened as John looked her in the eye for the first time. She wasn’t really sure what emotion he was experiencing at this moment. Fear? Anger? Entrapment? It was almost like a combination of all three, and she loved it. “I guess I don’t have a choice, then.” He murmured. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” “Save your apologies for when I arrive, John.” She snapped with a poisonous sneer. “You can blubber them as you sign the papers.” “Yeah, nah.” John shook his head, as he pulled out a second cigar. “Don’t think so, mate. You should have negotiated seriously.” And with that, the transmission cut. Much to the surprise of Alaya—the nerve of that bastard! Was he planning to weather the media storm? “Frau Penrith,” The transport’s computer chimed. “Are you sure you want to activate manual controls? It is not recommended for pilots without credentials.” Alaya stared at the autopilot’s speaker in her tipsy stupor. “What?” “Affirmative, activating manual controls.” The transport’s nose suddenly dipped towards the earth. The screaming engines only barely eclipsed Alaya’s own shrieks of terror as the craft barreled downwards. Though her instincts drove her to grasp the controls, they weren’t responsive. Manual control was activated, but it was not connected to her transport. “Current projections indicate that you may experience an accident on this route.” The autopilot calmly stated. “Do you wish to change your destination?” Alaya proceeded to scream her approval for the idea. “Error,” the autopilot continued, “The term ‘destination’ is not recognized. Please choose your new destination.” Alaya had stopped screaming. The ground was close. Her mind was blank. She inhaled sharply. The craft smashed into an ancient impact crater, the engine igniting the oxygen in the cockpit and creating a brief, sputtering explosion in the vacuum of Hades’ airless barrens. The smoldering wreck quickly cooled, but within the twisted metal a tiny power unit remained online. “Warning,” an electronic voice addressed to no-one in particular. “Restoring black-box to factory default will delete all previous flight data. Are you sure you wish to continue?” After a short moment of silence, the voice rang out for the last time. “Affirmative, factory settings restored. Thank you for purchasing Rudolf-Kessler Automotives’ Falcon omni-environmental executive transport. Please refer to the operation manual to activate your black-box flight recorder.” But there was no answer. John Penrith closed his holo-comm. He was silent for a moment, before lighting up his cigar and taking a long drag. “Bloody shame, that.” He mumbled. “Still, it was necessary to keep the Corporation’s integrity, yeah?” “Oh yeah, b-boss. Definitely!” Wilfred Cooper squeaked from his chair while wiping a hefty trickle of sweat from his balding head. “Threatening Hephaestus with her brother? T-that’s downright f-f-fiendish! No other choice, for sure!” “I agree,” Roxanne Marawai purred as she waltzed up to John’s chair wearing an expression of convincing sympathy. “Though the hag definitely had it coming, there was simply no negotiating with her. I think you should give her an auspicious funeral and you can wash your hands of this.” With a dancer’s grace, she leaned over to his ear, and whispered something breathy and indecent. Though no-one could hear it, it definitely made the CEO smile. “Well, I guess aside from the cleanup, that’s all dealt with.” John turned to the two silent figures still sitting in the room. “How’s that going, by the way?” The oldest of the pair appeared somber as he shut down and carefully disassembled a mobile command console. The youngest was trying and failing to mask his beaming pride. “The flyer’s box has been wiped.” Jim Bean stated plainly. “I’ll make sure the investigation comes to the right conclusion, and dispose of my local recording.” He didn’t look at John once as he spoke—something the CEO took note of. “And you,” John turned to the younger man. “This Ryan Seacrest bloke been dealt with yet?” Liam Fulamius smiled mischievously and nodded. “Better than dealt with, Mr Penrith. Once I’m done, this guy won’t ever have existed!” “Good.” John nodded at Liam with a smile. “You were smart to bring this to me directly. Really saved the Corporation one hell of a headache. You’re probably owed a decent promotion for all this. What do you reckon, Jim?” The old negotiator nodded as he finished packing up the terminal. “You’re the boss, Mr Penrith.” “Yes. Yes I am.” He swung around in his large, leather armchair and stared out into the industrial jungle that littered the skyline. Regarding it quietly for a moment, he glanced back at his employees. “You lot bugger off, yeah? I’d like some time alone.” As they filed out, Roxanne gazed at him with a small smile which John happily returned. “After dinner, Rox.” She winked at him, and glided towards the elevator with the others. In the silence of his office, John gazed down at the billowing smokestacks of Hades, and slowly exhaled. It was like an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders--or more accurately, a frustrating obligation had been removed from his life. He felt slightly giddy, and turned to his desk. “Command: Access: Music files: play ‘Straight Lines,’ by Silverchair.” As the music began, he loosened his tie, and stood up from his chair. He began to dance. An investigation into the disappearance of Alaya Penrith began after she failed to arrive at the Hab 01 docking airlock. Witnesses and recordings from the spaceport confirmed she had arrived on Hades and departed the port the same evening. After searching probable flight paths, rescue teams discovered the wreckage of a transport that matched the model of Alaya’s and a singular deceased occupant. Though identification was difficult due to the damage to her body, DNA confirmed her identity. Examining her cadaver, Corporate morticians reported that her blood had a high alcohol content. HERMES examinations of the flyer indicated that the manual controls had been activated midway through her journey. Though they hoped for a flight recording, it appeared that Alaya hadn’t activated her black-box. The investigation concluded that Mrs Alaya Penrith had, under the influence of alcohol, switched to her manual controls and due to her lack of piloting accreditation or experience crashed her transport. When questioned, witnesses stated that she had entered her flyer with alcohol in hand and appeared to be in a hurry. CEO John Penrith was unavailable for comment outside of standard investigation procedure, but requested that all Corporate news subsidiaries show respect for his family during this time of mourning or be fired. Having so recently lost his father, Hephaestus Employees felt nothing but sympathy for their beleaguered employer. Some wondered if he would ever recover from the cavalcade of tragedies. His daughter also had not been seen for some time, and it was assumed the drastically reduced family were spending time together. AP TO COME LATER.

In your own words, what is really wrong with the DragonSlayerElf community?

“If you seek your lover’s heart, you need a long, sharp knife!” -Ixthalizzum, God of Indecision, Confusion, Derangement, and Irony. Ixthalizzum was, for the first time in aeons, given a sense of purpose! After an argument in the great Void with his fellow gods, something had become clear(ish) to him. Love was real, love between gods was totally righteous, but most importantly... … Ixthalizzum, due to his ever-changing form, was infinitely attractive. This final revelation was an immense confidence-boost for the otherwise (maybe) shy and (possibly) reserved God that he was. As he probably loved all his brother and sister Gods equally, he decided he would court them all at once! How could they reject someone as mathematically alluring as herself? However, there was one pressing problem-- --Ixthalizzum had no game. He had no idea how to court, as such a thing was not part of his nature. Being unable to decide on a course of action, he cast his gaze to his beloved Thallites to observe how mortals performed their own courtship rituals. He spied two Thallites sitting near one-another in a cave, awkwardly touching their gnarled grasping-limbs together. One, after a few minutes of trepidation, suddenly pulled from his pouch three objects; a polished stone, a generously-proportioned mushroom, and a desiccated cave-beetle. Fine gifts to be sure, but could such things inspire love between mortals? The receiving Thallite hissed and gurgled in pleasure. So happy she was that she suffered a brief manic episode and began to strangle her suitor. This was only temporary though, and the both of them embraced one-another’s face-tentacles in an expression of tender romance. The whole sight brought tears to a thousand of Ixthalizzum’s eyes. He gifted them both visions of his screaming thanks for showing him the beauty of love. As he left them to recover from their duel aneurysms, he analysed what he saw so that he might scale the act up to the level of godhood. What he knew mostly for certain was that she needed to take things slowly. He/she/it would start with a thoughtful gift. Each God had their own interests and desires, and gifts had to be suited to each accordingly. She didn’t think he had the power to court all of them this era, but he’d do what he could. He could not cut corners in the pursuit of love. He first looked to Exitius. They had differences in the past. He could remember almost perfectly the time he had insulted the madgod in her crag. The words were hurtful, but there was such... passion in his proclamations that Ixthalizzum could not help but be intrigued. What did the Lord of Destruction like? Mountains, certainly, and destruction. He also liked fighting, conquering, and large, female, bipedal lizards. With a spark of inspiration, he set to work on his grand gesture of equal forgiveness and romance. To the south of his dragon-things burgeoning empire, he pulled a great mantle of iron from the depths of the world. With the precision of the world’s greatest craftsmen, he shaped it and formed it until it uncannily resembled the great mountain on Exitium that the Lord of Destruction once fought the madgod over. Though it was definitely smaller than the original, its size was nothing to sniff at--being as it could be seen from hundreds of miles away rising from the ground in a crescendo of super-heated rock and flowing magma. At the very top of the new mountain was an enormous monument to commemorate the love they might possibly share. It was a statue depicting an idealised version of Exitius, standing tall and stern. And sensually wrapped around his body was an image of the formless mass of Ixthalizzum, but this rendition of the madgod wore a mask that resembled the Venandi ‘Rhea’ Exitius liked so much. Ixthalizzum screamed in joy at his own thoughtfulness, before moving on to his next paramour... Wol-Kot. What did Wol-Kot like? He liked darkness, secrets, pyramids, darkness, dreams, souls, darkness, nightmares, and darkness. It was almost as if inspiration struck him like a brick. After a short moment of deciphering the confusing language of his “Soggy-Korgath,” he threw his essence towards the desert continent. He dove into the sandy dunes within viewing distance of the newish manse of Sylvaniel, and pushed down until he found what he sought--obsidian; the darkest substance he could imagine within the marble world. He pulled as much of it together as he could, and flung it up to the surface in its super-heated and smoking form causing much of the surrounding desert sand to be rendered glass by the act. Finally, he threw the obsidian, more sand, and his love into a great mixture, and moulded it together until it took the form of a pyramid. An upside-down pyramid, yes, but it was close enough. The deciphered writing of Wol-Kot were inscribed all across its surface with the barest of literacy. Much like Wol-Kot’s own temple, it was a history of the world but from the madgod’s perspective, interspersed with repulsive, sappy overtures of love toward the Dreaming God. Or the “dreamy” God as Ixthalizzum preferred to write. He bade that Wol-Kot should give permission for the madgod to enter his dreams this time, and together they would make “more than just the worms, if you catch my drift.” He didn’t really have access to souls, but he abducted a few Myrdians and splattered them on the pyramid’s base. That was probably what he would like. Squibbling with pride at his artistry and scripture, he smiled gleefully at the prospect of his third not-yet-willing suitor... Yngbald. Intelligent. Wise. Liked trees. Put all that magic in the world. He liked big trees and magic. This one would be a cinch! Throwing himself into the northern forests, he took a solid ten minutes studying the Adamentine Tree before getting intensely bored. He gave a nearby forest Nyrnen a phobia of grass out of frustration, but he had a fair idea of how the runic script worked. If not, well, nothing a bit of chaos couldn’t fix! He tossed himself from Adamentine Tree, and gathered together a square mile’s worth of foliage. He would need a very big tree if he were to impress the nerdy Yngbald, and this would be the biggest tree of all! The horrifying flora twisted, warped, and cracked until it was 100 feet high. An oak of disturbing proportions and a weight no natural tree could hold, Ixthalizzum carved his partially understood runic script into its trunk, and infused it with the magics of the Orb of Chaos to make up any deficits in his scribbling. Suddenly, a maw appeared on the tree, and a shrill scream erupted from it. It screeched out the names of runes that tapped into the Orb of Chaos. Were any mortal to utilise them, they would instantly explode, leaving a pile of gory viscera in the shape of a cartoony heart. How could one not find such a thing impressive? Surely the Lord of Magic would appreciate such a complicated and nuanced gesture. The madgod stepped away from his creations, exhausted yet satisfied. This was merely the beginning, but eventually he would have his love returned from between one to three gods this era. After all, how could they resist his infinite charm? [4AP Iron Abs Peak, a courtship gift for Exitius] [4AP The Pyramid of True Feelings, a courtship gift for Wol-Kot] [4AP The Screaming Oak, a courtship gift for Yngbald] [1AP left over]

The Life of Steven Penrith Available on Pay-per-view for Channel 555! Hephaestus Employee’s Preferred Entertainment Hub! Our Latest Deals! https://docs.google.com/document/d/1IQJeTQiyG8AzmMHG9hMQOZ18_TWYNt_--FXEm9W0bPk/edit The 'Grgl Gondola' puttered through a Protorian solar checkpoint and continued on to Proteum Davun deeper in the system. On the observation deck an ancient human gazed up at the alien warships and defences with barest of interest. This was the third time he'd been here. Or perhaps fourth...? He didn't really remember. Ever since he left 'Failure Central' (Earth) the galaxy had felt smaller and smaller. Once that thought seemed exciting, but the unknowable was known and the impossible realised. Now all he could think about was the ticking clock that had been in the back of his mind for twenty years to the day. In one of his gnarled and weak hands, he slowly turned a coin. The coin was a promise -or a 'deal' depending on who you asked- of life afforded to the eccentric industrialist Steven Penrith. This was on the promise (contractual obligation) that he would return the coin to the Archivar Selraku after twenty years, and now those twenty years were up. That's how he chose to remember it, anyway. His memory was bad enough without over-complicating things. Only problem was the one who gave it to him happened to be very, very dead. But **** it, a promise was a promise, and he wasn't going to let minor technicalities get in the way of his business. "Excuse me, Steven?" The condescendingly pleasant tone of his head nurse Nancy penetrated his door like a rusty nail tearing through paper. Steven scowled at the doorway and muttered the command for it to open. Nancy, a short, plump woman of human-redon descent entered with three other cheerful looking orderlies. "We're almost there, sir! We'd just like to look you over before we touch down-- make sure you haven't got any welts or sores on your skin, and check for any accidents today. Is that all right, Steven?" The old man sighed deeply. Death couldn't come quick enough. After a long flight (and far too much invasive scrubbing), the tiny freighter finally landed on a platform just outside of the Protorian Archives. Steven grumbled angrily as his orderlies helped him down the ramp and up the stairway to the cavernous library. At the doorway, the bubbling anger, embarrassment, and misery finally boiled over. "You lot, bugger off back to the ship. This is private." Nancy glanced nervously to the other orderlies before her slow, saccharine tone returned with a smile. "Steven, I think it'd be better if we followed along with you. You don't have your wheelchair and-" "I said bugger off!" Steven roared hoarsely. Though there was further resistance to the idea, Steven managed to convince his dutiful orderlies through strategic yelling and strikes from his cane. After they had all retreated back to the ship, he took a moment to take in his surroundings. While the planet’s activity had vastly increased due to the Allied Council establishing its headquarters nearby, the Archive wing was strangely quiet. If it wasn't for the small maintenance drones whizzing above his head every so often he'd have thought the place abandoned. His eyes were not as good as they used to be--he thought there was a Protorian scholar far off in the distance, but it was just a few drones flying close to the ground. He took a moment to observe one for its marketing potential, but quickly remembered why he had come here. There was no longer reason to perform business-related investigations or inquiries, and this made him feel a little empty inside. After a long period of hobbling with intermittent rests, he arrived at a great, central room. A throne, supposedly where the Archivar would sit, was placed in the middle of a central dais. Apparently the previous Archivar was entombed beneath, and for Steven this was as close as he could get to handing the coin back to him. He stood and stared at the spot for a few minutes with only the gentle hum of the surrounding databanks breaking up the silence. Finally, he reached in his pocket, and pulled out the spiral-patterned coin. "Here you go, mate." He muttered as he flicked it on the floor with an echoing 'ping.' "Done. Nice joke. May I bloody die, now?" "That's rather rude, Steven Penrith. You should not talk to my brother like that." A reply came from his side, as the current Archivar Kradoku himself stepped out into the open. He may have been drawn by Steven's very diplomatic dismissal of his party. From what could be seen of the data-pad he was carrying, he was interrupted from viewing Saryn artwork. Bloody nerd. "Though, to your benefit, you are the first to do that." He hummed, smiling mildly--something one attuned to the alignment of death was rarely known to do. Steven turned as quickly as his feeble frame allowed and squinted at Kradoku. "Hey? This joker had a brother?" He glanced back down at the coin for a moment, then turned fully towards the Archivar. "So do I give this stupid coin back to you then, or is there some kind of return box?" "Coin?" Kradoku approached, setting the datapad aside on a nearby table. He stood next to Steven, looking down at the coin that lay on the ornate floor. "He gave you that?" he said as he knelt down to pick it up. "Yeah, the cheeky bastard." Steven pointed a wobbling hand at the coin angrily, remembering the day the Archivar gave it to him. "Brief immortality for the sake of some in-joke with him and the old bastard in the white digs." Even the act of moving his arm was exhausting, and he dropped it with a wheezing cough. "I've had my twenty years. I'm tired. I should have died decades ago. He said to bring it back when I reckoned it was my time to go, so here I am." He glared at the floor where the coin once lay. "I'm pretty annoyed he decided to kark it himself, though." Kradoku nodded slowly, turning the coin around to its back reading a tiny inscription upon it. "’A promise unbroken.’" He looked up to Steven again. "Does that mean anything to you?" The Protorian's golden eyes examined Steven thoroughly, almost as if looking through him rather than at him. Steven was unsure if it was unique to Protorians or psionics, but the previous Archivar was much the same. Damn space-wizards. "The previous feller said I'd have twenty extra years to live. I thought once I tossed the coin, I'd fall over, or something." He shook his head at the coin in the Archivar's hand with an angry grunt. "That's probably what it meant.” "If it is truly death you wish for," the Protorian motioned to the coin, "and this is to be left behind here, I can help you." Steven regarded the Archivar for a moment before nodding slowly. "Yeah alright. What are you going to do. Vaporise me, or something?" "Give you eternal sleep." Came the calm reply from Kradoku. "Or in other terms, dissolve your lifeforce. To allow you the rest you desire." "Bloody wonderful!" Steven wheezed with sarcastic triumph. He leaned on his cane, and made himself as comfortable as possible while closing his eyes. "Get on with it, then. I've got a schedule, here." Steven felt Kradoku placing a hand upon his head. "Apologies, this may seem a bit... off-putting. It will be over in a bit." Seconds passed and then Kradoku's hand seemed to withdraw. For a moment Steven thought the deed was done, but then he felt something else. A presence, perhaps? "Brother, this is not the way it's intended." Came a familiar voice as if from a distant memory. Steven opened his eyes suddenly, and saw Salraku, the previous Archivar holding back his brother's hand. Behind Salraku stood a rather unassuming old man clad in a white suit-- the Guardian of the Milky Way. "Aw ****'s sake." He groaned. "Well, Steven, that's one way to say hello." Spoke the Old One. "You returned the coin I assume? That would belong to me now." He stated as he casually plucked it out of a surprised and baffled Kradoku's hand. "Yeah, look mate, get to my age and you really stop caring about the pleasantries." He patted down his coat with a loud, irritated tsk. "What are you and this joker doing here? That one's supposed to be dead, right? He can swap with me, if he likes." "Spot on." Stated the Old One. Salraku laughed warmly at the comment. "That's exactly what's going to happen now." The Old One's words seemed to catch Steven briefly off-balance. "Oh. Alright. Well." Steven cleared his throat and drummed his fingers on his handle of his cane. "Go on. You got your coin back. Is this the part where I die, or are we going to just stand in a room looking at one-another?" "The door is behind you, Steven Penrith." Salraku said, gesturing. Steven glanced behind himself, and indeed a door had opened on one of the walls of data-banks. It appeared almost as if it had always been there, but just out of sight. "But before we go through, let's fix a few things," the Old One added. As he approached Steven, he carefully turned him around towards the wide opening as white light poured from it. When he faced it fully, Steven could feel himself straightening up, and his muscles felt stronger and tougher. He looked down to his hands and watched as the years of wrinkles and age-spots slowly melted away from his skin. "There we go, that is much better, don't you think?" "Hey!" Steven stretched his legs, and pushed a hand through his thick, itching head of hair. "Well that makes a nice change! I could hardly remember what it was like to have control over my bowels!" He shifted in place awkwardly and readjusted his trousers. "Diaper's a touch uncomfortable though. Ah **** it, I'm dying. Who cares." The Old One cleared his throat and snapped his fingers, and Steven felt the uncomfortable heft of his nappy be replaced by svelte, conventional undergarments. "The door ahead." The Old One said, as he placed an arm around Steven's to gently push him along. "I am sure you have a lot of questions, don't you? I will tell you everything you want to know once we are through, but first there are some people up ahead. Some friends perhaps? I think they have been waiting for you." The Old One rambled, as they walked towards the door, leaving behind Salraku and Kradoku. "Oh yeah? Well, that's the bloody best I could hope for!" Steven chortled as he squinted at the bright light. "And here I was thinking heaven would be some kind of philosophical meta bullshit..." "To be honest, it can be anything, Steven. Anything you want." The Old One remarked. "Now you should definitely go and see what Jason Woolard has been doing. Personally, if I had an opinion about it... so, wasteful..." And with that, the door slowly closed behind them. In this case literally, and figuratively. This was the end of the story for Steven Penrith, but in the grand scheme of things he was nothing special. He was neither an intellectual, or a politician. He never had nefarious plots, or a desire to engage in skulduggery. He never sought to harm if he could help it. He was just a strange little man who wanted to sell the galaxy microwaves at an affordable price, and never complicated things beyond that. Some would say he was an idiot, or a bloviating ‘bag of greed.’ He was a businessman, an entrepreneur, an industrialist, and a dreamer. But in the end, he was still only a human. And he was content with that. Imagine for a moment there is a very big game being played that nobody knows about. And among all the normal mortals--all the races present in the Milky Way and those close by--nobody knows about it. Except that Salraku happens to know. Well, know-ish. He predicted some things, and predicted them correctly. The little spiral coin was given to him for a favour he did the Guardian. It was meant to grant him a free wish from that same Guardian's powers. And what occurred is exactly what Salraku wished for, because of that same foresight. But fate isn't written. Liam Fulamius strode down the luxurious hotel hallway. As a member of HERMES, he was contractually barred from taking on private work without the consent of the Board or the HERMES administrator. However, he was a man of significant ambition, and when he smelled a big payday he grasped it with both hands and damned the risks. A Tassaran by birth, his family had been living in Corporate space since first contact. It was rumoured that his mother and father had been professional escorts when they met, and Liam had the handsome features of one who would excel in that same line of work. But good looks, a smooth voice, and a lovely smile were just as useful in business as they were in prostitution--some would argue the two fields were very similar. Millicent Suites was the premier hotel on the resort-world Aphrodite. Its grounds spanned kilometres in order to cater to the vast numbers of visitors, but this month was quiet, due to the planet's winter season having arrived. It was still sunny, but not really swimming or hiking weather. Finally arriving at his clients door, he straightened his tie, put on his best smile, and pressed a little blinking button on the door-frame. A tinny, automated voice rang out after a short beep. "PLEASE STATE YOUR NAME FOR THE OCCUPANT." "Ryan Seacrest," Liam announced with a smirk. "PLEASE WAIT." The voice went silent. After a few moments, a number of clicks emanated from the door, and it slid to the side. Liam sauntered forward into the suite. The place was tastefully decorated. He had expected something a bit more obscenely decadent when he first came here, but it was clear the designer had taste. Turning a corner into the main sitting room, his client sat with her legs crossed on a sofa. Blond, and in her late twenties, she was flicking through something slowly on a datapad and nursing a cigarette. The open bottle of wine and well-filled ashtray gave away her distress despite her cool appearance. "Hello Ryan." She spoke monotonously. "Have you more for me?" Liam, or "Ryan" in this case, tried his best to look sympathetic. "I'm afraid I do have more pictures, Mrs Penrith. Video, too. Your husband has been very, ah, busy, if you don't mind me saying." "Say what you like about him." Snapped Alaya, putting down her datapad. "All I care about is knowing how many women he's been sleeping with since we've been married. That way, I'll be able to tell him their names when I castrate the bastard in front of his ******* Board." Liam nodded quickly, and placed the evidence down on the coffee table. He tried not to look smug, but failed so dramatically that he was worried he'd laugh. Action Points: 4AP by default, 32AP from trade, 18AP from population, 33AP from sectors, 80AP from business, 78AP from industry, 2AP from worm eggs, 2AP from the Trade Federation, 6AP from cargo capacity, 8AP from itoron mines, 4AP from dialite, 41AP from Commonwealth of Redskap, 4AP from Slavic Republic, 2500AP from Saryn. Total = 2767 -Fleet Upkeep: 4AP -The Sayrn wanted guns, and Hephaestus was happy tom supply them. They were sad to learn that their Zyrka customers were no longer able to be served, but now the Saryn had wisely chosen Hephaestus production facilities! (-1818AP for 20,000,000 Saryn disruptor rifles) -With business still booming, the Corporation wisely drew up further plans for industrial expansion. It was actually the largest industrial expansion to date, but at this point no-one was really noticing that fact anymore. (-720AP towards industry) -Fleet expansion was prepared once more. 1 dreadnought, 1 battleship, 4 carriers, 3 support carriers, 2 experimental beholders, and 1 light cruiser. (-150AP) -Along with all the carriers, the newly-patented “Doris” droid fighters are put into production for the purposes of filling up all the carriers without risking precious Employee’s lives. (-33AP towards 3300 fighters) -The Commonwealth of Redskap order further military equipment from the bustling factories of Hades. -209,000 medium infantry equipment, -2100 tanks, -2100 APCs, -1050 Artillery pieces. (-32AP) -The Human Republic sends a disappointingly small order of a single colony ship. Though Hephaestus would prefer far more girthy sales, one could not shun even the tiniest of contracts. (-3AP towards colony ship, sent to the Human Republic upon completion) -The last of this year’s budget is put into an outreach program aimed towards the remaining Zyrka colonies west of corporate space. They are offered opportunities, investments, and protection within Hephaestus Enterprises as well as all the privileges and advantages afforded to subsidiaries, and access to the substantial industrial facilities Hephaestus was famed for! (-8AP)

“In what language do worms think?” -Ixthalizzum, God of Indecision, Confusion, Derangement, and Irony What a strange concept! One of his Thallites tried to crown themselves as a permanent leader of his people! How wonderful! Did he think it was wonderful? NO. This was TERRIBLE. They would deign to GUIDE his whole race?! That was much too certain and far too stratified for his liking! Or maybe he didn’t actually think that...? The Madgod Ixthalizzum pondered a moment as she idly drove a few Myrdians insane. When a mind was mostly stable, it was only natural that disgusting, static hierarchies would be established. If he twisted their minds any further, it would upset the wonderfully balanced chaos that had taken hold in his people. To add more confusion and indecision to their culture would lead to a briefly amusing but ultimately boring anarchic murder-spree, for sure. It was only a matter of time until some enterprising Thallite managed to take control and declare themselves the ruler. And he would be sane to allow something like that without HIS blessing! Nay! He would designate his OWN candidate! One that would be interesting time and time again! In fact, he would do one better--he’d create a whole ROYAL LINEAGE that would be suitably interesting for him from this day on! And if it became boring, he’d just bless another family, and they’d eat the boring one! Perfect! Now to seek out the perfect candidate... Ixthalizzum threw his consciousness down into the depths of the underpaths and sniffed out an appropriate vessel for his heinously marvelous plan. Finally, he happened upon an unassuming female Thallite--and since he was now bored with searching, she was clearly The Chosen One. He forced a sliver of his consciousness into her poor, unprotected mind which sent her into a violent, convulsive seizure. In her dazed and thrashing state, the Lord of Confusion shrieked a message louder than any thought had the right to be. “Be still and rejoice, mortal! For you are Chosen by the Giver of Gifts! The Lord of Balance! He that Ebs and Flows! She that Waxes and Wanes! The Voice in Chaos! Be still and give thanks, mortal! Your progeny are blessed by my betentacled grace! My many eyes are upon you, and you shall be the vessel to Godhead! Be still and be fearful, mortal! For your offspring shall be thrice-fold! They shall know much danger! They must be protected against the lowliest Ix, to the most cunning of Thall. No gift is without payment, mortal! No grace is without harm! For when I give boons, I must similarly harm. Such is the nature of Balance. Stand fast! Accept your reward, and receive your punishment! My gift is the Spore of Greatness that shall find supple earth in the moistest of Ixless caves. There your funglings shall know three graces, and three curses. First of Three--the child will know great wisdom and foresight! Slow to anger, shrewd in action, brilliant in all things. But they will know great misery and loneliness, for they will be truly sane, and their darkest hours will be all the darker. Second of Three--the child will wield power beyond compare, as the magic of the world shall be as an extension of their very body! Master beyond equal, the ebb and flow of chaos they will know beyond knowing! But their bodies will be frail, misshapen things, easily broken and warped. Third of Three--the child will be a font of innovation, inspiration, and creativity! They will have sparks of brilliance that will change the course of history, and innovate in ways never considered before! But these sparks will be few and far between, for their madness will cripple them beyond reason. To these thrice-fold motes, I gift thrice-fold life to guide their people. They will face Thrice-fold challenges, and thrice-fold dangers. Rejoice, Mortal! Rejoice! Rejoice at the coming of the Three! The Three-As-One! Blessed be!” And so, Ixthalizzum screamed in her mind until bloody ichors drooled from every one of her orifices. After three hours, Ixthalizzum left her be. When she awoke -- shaken and disturbed from her contact with the Madgod – she felt a strangeness she had not experienced before. In the coming days she would give birth to triplets. And these triplets would be destined for great things... Ixthalizzum looked deeper into the caves, and carved out an enormous cavern. It was here he would lay a gift for his children, and a test for his God-touched. Gathering surface insects and plants of his sibling Gods, he twisted them until they were suited to the deep tunnels and moist caves common to the Thallites. Many of them were edible, tasty, and nutritious for Thallites, but also hardy and easy to grow. However, not only was it tasty for Thallites, it would be attractive to all sorts of beasts and monsters down in the deep places of the world. The horrors of Wol-Kot, the ravenous Ixkin, and even the filthy skatalkin would seek these caverns to eat their godly bounty. If they were truly worthy of ruling the Thallites, his Three-As-One would puzzle out a solution to conquer it. [8AP God-Touch Dynasty: The Three-As-One] Always born in triplets, and always die at the same time, these three beings are blessed and cursed in many ways by Ixthalizzum’s twisted mind. One is blessed with great wisdom and intelligence, but will suffer from unpredictable bouts of manic depression. The second is blessed with immense magical power and control (immense even by Thallite standards) but will be crippled, deformed, and often in pain. The third will have great potential for creativity and innovation, but only rarely. The rest of the time they will be a raving lunatic. All three have three times the usual Thallite lifespan (1500 years of age). Once they die, a random Thallite will be blessed with triplets, and the next generation of the dynasty will be born. [4AP Shape Land] An enormous cavern is shaped (the size of one hex) and is implanted with a plethora of insects and fungi delicious and nutritious to the creatures of the Underpaths. Insect-husbandry and fungi-farming are relatively simple for the creatures here. Sadly, it will be filled with immensely dangerous creatures in competition with the Thallites for control. It lies in the hex closest to the Thallites home caverns. [4AP Left over]

Ixthalizzum ALMOST did something, but slipped over on an ethereal banana peel. Well, it didn’t matter. He needed to conserve his energy this aeon in order to enact part 27 of his 232-part plan. Or more likely he just forgot. Probably.

If you want to be a happy, satisfied high elf, you know where to go... … unless you want to co-operate. Then it’s sort of up in the air. Dark elves need more love, though, that’s for sure. This is what happens when you take away their katanas.

“Fear the spider! Fear the octopus! Fear the raven! Fear the crag! Fear the dragon! Fear the pati! But most of all, fear the unafraid--they’re the ones that will probably get you!” -Ixthalizzum, God of Indecision, Confusion, Derangement, and Irony. How his lovely Thallites flourished deep in the dark pits of the world! It pleased the Changing God greatly to see his unpredictable monsters throw themselves (and their kindred) at their problems and succeed. He was almost touched by their deranged creativity and the magical prowess that only seemed to grow with age. He would keep a close eye on his latest creations, since they would no doubt be interesting to watch! For the moment, he searched around for other curiosities the world might offer to entertain her with. Smelling a distinct scent of woe, Ixthalizzum cast he gaze over to the river Nyren, who were beset by the soul-eating Pati. He watched in bemusement as the winged devils flew off with screaming Nyren to eat their very essence. Though it was certainly very interesting to observe, the madgod (as per usual) began to get annoyed with how “one-sided” the whole affair was. Clearly there needed to be some sort of balance in order to keep things indecisive. Ixthalizzum Sought out trustworthy soothsayers, priests, mystics, other people dripping in knowledge and lore. To each of them, he sent signs, flashes of inspiration, moments of revelation, and manic thoughts, all aimed to deliver a message to the beleaguered mortals. It was honestly a little incoherent in retrospect, but the Lord of Confusion tried his best ”Take that which your people value most, and cast it into the great Crag to the south. Do this, and receive a boon-- a boon to save you from your plight!” Frankly it didn’t really matter what the Nylen did. He/she was just curious how they’d react to his request. Now the time had come to create the boon to beat back the creatures. But what could he actually make...? She considered his options for a moment, before giving up on that and using the first thing that came to his mind. He’d just make a big, shiny light to ward away the bats. Simple enough. She reached deep into the earth and found a solid, pleasant stone. It had rivulets of gold snaking along its face, and it glittered pleasantly when in the sunlight touched it. Pouring her essence into the stone, it began to shine in a multicolored light that soothed and cooled the skin. But to a soulless creature, like the bats, its light scorched the flesh. A simple tool for a simple request! He didn’t bother checking for any other side effects--after all, it was only for mortals! [6AP Artifact Creation] The Moonward Stone: A rock of unrefined precious metals that glows with an eldritch, multicolored light. It wards away creatures without souls, the undead, and those with cruel and capricious natures. It can only protect a small patch of land however (one hex). But with all things that involve Ixthalizzum, madness is sure to follow. Those that remain too close to the stone for long periods of time develop a terrible derangement--usually cannibalism. It remains buried just south of the River Nyren’s largest settlement, and it will be revealed once the Nyren toss something into the Crag. [3AP saved]

“The best result is no result. If not that, the best result is an unknown result.” -Ixthalizzum, God of Indecision, Confusion, Derangement, and Irony. The Mad God Ixthalizzum shrieked in joy as he watched the Isle of Exitium shatter in a magically-infused fireball. Now hanging midair, screaming eternally, the wretched mountain of the Lord of Destruction would remain an edifice to a gloriously indecisive bout! He wiped a million tears from a million eyes--he couldn’t have asked for a better result! Now that the duel was finished, and the stupid mountain crushed, he could... … wait, why did he do this, again? What was the duel supposed to accomplish? Did she even have a goal in the first place? Ixthalizzum shook himself out of his thoughts. Whatever it was he was trying to do, it was probably successful (or inconclusive, preferably). No need to worry about any unforeseen consequences when the actions aren’t remembered! How blissful. He cast his gaze towards the world’s continents, and saw the Nyren build their simple homes and slowly learn the laws of the universe through their magics and tools. So many sapient beings pushing and pulling their destinies made the Madgod’s head pleasantly spin! The many trivialities, projects, misfortunes and triumphs made the world a truly incomprehensible mess, that was for sure! But as per usual the more Ixthalizzum observed the more frustrated he became. After months of watching, the creatures had became horribly predictable! All one had to do was put some food or pretty stones in front of a Nyren, and you could conclusively assume how they would act. How miserably obvious. Something simply had to be done. Looking now to the underpaths, Ixthalizzum found some of his violent and ravenous ixkin that he had effectively forgotten about for the past dozen or so millennia. Not wanting to start creating from mud, he nabbed ten ixkin and threw them into a friendly, isolated cave. Before they had a chance to tear themselves apart, he began to painfully morph their souls and bodies into something more interesting. Though he left many of their tentacle appendages, he added two boney, graspy limbs, and two boney, walky limbs-- that would make precise movements and tools far more viable. Adding more bones, hardening their skin, and giving them two, forward-facing eyes, he finally decided that their shape was appropriate. But with strange new bodies must come a strange new mind. Ixthalizzum granted his screaming, confused creatures a spark of his own divinity--self-awareness. And with that, he dropped them, and began to watch. Of the ten, five of his confused creatures rubbed their heads and limbs tenderly, and approached their brothers and sisters cautiously. They prodded and made guttural sounds at one-another using what could only be assumed to be some form of communication, as at the moment they lacked any form of language. The other five were a little less social. Three isolated themselves and performed strange and pointless tasks, such as banging rocks together, or silently rocking back and forth on their haunches. One particularly strange individual had cut its hand and was now drawing on a cave wall with its own blood and giggling. And finally, one had caved in the head of a silent, rocking one, and begun feasting on the viscera that poured from it. The five in the corner quickly took note of the attack, and proceeded to overpower and kill the murderer. Seeing that there were now two bodies, the party of five began to eat the dead, inviting the others to join them as they merrily consumed their fellows. The giggling one finally finished its picture (or rather ‘glyph’) and the stone dissolved from powerful chaotic energies. An exit! He then joined his fellows in their meal, before all eight of the beings left the cave for paths unknown. This all took place in the space of about 20 minutes. As you might imagine, Ixthalizzum was greatly pleased. He grasped hold of thousands of ixkin, and transformed them into his his new ‘Thallites.’ He gleefully tossed them into the underpaths in excitement to see what his strange little creatures might do next. [10AP for RACE CREATION] The Thallites--subterranean, tentacle-faced bipeds of whom approximately half have some form of mania, though not always something dangerous or useless. Insane members of the race with no inherent uses or are simply too hazardous to keep around are happily cannibalized the the sane ones. About one in ten are born with an innate ability to use magics that draw from the Orb of Chaos, but their power can greatly vary--some may be able to carve glyphs and pour streams of chaotic energy from their hands from birth (if the parents are unlucky enough) while others can barely start a fire. The Thallites are exceptionally long-lived, some lasting up to 500+ years before expiring. The race as a whole is rather unpredictable--you never know for certain how a Thallite may act if they meet you! Starting Hex: In the underpaths around here. [1AP saved]

”If something doesn’t work the first time, it’s possible it may work the seventh or tenth attempt. If not that, it’s more likely to work on the twenty-fifth attempt.” -Ixthalizzum, God of Uncertainty, Derangement, and Irony. What a majestic world awaited the Changing God as he peered down upon its ever-evolving form. The eons of time had left his crag mostly the same, with silly, brainful creatures slowly spreading across the landscape. What beautiful irregularity they wrought, as they adapted to new environments and explored the world! It was enough to make the Madgod weep with joy! Ixthalizzum suddenly remembered her creature! His wonderful, wonderful creation! How had they fared these past millennia? Casting his gaze over to the Isle of Exitium, she screeched with joy to see the battle still continuing! How marvelous it was that his greater behemoth still fended off the predictable attacks of the Lord of Destruction. The Isle was sundered but still intact, however, and this brought his mood down. The whole point of the fight was to destroy the mountain, and yet it still stood! It seemed as if Ixthalizzum was going to have to push things a little farther himself... With a thought, he drew power from the Orb of Chaos, and focused it towards his creature. The energy of his beast expanded a hundred-fold. Using his beast as a focal point, the chaotic oceans churned with malicious power--focused towards the great Dragon. A force that could turn the tide (get it?) in this fight, and sink Exitius’ stupid creature for good (and hopefully the damned Island along with it!). The Madgod rubbed its many hands in glee, awaiting the coming end... [6AP towards creating a cataclysmic tidal wave directed towards Exitius’ dragon. Consequences be damned! 1AP saved for next turn.

“There is no such thing as ‘is.’ Unless it’s in this sentence.” -Ixthalizzum The Lord of Uncertainty awoke from an unusually pleasant dream. He felt as if something wonderful had been birthed into the world--born of madness and uncontrolled power. Though he felt a little drained she chose not to investigate to see if the dream was actually made real. After all, what was more pleasing to the madgod’s nature than not knowing for certain? Stretching a thousand arms, Ixthalizzum pulled himself out of the great Crag, sampling a few rat creatures he saw on his way. The moons darted across the sky in their heavenly dance, and the home of Kaha-Nu-Bahu slipped past the rocky Ix. He clicked his many tongues in mild frustration, partly hoping they would collide. Or at least he thought he hoped that. He was fairly sure he liked the moons as they were. Unless he didn’t. With a thought, his mass schlorped out into the ocean and sped beneath the violent waters of the oceans in the direction of his Orb of Chaos. There was a fight to be settled with the Lord of Destruction and Ixthalizzum refused to lose. He needed that stone from his mountain! It was the only thing that mattered to him now. Finally arriving, he immediately saw a dozen behemoths circling the Orb, attacking and eating one-another in their wonderfully irrational way. This pleased the madgod, and she decided to reward them with his incomprehensible power. He needed ‘clay’ for his vessel, after all. Taking hold of their writhing and frothing forms, he tore them to pieces and reassembled them into something more useful to his purposes. Their irregularities needed to be replaced with a more consistent form so it had a better chance against whatever repulsively logical monster Exitius had formed. Its body would be massive so it could ward off the monsters of the deep. It would have two arms to grapple and grasp, and two legs to stand tall and wade through the oceans. Its mind would be as Ixthalizzum’s, and would evoke madness in any mortal creature that would deign to look upon its visage. Its face was a repulsive mass of tentacles, like those of his behemoths. Its flesh would be thick and unyielding to all but the power of gods. It would wield the magical energies of the Orb. And also it would have wings. Because it needed to fly to get to the top of the mountain (why did he choose that spot for the duel, again...?). Finally infusing the creature with a part of his own being, Ixthalizzum’s avatar rose from the ocean floor. And with a portion of his will, he sent his beautiful creation towards the Mountain of Exitius’ making to do battle. [10AP] Creating an avatar to slap up Exitius’ dragon. [4AP] Ordering the avatar to slap up Exitius’ dragon. [1AP] Got drained from Ixthalizzum in order to make big worms. 1AP Left over.

There’s a few pretty garbage books in there too. No need to keep them if they’re both non-canon and badly written. Would you keep a history book that was completely fabricated?

“What the hell is a Demasus?” Croaked the writer. “This is about Kalenz Uradir! Damn youths.”

The Madman atop the Peak A Historical Poem by a Friendly Thilln Once there was a pallid Elf, of stature and renown. Who made grand speeches while talking in screeches, Within his beloved pallid town. This elf of stature had one great flaw; his head was screwed on in vain. To say he was ‘crazy’ would make this tale hazy, in all truth, he was utterly insane. The town of pale elves sat pompously upon a vast, unyielding cliff face. Surrounded on all sides, by those who loathed their hides, for their arrogance, and acts of distaste. Upon one day came the Oren King, with many a soldier to bear. Who demanded they stop their philosophical rot, Or face the void of despair. The haughty Madman - ruler of elves – was anything but placid. For the King’s ‘crimes,’ and poorly thought rhymes, he was dissolved in acid. The dead king's people, angered and weeping, raised their war banners high. Pallid elves would pay, for bringing dismay. Each and every one would die. Came they did to the cliff and white walls, to bring their vengeance with glee. The elves yelled jeers, gathered their spears, and were slaughtered gratuitously. The Madman refused to negotiate, and change his people’s fate. The elves were furious at the Madman’s spuriousness, and he was thrown off the top of the gate. The new King was forgiving of the pallid elves despite their terrible crime. He made them a vassal and their town a castle. A good outcome considering the time. So the pallid elves continued on, humbled, but much the same. Some might object, but none ought forget, That Madman atop the Peak.

“The trick to getting things done is not to begin. Or is it to begin and never finish?” -Ixthalizzum, God of Indecision. “What is this?” Squawked the Mad God and he splurged around its crag. Around his ever increasing/decreasing number of feet skittered strange, cowardly creatures were digging burrows and warrens on the northern-most part of his crag. They reminded him of her brother Skatal. Picking one up, he smelled it and glared at it with his endless eyes and noses. They seemed inconsistent enough for his tastes. And talking about taste... He popped the skatalkin into one of his mouths, and chewed the screaming rat-creature thoughtfully. It was reasonably tasty, though perhaps too savoury for his liking. He’d probably try another some other day, but for now there was something he needed to do. Or was there...? There definitely was something important he needed to do. He was sure, after a nice, long sleep, he would be able to remember. He slithered back into his crag, and fell asleep--accomplishing nothing of note for this cycle.

”Prove that I exist!” -Ixthalizzum, upon hearing any criticism. The Maybe-God flollopped across the continents, taking in the new sights and sounds that the others had created. She was a little crestfallen due to Yngbald adding more frustrating order to magic, but at the very least everything smelled quite different. His chaos orb - deeply underwhelming of as forces of nature go – would probably consume the seas at some point anyway. Or not. It didn’t really matter, provided that the possibility was at least there. He gibbered most happily at the thought as his inconsistent form made landfall upon the large mountainous Isle of Exitium. The enormous peaks perturbed the “What?”-God, as they were much too tall, and honestly deserved to be brought down just for having the temerity to be so high. ”Perhaps,” warbled Ixthalizzum, “‘it is not the mountain that is high, but the ego of the one who crafted it!” Thoughts shambled through his approximate head until he finally scrambled his brain into having an idea. With a loud ‘schlorp’ he willed himself into existence before the chained Lord of Chaos and Destruction, and roared a challenge so loud every God on the sphere could hear. “Coward! Wretch! Fiend! Scullion! Garbler! Freak! Imprisoned lord of Stagnant Pus! I am sickened to my many stomachs by your stupid hills and your silly creations! I demand a DUEL! I demand SATISFACTION! The two of us shall do battle upon the highest peak of your repulsive island! You will bring a weapon, no more than you can hold in your chained hands, or levitated, or in whatever manner you can conceive provided that it is YOU who wields it! I too shall bring a weapon, and the two of us will fight honorably! Whoever’s weapon breaks first will be the loser! If I lose to you, I shall give you my Orb of Chaos free of my meddling, and yours to use to your heart’s content. Should I win, I demand a stone from the highest peak of your mountain to do with as I please! You have three cycles to forge your weapon, and then we will do battle! Refuse my challenge, and be considered a weak scrounger until the end of time! I will carve that message into the very land itself so that all our creations will know!” And without another word, or waiting for an answer, he squelches back into nothingness to his crag. With that out of the way, it turns to its crag. There outside of it was rather barren, with the white marble stone still visible among the stone and newly growing grass. He decided he wanted something to make it look less uniform. Using his many hands, he reached into the earth and tore out pillars of marble from its depths. Wrapping his form around them he slowly changed them into a forest of pink crystal lattices. They were garish and clashed terribly with the colours of the landscape, which pleased the Inconsistent lord greatly. With that done, he slithered back in his crag and went to sleep. [2AP towards changing a single hex next to the crag (doesn’t matter where) into a forest of pink crystals.] [5AP is not used.]

Deals so Great, You’d Swear we’re Incompetent! Our Latest Deals! https://docs.google.com/document/d/1IQJeTQiyG8AzmMHG9hMQOZ18_TWYNt_--FXEm9W0bPk/edit Hephaestus Enterprises, despite manufacturing millions of war-droids every year, was never really a professional arms exporter. Lacking military industry on its departure, it usually held contests in order to choose new designs. War material could even be designed by complete amateurs, depending on the quality of it (an example would be the standard Corporate frigate created by an art school). Today was an exhibition for potential droid-fighters, and a whole warehouse had been converted into a showroom with more than two dozen companies showing off their prototypes. Almost dead-center of the hall were the three titular administrators of Cooper & Sons Droid Foundries; Wilfred, Ryan, and Bill Cooper. Wine and hors d'oeuvres floated around the three men suspended by dozens of well-dressed serving-staff. Guests wafted around the plates like covetous seagulls snatching the best for themselves. Wilfred – a short, greasy, balding man was nervously wiping down his forehead, while his two sons answered questions about their product to potential buyers and investors. He took a moment to look back at his prototype, paranoid of scratches, blemishes, and exposed wires. The oddly-shaped craft – the Doris model - was very eye-catching in the jumble of conventionally designed craft. His son Bill was very talented in architecting such bizarre yet functional machines. His talent was so preeminent that Wilfred thought he might even have loved him had he not turned out to be a poof. The laser cannons, torpedoes, and Cooper & Sons experience-learning AI made it a definite favourite for scoring the official Hephaestus contract. Though it wasn’t as if there was no competition—Chiron Armaments, Aurora Astro, and even the new German subsidiary Rudolf-Kessler had thrown their hat in the ring with some quality craft. This whole venture was starting to make Wilfred queasy with nerves, though admittedly it might have been the prawns he scoffed when their platter came past. “Dad.” Ryan, his eldest son, woke Wilfred from his thoughts. He looked much like a younger version of himself, albeit taller, less sweaty, and much more confident. He detested his son for this genetic original sin, but he mostly blamed the lad’s ***** of a mother. “We’ve got a party of blokes from Crabsfear who want more information on hypothetical construction costs. Bill hasn’t got an answer, and I want to give them a-“ “Piss off!” Snapped Wilfred as he dabbed his handkerchief under his chin. He needed to ready himself for his real customer who would reportedly be arriving soon. He always needed to build himself up mentally before he could properly bow and scrape at the feet of the big wigs. Ryan didn’t appear to garner this information from Wilfred’s terse reply, which probably explained why he scowled in disgust before walking away. “Hey hey, Willy-boy!” A husky baritone called from down the hall. A tall, muscular man in a black, fitted suit sauntered up to Wilfred with a sardonic smirk. Billowing cigar smoke and running a hand through his quaffed blond hair, he stood next to Wilfred and slapped him on the back with a chuckle. “What are you doing here, my old mate?” “G’day, B-Bruce.” Muttered Wilfred with a bitter smile. Bruce Chadwise—a man who went from school bully, to successful businessman, to owning Cooper & Sons largest competitor. Wollongong Workshops were biting at his heels, and of course the owner had to be Bruce-*******-Chadwise. He was a charmer, a schmoozer, and an all-round *****. Wilfred couldn’t stand him, and his presence only made more sweat dribble down his forehead. He wasn’t in the mood for this. “You fellas remember those old schoolyard stories I told you, yeah?” Bruce’s associates all laughed and clapped one-another on the shoulders. “This guy right here? This was ‘Drippy Willy.’” A resounding chorus of laughter erupted from the men. Wilfred remained silent with his bitter smile still adorning his face. “Aw, we gave ol’ Willy here a tough time back then but he turned out all right. Just like you said you would, right Willy?” Bruce put on a falsetto voice and twisted his face into an angry expression. “‘You’ll all be my janitors one day, you bastards!’ Remember when you said that one in school, mate? Right after we pantsed you at the assembly? You were a fuckin’ riot, bud!” His associates let out one more raucous peel of laughter as Bruce ambled over to the Doris fighter on display. “So this is your pitch, hey? Not bad, Willy. A bit small though, don’t you think?” He looked back at Wilfred with his smirk now stretching across his cheek. “I mean, how many weapons can you even stuff in this thing? It looks like it can barely hold one pod of swarmer missiles.” “Oh, well, that’s because we aren’t using swarmers,” said Bill Cooper as he approached the ‘customers’ having looking at the fighter. “We’re using a miniaturized version of the new-“ Wilfred shot his son a furious glare, and Bill’s head almost seemed to retract into his collar like a frightened tortoise before he scuttled away. Bruce observed the family moment with a smug chuckle. “Ah I get it. Torpedos, right? Cute. That’s the thing, though. What Hephaestus needs is firepower I reckon.” He sticks a thumb out at the large craft sitting across from the Cooper & Sons’ display. “Like it?” Bruce snarked. “That there’s the Artemis. Packed to the hilt with swarmers and thick, turgent laser cannons. Named after the goddess of the hunt mate. Know what I mean? Bloody sweet branding. I couldn’t believe no-one had used it yet!” He glanced over at the Cooper & Sons’ display again and cleared his throat. “Doris is a ah, good name too I guess. If you don’t mind your war-machine to remind customers of little old ladies.” The sneering from Bruce’s compatriots was interrupted by a clamoring from the crowd by the warehouse doorway. The CEO had finally arrived. Fashionably late, John Penrith was flanked by several members of the board. With them was the rising corporate star Roxanne Marawai, whom was recently handed the administration position of Aphrodite Resorts Inc amidst significant controversy. Why she was here was anyone’s guess, though perhaps Penrith could see something special in her? His entourage mingled with the crowd, but John marched straight towards Bruce and Wilfred’s displays. “Mr Penrith!” Bruce chirped cheerily as the boss approached. John glanced at him, and gave him a half-hearted handshake. “Yeah g’day. How’re you doing?” “I’m gr-“ “Wilfred, mate!” John said walking past the confused executive. “Thought I saw you down here! Just wanted to thank you for that Tassarran whiskey you sent over last week. Bloody nice stuff, I’ve got to say!” Wilfred smiled wide albeit nervously, and dabbed away a rivulet of sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief. “Aw n-nah worries boss! I figured I’d get you one, since I was ah, getting one for myself! Just as a congratulations for getting that new s-super-carrier project past the board!” John laughed, and patted Wilfred shoulder. “Yeah that was a bit tricky. Cheers for supporting that, by the way. Always good to have a man with vision on my side!” John rubbed his nose, and glanced around the showroom. “Too many bloody fighters here for me to look at I reckon. I’ll just take a squiz at yours and we can go get some tucker in us, hey Will?” “Aw y-yeah! I’m pretty peckish too, sir!” Wilfred took his chance to glance back at the gobsmacked expressions covering Bruce and his friend’s faces. “See you later, m-mate! Good luck!” And so the newly-minted sycophant followed his master greasily, ready to be the yes-man that could always be counted on. Action Points 4AP by default, 32AP from trade, 17AP from population, 25AP from sectors, 40AP from business, 60AP from industry, 2AP from the Trade Federation, 6AP from cargo capacity, 8AP from itoron mines, 4AP from dialite 485AP from Zyrka 22AP from Redskap (For equipment) 15AP from Redskap (for armour) 120AP from United Baltic Confederacy 13AP from Space Poland Total AP = 853 -The Zyrka’s yearly order is manufactured, prepped, and sent off--but with a small caveat! An extra 2,000,000 droids are sent off with the ordered 10,000,000. Since Hephaestus had greatly improved its manufacturing output last year, and were passing the savings on to their Zyrka customers! (-1415AP towards massive droid armies for the Zyrka) -The shipyard is STILL not good enough for Aurora Astro! It’s like they obsessed with enlarging it! Or maybe it’s because of another project rumored to be in the works, and that they’re hoping to capitalize on in the future? Who knows! (-160AP towards upgrading T8 shipyard to T9) -The massive shipyard had now become an very expensive asset for the Corporation. So much so that they were digging deep into their pockets in order to protect it from future shenanigans. And to do so, they hired the best defense-engineers money could buy! (-100AP to USA for building Auroran defences) -MEGA-MARTS! So MASSIVE! So MAJESTIC! So MAGNIFICENT! (-50AP towards 5 MOVING MEGA-MARTS) -Since the droids the Corporation exports are rather popular at the moment, improvements to the design are written in to the annual budget. (-50AP towards droids, total of 125AP invested) -The engineers behind the Beholder super-carriers continue to labour on their designs. What a mighty project this will be, for sure! The design is so unwieldy, many standard ship-building conventions have to be violated, and plans reworked to fit newer models. (-65AP towards Beholders, total of 100AP invested) -The massive shipyard over Aurora starts to churn out a heavy compliment of warships for the Corporate fleet. seven heavy cruisers and two battleships are logged to join the fleet by next year. Also a frigate, because there was room in the budget, apparently. (-96AP towards 7 heavy cruisers, and 2 battleships, 1 frigate) -Though the industrial output far exceeds the human competition, Hephaestus simply cannot help itself because industry is just what it DOES, man! Like, can you imagine not breathing, eating, farting or sleeping? That’s what it’s like to ask Hephaestus not to invest in industry. (-80AP towards industrial investments) -Oh, and some business too I guess. For good measure. (-100AP towards business investments) -The Tweedle brothers continue to train with their fury psionics down in the Grand Alliance Academy. They’re a good sort, for sure. (-2AP towards education) -A list of war-stuff from the beleaguered human states: -The United Baltic Confederacy desires 200,000 regular infantry equipment, 60,000 Heavy Infantry equipment, 10,000 MBTs, 10,000 APCs, 5000 AAs, 3000 artillery pieces. (-100AP) -The Commonwealth of Redskap desires 100,000 sets of regular infantry armour, 2000 tanks, and 600 artillery pieces. (-17AP) -The Polish Coal Miners Union desires 10,000 coal-powered tanks (-20AP) -Representatives of the Corporation are sent out towards the varying alien nations currently embroiled in war. They offer Hephaestus’ services as an alternative manufacturer for their war material. Hephaestus is always happy to make the things that keeps the galaxy safe, and even more happy to do it for an equitable price, and hand the savings back to the customer (to which they cite the recent bonus droids to Zyrka). Not only that, they offer to build the nation’s own weapons for them if they desire--all copyright protections included! (-35AP towards seeking out new customers for Hephaestus’ myriad of factories) -A bunch of colonies are settled again, refer to the map update. God I’m tired. It’s like 12AM right now and I have to work in the morning. Why do I do this to myself? (-0AP) -And the last tinkle of cash is stuffed into building a few droids. Why not? (-4AP towards 25,600 Tithonus X1 heavy droids)

”If someone tells you to do something, the best course of action is to ignore them! They may not be real!” -Ixthalizzum The indecisive God awakes to find the world far different from when he went to sleep--much to her delight. He flollops out of his crag and explores the great, magical forest of Yngbald’s creation. His warping form slithers and rolls around the inconsistent trees and grasses, and she takes pleasure in looking at the strange new creations. However, something suddenly stops his explorations when he begins to notice something... consistent... in the air. Grasping the nearest tree, he uproots it and smells it deeply with 126 different noses, each of them coming to the same conclusion. Throwing the tree away, he takes hold of a great stone, and smells it as deeply as the tree. With this, he lets out an excruciating screech. ”Why does everything have the same smell--The same magical smell??! This shall not stand!!” After screaming at the rock furiously for a few more hours, he eventually squelches back to his crag, and begins a new great work. Everything had been suffused with a magical power (or ‘smell,’ in his words) and it was spread far too consistently. There needed to be disparity. He could not create a whole new force like magic, as it was outside of her capability to forge--but he could manipulate that which was already there! He threw himself off the continent, and into the raging torrents of the oceans. In the deepest depths of the deepest sea, he digs a new chasm into the ocean floor. This would be the pot wherein he would plant his flower of chaos. Drawing Yngbald’s power and reaching within himself, he pulls a great, writhing power and forms it into a ball of wild energy. It pulsates like a heartbeat, sending chaotic tremors through Yngbald’s new magical suffusion. If Yngbald’s magic was pure potential, then this chaos was that potential channeled and distributed at random. Quickly, however, he is disappointed by its results. Yngbald’s magic is still relatively controlled and calm, despite the occasional fluctuation. It may be more difficult and dangerous to control, but it would never be as furious as the oceans. In fact, creatures clever enough could probably wield this energy themselves! The surrounding seascape is morphed and changed by this channeled chaotic energy, and incomprehensible crystal lattices form around the orb. Ixthalizzum abandons the area entirely, annoyed with her creation. But at least magic smells slightly different! He also accidentally floods a portion of the underpaths when digging the chasm. Whoops! To make himself feel better, he uses the new energy to create some repulsive creatures at the bottom of the ocean. They are nigh-mindless, enormous, tentacled abominations that do little more than eat and attack one-another around the orb in the deep seas. Each one is uniquely bizarre and diffuse in their appearance. He names them ‘Behemoths.’ He then creates smaller, shambling versions of them to populate the flooded underpaths for the hell of it, which he calls ‘Ixkin.’ Though they were originally to eat one-another like the Behemoths, they instead rip into the newly populated caverns, and fight with the new creatures for food and lairs. Ixthalizzum returns happily to his crag for another nap. What a big day it was! [Major Action] Digging a massive underwater chasm in the deepest part of the ocean (that accidentally floods a portion of the underpaths). Creating a orb of chaos that draws from Yngbald’s magic. It sends pulses of chaos through magic making it more difficult/dangerous to wield (but not impossible/lethal). The chaotic power also has the potential to be channeled. The orb is surrounded by a jagged and incomprehensible crystal lattice. [Minor action] Creating a species of enormous, tentacled, multi-formed, near-mindless creatures that do little more than fight and eat one-another referred to as ‘Behemoths.’ Secondly, smaller versions of these creatures are created with slightly more intelligence, that inhabit the flooded underpaths, referred to as ‘Ixkin.’

“Truth is a lie, but only if truth being a lie is not a lie. Lies, therefore, are just as likely to be true, unless that truth is also a lie. These are the only true lies you will ever be told.” -Ixthalizzum, God of Indecision, Confusion, Derangement, and Irony. Ixthalizzum splurges down upon the great orb willed into being by the Fate-wielder Lavat-es. His ever-warping form writhes pleasantly in the warmth of the new sun. His six-thousand potential lungs breath in the freshly-hewn air. His infinite eyes gaze across the rocky land and he finally comes to his conclusion--this world was simply too decisive. There needs to be disorder to the world’s order. He had watched with frustration as Lavrat-es anchored the world as it was. Determined, he travels to the largest continent and digs a thousand of his hands into the fresh earth. He heaved and pushed until the land beneath him cracked and tore a great chasm into the earth, but he was no able to move it whatsoever. ”If I cannot make this world move,” he roared in anger, “I will move things around it!” Flinging himself to the earth, he approached the crag he had torn before, and dug from it great hunks of clay and stone. Shaping them into three small balls, he threw them into the sky to dance in the void with the sun and the moon Vula-Marama. At night the sun and moon’s light would be reflected on them into the dark, and sometimes during the day they would pass before the sun, blocking the light. There would never be a certain day, nor night, and this pleased Ixthalizzum greatly. He named them Ix, Thal, and Izum after himself, as he could not think of anything else. These were but the anchor for something more. The three new moons pulled the oceans and winds into chaotic patterns, stopping wind and ocean currents from ever being completely predictable. With a powerful wheeze he blew new, dangerous wind into the air, creating raging storms and tidal waves that would beat at the shores of the continents. With the moons in place, the seas could not be controlled, or easily predicted like they would have with merely one hanging in the sky. Satisfied with his work for now, he peered into the deep crag he had torn and saw winding caves diving deeper into the crust. It seemed as good a place to rest as any, and its maze-like unpredictable nature made it feel like home. And so his formless mass sunk into the dark, and he snoozed while the other Gods continued their works. [Minor Action] Creation of chaotic weather--storms, tsunamis, tornados, etc etc. Creation of a vast, deep canyon on the largest continent. [Major Action] Creation of three moons (Ix, Thal, and Izum) that would stop complete control or prediction of the weather and oceans, cause night to be partially illuminated, and the sun to have a chance at being eclipsed.

Forum Name: Catostrophy Skype: You have it. God Name: Ixthalizzum, God of Indecision, Confusion, Derangement, and Irony Appearance: She has no face--no wait, he does! Several faces! No, two. Only two faces. Those three faces are separated by their emotional state. One looks frightened, and the other two appear frightened as well. The fourth face looks maniacally happy and speaks for all five faces across the God’s body. The others speak, but rarely address the other Gods as it would be a waste of time. When the faces do engage with the other Gods (as they often do) they never allow the fourth face to speak for them at any point. They also never allow the fouth face to speak under any circumstances. Though Ixthalizzum does not have a face, he does have tonsils. Why? To guard against infection. This is why he has six mouths. Agenda: Ixthalizzum always thinks he is right, though it’s difficult to determine what precisely he’s right about. He dislikes order and conviction, as no-one should be completely certain about anything. All Gods/mortals/beings should second-guess themselves until they can’t remember what it was they were trying to do. They will go mad trying to figure out what it was they were attempting to do! They were probably never going to do it in the first place, though. Whatever it was. What were they doing, again? They should probably reconsider--or not. Description: Ixthalizzum does not desire to be worshiped, as that would give credence to the certainty that he exists--which she may not. He prefers to ignore the actions of the Gods, which is good for the gods themselves as it means he will not interfere with their plans. He is utterly untrustworthy, and is just as likely to turn on an ally as he is to strike an enemy. Or the complete opposite! Any and all certainty that he sees ought to be undermined. Sample Creation: Nothing. Ixthalizzum cannot decide what to create, if he is to create anything. He will, however, transform other creations of other Gods if he feels they are too rigid in their design or too strong in their convictions. For instance--one God builds a giant fortress, impregnable by any means. Ixthalizzum will make its soldiers forget their shifts and lose important documentation regarding its maintenance. Another God founds a faith of cast-iron rules and laws, so Ixthalizzum drives the leader mad and makes the adherents question their authorities.