Catostrophy

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

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.

“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?

“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.

944NE A triumph! A great victory for the empire against the scurrilous forces of Korvic ruination! A Korvic tribal confederacy was driven from the field of battle and slaughtered in their thousands! Loot from the camp and battlefield are paraded through Altaire’s Shrine Road before the effigies of the ancestors! Their women and children are in chains to be sold to the arena or crucified along the roads for the perverse pleasure of the capital’s citizens. The Governors of the provinces are invited to a great celebration in honor of the triumph... ... the triumph of Orbus Kelrum - Legate of the First, Fourth, and Fifth Legion- of course! After relieving the local militia, Orbus engaged the enemy forces and crushed them with almost no Imperial losses. Wasting no time, he and his forces crossed the waters of the Collapsing Falls and took the great valley beyond. Named in his family’s honour, the ‘Kelrum Valley’ has been transferred to the authority of Aulus’ March. The contributions by the Provinces are noted, however. (+5 Imperial Influence to anyone who sent soldiers to the battle) A new state has formed in the Hearthlands. Declaring itself independent from both Altairean and Trinnimec rule, the Auldun Commonwealth is expanding rapidly at the expense of the Trinnimecs. Their forces comprising mostly of lightly-armed mobs, they cut a bloody swathe across the Hearthlands, fanatically touting “freedom, equality, and brotherhood.” The Imperial authorities denounce them as ‘brigands with banners squatting on rightful Altairean territory.’ Dire reports pour from coastline villages on the Crimson Sea. Pirates are raiding and pillaging without mercy or restraint. Fast ships baring the insignia of the extinct Third Fleet strike coastal towns and merchant vessels without warning before disappearing across the horizon. No-one seems to know where they come from, as they sail into the sea rather than follow the coast like most ships. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Royal Highlands: The trade treaty may be placed on hold, as ships are raided liberally by the vicious pirate bands of the Third Fleet. Though they don’t attempt to retake what was apparently their previous port, they cause great havoc along the shorelines of the Crimson Sea. (-5AP and no AP from sea-bound trade this turn) Annor’s Crossroads: The newest prototypes of Milus Bombs are still not ready for combat use, but are definitely getting close to something worthwhile. The Sorcerer’s Conclave approves of the advancement however and sends another stipend for its further development. (+10AP towards Milus Bombs this turn) Though the Conclave shows interest in the idea of oversized hand-cannons, they aren’t willing to invest in any more projects until the first one is completed. Riviera: Reports come in from the coastline! Pirate ships from the north have slipped past Blightswamp and the Gray Coast; they are heading towards Riviera! Be wary, Governor... Blackwoods: More Korvics are drawn to assimilation from the programs of the governor and his wife. Though many more local Korvics grumble about how Brecca’s tribe seems to be given far more attention and privilege than the other, less important tribes. Nasty slurs about her character ripple through their savage communities. The Sorcerer thanks the governor kindly for his donation, and promises that he will definitely probably find something soon! He has a few theories, but he’s waiting for another mass disappearance to look into them deeper. In the mean time, he’s been interviewing local blackwoodsmen about the disappearances and so far only has a 20% death-rate among them! He’s hoping to drop that a bit lower when they get around to trusting him. Tamaraad Coast: The donations are sent to the grieving families. They take the money thankfully, but they cannot mask their bitterness at how the glory seems to have been taken by this “Orbus” fellow, and no-one is talking about the Provincial forces lost. There is some clear resentment, there. The charity does not go unnoticed by those in the capital, though. (+1 Imperial Influence) The gold is received once more by the capital, and they are happy to take it. The generosity of the Governor is truly one to be admired...(+5 Imperial Influence) The priests approach the Governor once again with a request—as the gold was a gift from the ancestors, they desire a large temple built in the vicinity of the mine. It is a way to honor the contributions of the fallen soldiers that now rest there and the wealth that blesses the Province. They request 10,000 denarius for materials and engineers from the capital. Silus is beginning to get noticed in the Altaire. The priests speak of him fondly, and their flocks listen intently... Pirates of the Third Fleet plague the coast of Tamaraad and disrupt trade (-5AP this turn, no AP from sea-bound trade this turn). Blightswamp: The missionaries from Tamaraad begin their work preaching to the people of Blightswamp. They prod and scorn the locals for mistakes in their shrine-tending and prayers. Every small transgression from orthodox tradition is elevated to a grievous sin. The Plains of Farlus: The exploration of the hills finally turn up something useful. As the prospectors dig into a hill far off the beaten track, they are surprised that it didn’t contain ruins, but what appeared to be a whole building buried beneath the earth! (Skype) The explorations into the moldy town reveal that it is definitely an abandoned town. But could there be more...? (Skype) Island of Salathai: The missionaries are gladdened by the donation from the clearly devout governor! However, the people are less pleased. They grumble about the mainlander Neaists proselytizing on their island, and those who are not as faithful as they claim are getting restless when being publicly declared ‘heathens’ by the fiery clerics. An unassuming man – possibly from the capital – answers the call for people skilled in espionage. He doesn’t give his name, but shows his skill by breaking into Governor Gaius’ office and leaving a letter of acceptance on his desk. He also infiltrates the staff and learns the schedules, home addresses, and favorite wine of everyone in the building. The information of Oarsbrekk is handed to Gaius by the end of the year. Some of it may be surprising. (Skype) The Imperial Council answers the letter, as the Emperor is not yet of age to tend to such things. They are surprised at the commander’s treachery, but accept the resolution and punishment. Not completely though, as Decimus had quite a few friends in the capital. Among them are a number of wealthy traders who were very interested in his career, apparently. (-5 Imperial Influence) The sailors, so poorly disciplined, are not happy with the sudden change in their daily routines and drinking time. Serious discontent is spreading through the fleet but it has yet to find an outlet. Only time will tell if this spirals out of control. Several veterans from the Imperial Fleet and the First Fleet answer the call, eager to get back into the service, or just make a few denarius on the side. They will certainly be necessary if the Governor hopes to get the Fourth Fleet under control. Bahzuuth Jungles: The Governor of Bahzuuth’s name is well known among the poor of Altaire. Whole poorhouses have been fed by his charity, and the forgotten unfortunates who scour the crumbling streets pray for his health. Beggars whisper his name to one-another, wishing that he were on the Imperial Council rather than the greedy lords that occupy their chambers. A number of skilled surveyors come to Bahzuuth as a favor from some mining guilds in the Four Isles of Arai. Sadly, they can’t seem to find anything in the Hopeless Crags. Not that they dared go too far in, as they spotted a terrifying creature the size of a village perched on a mountain top. If it was like the monsters they heard plague Esk, they had no desire to linger there. They did spot some ruined stonework deeper in the jungle, however. Perhaps that information would please the Governor? Aulus’ March: The pirates of the Third Fleet seem to avoid the March, as the first fleet is docked there. The merchants are still too afraid to step out of port, however. (No sea-bound trade this turn) The lands of the Kelrum Valley are transferred to the authorities of Aulus’ March. The people here who were not enslaved, didn’t run, or weren’t taken by the soldiers are cowed enough for Imperial rule to take hold. (+30,000 population, 2 Farm stacks). (Dev’s Expenditure) 29AP in total: 5AP towards a T2 mine, 5AP towards reinforcing 4 cohorts of veteran medium infantry, 9AP towards Mercantile district, 10AP into 2 regular cohorts of steel-clad medium infantry. All players who didn’t get their posts done in time will have their AP carried over to next turn. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ No old kooks are spotted this year. Perhaps he’s retired...?

Our Prices are to DIE for! Earth year 2113, Hades, Mine 15. Phillip Narau stepped inside the decompression chamber and the oxygen hissed into the cramped space. The space was, unfortunately, made further cramped by the presence of the rotund Jason Woolard, who was currently telling another of his mining jokes. Jason’s humor almost always involved flatulence or food references—two favorites of the mining magnate. Phillip patiently waited for his voice to reach a specific wheezing crescendo that indicated the approaching punchline to his joke. Once it was heard he would be able to give an appropriate response, and then move on to the next topic. “... beef patty right out his arse!” Following this statement was Jason’s loud, quacking laugh. As per his usual habit, Phillip answered politely “yes, very amusing, Jason.” The hiss of oxygen pouring into the chamber drowned out any further comments. Good. It would give Phillip a chance to take hold of the conversation’s flow, and keep Jason focused on business. “As I was saying, Jason, the Board has a few concerns that I agree with.” Jason nodded along as an orderly came into the chamber and helped Jason unbuckle his special X-large environmental suit. Getting in and out of heavy, radiation-shielded outfits was part of life on the outskirts of Hades inhabited zone. Annoying, but less annoying than environmentalists and thus a net gain for Phillip and the Corporation. “Huh?” Jason’s balding, sweaty head swiveled in Phillip’s direction sending his extraneous chins into a hypnotic jiggle. “Oh yeah,” he guffawed as recognition spread across his face. “You mentioned that before my story! Aw mate you should have been there...” “No doubt, Jason, it was a deeply humorous situation.” Phillip could feel his grasp of the conversation almost slip from his fingers. “The issue isn’t so much economic, but about our leadership. May pose a hypothetical question?” The two men stepped into Jason’s tacky and messy office. As the orderly closed the door behind them, Phillip steeped his fingers in thought; how could he phrase this in a way Jason could follow? “What, in your opinion, is the most... good... form of government?” Jason’s wide face scrunched up in thought, and he fell into his heavily-reinforced armchair which in turn groaned loudly from his obscene mass. “None of them?” “Yes, very true, Jason. Allow me to rephrase—what in your opinion is the best form of management?” Jason’s face lit up. “What we’ve got right now! This is pretty bloody good!” “Exactly, Jason. I agree. If we were to apply a political definition to what we’ve got right now, it would probably be closest to an ‘enlightened autocracy.’ Our ‘autocrat’ or CEO in this case, has almost total executive power and yet isn’t interested in abusing it for personal gain. The values and experiences he had during his upbringing and adult life have made profitable decision-making skills instinctual while still accounting for PR.” Phillip swiped some crumbs off a chair in front of Jason’s desk, and carefully settled himself into it. “What I am trying to impart, Jason, is that our situation is very, very rare. The Corporation relies on periodic executive inactivity, coupled with sporadic focus. I am not sure if any of the current executives on the Board will be able to restrain themselves similarly. Are you following me so far, Jason?” The mining magnate was staring at Phillip open-mouthed and with furrowed brow. “Ah, yeah? I s’pose?” Phillip grunted in approval. He had expected Jason to have trouble with this information, but he’d have surely said something if he was confused. “As Mr Penrith is close to his 50th birthday, I think it’s wise that we begin future-proofing the Corporation’s growth potential by selecting an heir, and artificially recreating the upbringing of Mr Penrith’s own childhood. I will require some time to research this process. From my early theorizing, I suspect some sort of familial estrangement mixed with healthy doses of failure and humility may be the right course of action, but I will need to look into it with more depth.” Jason slowly nodded his head, though his expression remained the same. “I’m not going to have time to see Ms Price when she’s finished with her latest tourism construction effort.” Phillip stood up, and straightened his jacket. “Will you be able to relay to her what I’ve explained to you? I’d prefer to keep this between the three of us; fewer externalities to calculate while I work on preliminary flow-charts.” “Uh, yeah. Sure.” Phillip narrowed his eyes at Jason, studying him for a moment. “Are you sure you are capable of relaying said information?” Jason sat up straight, and nodded vigorously. “Yeah, no worries! Here, I’ll write it on my hand!” He took a pen from a novelty beer-bottle pen holder. “I always remember stuff I write on my hand!” He stuck his tongue out as he scribbled frantically. Satisfied, Phillip nodded once and walked out of Jason’s office. The orderly waited patiently at the decompression chamber to help him clamber into his environmental suit once more. Jason ran a sweaty palm over his forehead, and smudged the skin blue with ink. Earth year 2121, Hades, Joey’s Legit Pub-Food & Bar. Jason wolfed down another bite of his steak. He loved the food in this place—there were only so many spots on Hades that could capture the authentic Australian pub-tucker taste he craved. Milly Price, tourism mogul and xenophobe, was sitting in front of him reading something on her data-pad and looking particularly smug. She always made that face whenever she got something she wanted, and Jason couldn’t help but feel like he’d forgotten something. It was the steak, coupled with Milly and an oncoming bout of flatulence that seemed to jog something deep in his memory. Was it something to do with steak? No, beef! Farts were involved for absolute certain. There was something important that he needed to say to Milly... The mousy woman looked up from her data-pad and was greeting by a halfwit staring at her while deep in thought. The creases on his brow were indication enough that he was thinking very, very hard about something. “What is it, Jason?” Stammered Milly. “Did one of those Grgl touch me? Jesus Christ they creep me the hell out.” Jason continued to glare, and his eyes opened wide as if a great realization had dawned upon him. “Holy ****, what is it?!” Milly leaned forward with her nervous fingers drumming on the greasy table. She looked around herself in worried anticipation. “It... it wasn’t a Backhatta, was it? Please tell me a space-roach didn’t brush past me just now.” Jason leaned to his left, and a racid, wet fart trumpeted proudly from his flabby backside. “Nup. S’alright.” While Milly coughed and swore, Jason happily dug back into his steak. It was probably nothing important. Earth-year 2141, Hades, HCAC Tower. “And you trusted Jason to tell me?!” Milly roared. There was sweat practically dripping from her forehead as she screamed at Phillip Narau, who was currently adjusting his tie in a large mirror. “He assured me he understood my instructions, Ms Price. I had assumed he’d tell me if I was unclear.” He tsked, and pulled the methodical knot apart for the third time. Ties were very important for first impressions. “You didn’t think of checking in on this subject for two decades?” Milly hissed. Her rage was now simmering rather than boiling. Phillip reached to his right, and pulled another tie from a rack of several dozen. This one had small, black stripes that matched his facial tattoos more closely. “If I had known you were manipulating Steve’s son I probably would have stopped you, you creepy bastard! Maybe you never wanted me to know?” She growled, and began stalking the room like a cornered tiger. “Maybe you thought I’d tell Steve, and you entrusted this information to an idiot so I couldn’t interfere—and if I did find out you could say that I was informed!” She pointed a wobbling, accusatory finger at the Maori with her teeth bared. “Covering all your bases, right Narau? Trying to make me look all tied up in your dirty little plans! That way, I would fall with you if I told anyone! You’re sick Narau. Fuckin’ sick.” Straightening his jacket, Phillip took one last look in the mirror and nodded to himself in satisfaction. “That was not my initial intent, but I will admit that it was an unprecedented boon. You and the rest of the Board do not have the foresight to properly navigate future difficulties for this Corporation.” The accountant turned around, and loomed towards her with his massive arms clasped behind his back. His facial tattoos made any expression camouflaged and unreadable—if he ever emoted anything at all. “It has taken me significant effort to ensure growth beyond our lifetime. Your meddling and lack of subtlety would merely slow or destroy the process. What would I even entrust you with, Millicent Price? Introducing Mr Penrith to his secretary and bringing her to him at times of emotional heights? Perhaps it should have been you to suggest giving combat droids to his son in order to grow his interest around industrial processes? What of convincing Mr Penrith to give the child a business to run in order to isolate him from forming friendships among his own age? Do you think you could have performed that task, Ms Price?” Phillip spoke coldly as he approached Milly. The enormous accountant dwarfed her as he reached for the door handle to her right. “My process - a very complicated process – is almost complete. All that is left to do is ensure that John is estranged from his family, and then have him take the helm of the Corporation. After which his adult life will be shaped by Hephaestus. All unnecessary personality quirks and foibles excised and replaced with PR-friendly profit motives. The perfect CEO.” Phillip opened the door, and glared at Milly as he walked through. “We’ll speak after the meeting. As an accountant, I must account for the future of Hephaestus -- both economically, and diplomatically.” The mousy woman watched as the icy giant departed. Part of her wanted to follow him, but knowing that both that Karass Queen and Protorian Archivar were in the tower, she baulked. Earth year 2142, Grand Ares, Office of Jason Woolard. Milly paced around the tacky, plastic office of Jason Woolard biting on her nails and mumbling to herself in barely-constrained panic and stress. The large man himself was sitting in a larger chair and scratching his chin, somewhat confused. “You know, what he should have done is got me to write what he said on my hand. I always remember stuff I write on my hand.” He shook his head sadly, wobbling his neck-rolls along with it. “If only he knew that, poor old Phil.” He raised a puffy, red hand on his equally puffy, red eye. “I miss the guy. He always liked my jokes...” Milly took this opportunity to march over to Jason’s desk, and slammed her hands down on it loudly glaring at Jason right in his beady eyes. “Now’s not the time for fuckin’ reminiscing, Woolard.” She hissed through clenched teeth. “What the hell are we going to do about his little plan? He said it was ‘almost complete,’ and something about ‘estrangement.’ He was trying to mirror Steve’s upbringing in John’s, but what if there’s more to it than that? What if there’s a bunch of **** that still needs to be done?!” She began to frantically pace again while rubbing her migraine-ridden temples. “We tell his mum, she won’t get it, and she’ll talk. We tell the Board and they’ll toss us under the bus immediately. Jim’s too bloody slippery for his own good. I don’t trust him. He’s already cut us off from the kid...” Jason stared vacantly at Milly, perplexed at her behavior. “Do we just leave it? What if his brain breaks somehow, and we get a nutjob as a CEO? I’ve heard he’s already having nightmares from the attack...” Jason scrunched his face up in thought. “Well, he’s estranged, right? Like, I don’t think he can get more estranged than he already is. After what happened to... ah jeez...” The voluminous man began to tear up again, wiping his eyes and nose with his sleeve. “Steve was a top bloke, Mills. I miss the bugger... you remember the t-“ “We’ll just assume everything will be fine!” Milly giggled hysterically as she continued her marathon around the office. “It’s all we can do, right? I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like Steve’s gonna come back to life anytime soon! It’s probably all working, and John will grow up perfectly adjusted to his future role. All’s well!” She looked at Jason for encouragement, but all she got back was a worrisome expression. Earth year 2144, Hades, Office of recently resurrected Steven Penrith. “A space wizard, Milly? That’s your solution?” Steven was older than she was, but he still had boundless energy in his movements and actions. He seemed different after he returned, but he was definitely the same Penrith as the one that fried his brain with a laser-pistol. Somehow. The opulent office wasn’t even changed during his year of being dead. John wouldn’t allow it, and the Board weren’t willing to argue with the future CEO. His legs were kicked up on his priceless mahogany desk, and the white suit he’d taken to wearing made him look like a plantation owner from the 19th century. “Nightmares could be bad for PR Steve! I mean, I’ve heard he’s started shooting up his room!” Milly groaned internally from straining her voice. She was starting to feel her age, and Steve’s bizarre youthfulness unnerved her. She hadn’t engaged with the CEO much since his return—a fair few Board members matched her viewpoint on the miraculous return of their boss. Milly herself was quietly seeking evidence that he was some sort of secret Eadni-like clone. So far, though, nothing had come of it. “My son just has good sleep-aim!” Steve retorted sharply. “The screams are just loud yawns! I’ve told this to you buzzards already! Just because you’ve never yawned at the top of your lungs doesn’t mean that Penriths don’t.” He folded his arms, and peeled his eyes away from Milly. “I won’t force him to go off on some misadventure and have a sorcerer poke around in his head.” “Yeah but Steve,” Milly cooed plaintively, “the Board is getting concerned.” “Well the Board can shove it up their puckered—“ Steven inhaled sharply, and rubbed his temples with a grumble. “—look, I’ll send him to one. If he comes back and everything’s the same, we can assume that he’s fine. Alright? You got that? Perfectly fine and normal!” Milly left the office satisfied but frightened. She internally cursed her paranoia, but most of all she cursed the specter of Phillip Narau who still haunted the Board and its members. His scheme was now her scheme, and she needed to see its last puzzle-piece in place before she could sleep soundly at night. Now, only time would tell if Johnny Penrith would measure up. There was no way in hell she was leaving Aphrodite again. Earth year 2159, Hades, HCAC Tower, Office of John Penrith. John pushed away a large holo-screen on his desk and stretched his arms. Running a corporation this size was exhausting, but there was nothing a power-nap and synth-coffee couldn’t fix. He remembered his father’s words as he handed over the company to him—“pace yourself, eat properly, plan around leisure, six-to-eight hours of sleep every night. No excuses.” It was a good system, and thankfully it was almost time for the leisure part. He just had one more meeting before he could relax. “Mr Penrith,” the raspy voice of his Backhatta secretary chimed, “your four-o’clock appointment is here.” John settled himself back into his large, leather chair, and cleared his throat. “Cheers, Lilly. Send her in.” Hopefully this would be over with quickly. The moment she walked in his office, Johnny was immediately captivated. She was definitely human (it could be hard to tell sometimes), and she had the poise of a supermodel. A knee-length skirt and modest blouse barely hid her svelte figure as she gracefully slid in front of the desk with an outstretched hand. “Mr Penrith. A pleasure to meet you,” she purred. John grasped her hand firmly and shook it enthusiastically. “Ms Roxanne Marawai,” he grinned. “Pleasure’s all mine. Have a seat, love!” As she settled into her chair, John took a moment to examine her in a less than chivalrous manner. He had a feeling he would be saying yes quite a bit during this meeting. “As you’re quite aware, sir, Executive Millicent Price has passed away.” “Yeah, bloody shame. She was a tough old bird. Glad she went out in her sleep. Less frightening for the poor old thing. Drink, Ms Marawai?” “I’d love one, thank you, sir. And please—call me Roxanne.” Her melodious voice followed John as he sauntered to his crystal decanter and poured a glass for the two of them. “Roxanne it is. Though I think I’d prefer you still call me ‘sir’ throughout this meeting.” He turned back to her, glasses in hand, and sat on the edge of his desk. “Why bring up Milly, Roxanne?” Taking her glass, she swirled the port and hummed to herself. “I was the lead manager of Aphrodite Resorts Ltd for over a year before she passed away. I didn’t make the hard decisions, but I organised everything and kept her accounts in order. I feel, due to my experience running the resort, that I should receive the leadership of the subsidiary.” John tilted his head in bemusement. “Well as a lead manager you should know that I don’t delegate who owns what subsidiary. That’s up to the shareholders.” “Yes I know, sir.” Roxanne spoke softly. “But in exceptional circumstances the CEO may determine who controls a subsidiary. My circumstances aren’t particularly exceptional. But...” She took a sip from her class, and placed it on her desk, leaning across John to do it. Her hand brushed across his thigh and she stared in his eyes with a small pout. “... I like to think I’m a very exceptional person, don’t you...?” She leaned towards his ear, and whispered huskily. “...sir?” A reptilian smile spread ear-to-ear on John’s face. “Ms Marawai!” He gasped in mock shock. “I’m a married man!” Thank God it was leisure time. Earth year 2159, HCAC Tower, 7th Floor: Accounting. A young girl with sandy-blond hair and green eyes sat on the most boring floor of the most boring place in Corporate space. According to her friends in school, most of the fun things employees could do were relegated to adults. She lived in her massive tower (to the ignorant jealousy of her mates) with her own large room on one of the top floors. She hated the gray monolith as much as she hated her parents. Today she was meeting the one member of her family she didn’t openly loathe to spend time with—Grandpa Steve. The old man had told her to meet him on this particular floor in an hour or so, but she turned up early to sit around the accountancy offices. She liked making the agents nervous for kicks, as the accountants were by far the wimpiest employees in the tower. Sometimes she pretended to take notes on them as they passed through the hall in order to make the sweat through shirts. Every now and again she threw in 'tsks' and head-shakes. Her goal was to make at least one of them faint before her grandpa arrived. Suddenly, she heard a familiar voice echo around a corner and slowly approaching. “... if it does happen. And I’m not suggesting that it will, but if it does, make sure that-...” A heavily wrinkled, doddering Steven Penrith stared in surprise when he spotted his granddaughter sitting on a hallway bench. “Well I’ll be blowed! What are you doing here so early, sunshine?” Sinchil stood up, and shrugged. “Nowhere else to be.” Steven scoffed, and hobbled over to her to gift her with a kiss on her forehead. “Kids should be running outside and bidding on the stock-market. Even special ones like you.” He pushed her towards the two imposing women who had followed him down the hallway. “This is High Commander Sophia Briarwood,” Steven shakily gestured to a skeletal, stern, gray-haired woman who nodded towards Sinchil. “And this is High Commander Amanda Phelps.” A tall, blond-haired woman with a strong jawline smiled slightly and nodded her head. “They’re in change of the Enforcers and Corporate Fleet respectively. Sinchil waved lazily. “Hey.” Steven wheezed a laugh and ruffled her hair. “She’s only just turned into a teen, and she’s already got that angst and whatnot!” He drew her away from the two uniformed women. “We’ll talk about that thing later, ladies.” Steven and Sinchil walked at an ambling pace towards an elevator. “Now Sunny, today I’m taking you somewhere very special. You know what ‘the Box’ is?” Sunny shook her head. “Well, it’s where we keep our most valuable stuff.” He rasped. “All our most special stuff from earth (and afterwards) we can’t keep in a bank.” The two stepped into the elevator, and Steven pulled out a thick blue security card. Swiping it across a special scanner, a number of loud whirs and beeps chattered before an electronic voice buzzed. “User identified: S. Penrith. Unidentified Guest detected. Please present card, or vocalize CEO override.” Steven rolled his eyes, and sighed. “Override code: beers-and-babes one two three four five.” Sinchil smirked and looked at Steven questioningly. “I set it a long bloody time ago, Sunny. Don’t laugh at your grandpa.” The ride down in the elevator was slow, but a helpful screen informed the viewer of the current depth. “I wouldn’t bother reading that,” Steven remarked. “I had the screen show triple the actual depth to make it seem more impressive.” The pair arrived at the bottom of the elevator (apparently 150 feet beneath the tower), and the doors slid open to reveal the glimmering shine of gold. “What’s with all this metal, grandpa?” Sinchil ran her hand over dusty rows of gold ingots. The pathway was lined with tonnes of the substance, many stamped with English characters, and others with Tassaran and Grgl lettering pressed into them. “Back in the day, gold was worth a damn. Nowadays it’s just a more expensive form of copper. I decided to keep what we got in the early days for the hell of it.” As they ambled ponderously down the dusty path, the room slowly opened up into a grand chamber, filled with all kinds of strange objects and oddities. As they traveled, Steven pointed out some of the treasures littered throughout it. Sinchil snorted as they moved past a tall, nude marble statue. “That there’s David. I managed to nab him by paying off six curators in the Accademia Gallery with seats on our colony ship. I send their kids Christmas cards every year.” “Over there is the Madonna on the Rocks.” Steve said, waving a hand at an old painting encased in thick glass. “I tried to get the Mona Lisa but the frogs locked the Louvre down before I could bribe anyone. This is still fairly nice, though.” They passed by suits of armour, unusual swords, skeletons of massive reptiles, and gilded sarcophagi. Each one had an unusual story of how they were obtained, ranging from bribery, to unambiguous theft. ‘There weren’t many rules in the final days’ was her grandpa’s justification. After a long walk through a trove of treasures, they made it to the very back of the vast concrete chamber, where a bronze statue of a dog sat on a green ‘tucker box.’ Steven coughed, and sat down on the base of another renaissance statue wearily. “This one’s a Bernini,” he wheezed, sticking his thumb out towards the two marble figures wafting above him. “I forget its name. Rape of Apollo or ah, Daphne and Pros-something? I dunno. His stuff looks nicer than most, but they’re less recognizable.” He leaned back on the intricately carved stone, and waved his hand and the bronze dog. “Move that dog to the right, would you? Grandpa’s knees are buggered.” Dutifully, Sinchil walked over to the statue, and pushed it aside. As it was moved clumps of dust wafted into the air causing an eruption of coughs and sneezes from the young girl. Steven cackled, “Should probably get some cleaners down here, huh?” She shot a withering look at her grandfather, which only made him laugh more. When the statue was finally out of the way, she waved the wafting dust out of her face to see what was revealed. All that she could see behind the statue was more dust and some refuse concrete. Steve pointed towards one of the larger pieces of concrete with a wrinkled smile. “Bring that bit to me, sweetie. Time for a story.” The concrete turned out to be a whole cinderblock after it was pulled from the pile of dust. It was so old she could feel the outer-layers of its rough surface rub off on her hands. Steven took the block from her, and hefted it onto his knee. “This right here is probably the first block laid for the first Hephaestus factory nearly a hundred-and-fifty years ago.” Sinchil gave Steven an incredulous look. “Shouldn’t it be in a case, or something?” Steven answered her with an equally incredulous look. “Hey? Its concrete, Sunny. It doesn’t need a case. I didn’t feel right sticking it in a box, anyway. Not when there’s a whole heap of stuff more valuable money-wise. I like it in a corner and out of anyone’s sight. My little sentimental secret.” He rubbed dust from the brick, and powdery gray sand covered his hand and trousers.” “Back in the day,” Steven began (in a tone Sinchil recognized as his story-voice), “My dad pulled together a bunch of his mates and a few contacts he had in the dying manufacturing sector in order to build their own business. It was to be chock-full of experimental automation processes that would make it viable in markets that were traditionally dominated by the Chinese and Africans. Penrith Industrial Solutions he called it, since he was technically the boss. They pooled their money into the project to get a decently-sized factory approved for construction. But the builder’s unions didn’t approve of the safety standards and the money on offer for the project. Unions were a pain in the arse to deal with in those days, see. So after just about every construction company turned down the project out of fear, my dad, or your great-granddad, Andrew Penrith said ‘piss on this, I’ll build it meself.’” Steven licked his lips with a smile. Sinchil listened on curiously, though she wasn’t particularly sure about where the tale was going. “He and his mates put together the shoddiest, wonkiest, cheapest factory you could make. It was basically a shack on top of concrete. How it passed its council inspection was an absolute mystery, even to my dad. The thing fell down the very day the operation moved elsewhere, and I dug this bit out after my dad karked it. Er...” Steven furrowed his brow in thought. “...where was I going with this...? Sinchil smiled kindly at her ailing grandfather and sat down next to him. “What I mean to say, sunshine,” Steven continued after a long pause, “is that I’m not going to be around much longer, right?” “You don’t know that, grandpa.” Sinchil quickly retorted. “Ah, well, no. I’m pretty damn sure I’m not going to be. So I figured I’d ah, sort of pass this thing over to you, right?” Steven seemed to struggle with his words for a moment and his brow creased from thought. “I’m er, not the cleverest man in the galaxy. Sometimes I think it’s a big joke that Hephaestus even made it to where it is now. I mean, how the hell did we even manage this? How has everything been working out this well? Wait wait, hold on. I’m rambling again. There was a point to all this...” “... I guess, ultimately, is that Hephaestus is our home. It’s your home. When you build something with your own hands its worth more to you than something you bought or got for free. Your family’s blood, stubbornness, luck, and joy are mixed into this shitty, cheap concrete. This business is very important to me. It’s important to millions of people. And that’s sort of got me confused, see? Because people are willing to die for it. And that’s not something I ever really thought about. If a business is the home to millions, who have their own culture and identity, and will stand up for it when it’s threatened with violence—I mean, what the hell does that make us?” Steven rubbed his temples, and groaned. “I dunno. Things have been getting confusing for me these last few years. Maybe it’s my age finally catching up to me? I guess you can’t be a century old and not have your thoughts get all foggy.” He looked at the cinder-block and sighed deeply. “The Corporation is important. But you need to remember that you can’t always treat it like one. Or that your actions are only for your own sake. Things get muddy when you start asking pointed questions about it. I just hope you remember that when you grow up, is all.” Steve rubbed the underside of his nose with his palm, and wiped it on the statue. “Alright lovey. Put it back.” Sinchil groaned as she took hold of the block, and Steven snickered. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Action Points 4AP by default, 32AP from trade, 16AP from population, 25AP from sectors, 36AP from business, 26AP from industry, 2AP from the Trade Federation, 6AP from cargo capacity, 8AP from itoron mines, 4AP from dialite 485AP from Zyrka 15AP from poland Total = 637AP BONUSES:-Ravenous Industrialism: -5AP off industry investments, +25% manufacturing output. -National Idea, Peace: 2% extra growth on primary population. -1AP from ship upkeep. -The Zyrka send the money, and the Hephaestus sends the droids! The factories churn, and combat droids roll out like a river of metal and guns. (-1415AP towards combat droids, to be delivered to Zyrka) -MEGA-MARTS MEGA-MOVING OUT OF THE MEGA-SHIPYARD! MEGA-MAGNIFICENT! (-50AP towards five MOVING MEGA-MARTS) -More population, more people, more sectors in desperate need for colonisation. Eight more colony ships are commissioned by the Corporation. (-24AP towards 8 colony ships) -Industry is a hearty target, should a man desire a healthy market. Though it can be rough, and though it can be tough, we must always follow through. Our buyers seek no competition, when they spy our disposition. Belching smoke-stacks, Products in 12-packs, Forging things are what we do. Look upon our pamphlets—dozens! Show them to your friends and cousins! We offer great deals, just listen to our speels! We always have something new! (-280AP towards industrial investments. Woah mama) -Aurora Astro, owners of the now famed Aurora Shipyard, are still not satisfied with the current size of their docks. They invest heavily in yet another upgrade project. Will it ever end??! (-100AP towards upgrading T7 shipyard to T8) -Warships are ordered at the Auroran shipyard, now that there’s enough room to build them between the colony ships and the MEGA-MARTS. (-26AP towards 2 heavy cruisers, 3 corvettes, 1 destroyer) -Due to the bulging R&D programs this year, a sum of funds are sent to the Trade Federation in order to support the increasing research into Swarmer Missiles and Torpedo systems. (-85AP) -The Hephaestus R&D concentrates on something far more grandiose than mere missiles. The Board has determined that blockades cannot possibly be perfectly legal without a way to truly lock down a planet. Enter the design of a new experimental class of warship. A Super-carrier, some might say, though others might class it as a ‘Beholder.’ They also seek to tweak it in a special manner, to make it far more practical for the other Hephaestus project... (-35AP towards designing a beholder vessel) -Why waste the valuable lives of pilots when you could simply replace all manned fighters with droids?! Or better yet, make the actual fighter just one big droid! Using the Provectus fighter as a base, the engineers begin tweaking and fiddling with the craft in order to make the perfect (affordable) unmanned fighter. (-35AP towards the Doris droid-fighter) -Two fury psionics, Daniel and David Tweedle, are sent off to the Grand Alliance academy to be trained. Why not have some psionic bodyguards, hm? (-2AP towards training) -A Polish man approaches the corporation in order to produce a number of tanks for their armed forces. Hephaestus happily obliges. (-12AP towards coal-powered tanks for The Grand Polish Republic)

943NE 16,000 Korvic warriors are making their way towards the river, with carts and horses ready to drag loot from the restful inner provinces they hope to penetrate. It is a plundering army, rather than an invading one. Raids like these are intended to solidify alliances and baptise new friendships in blood and loot. Such is the way of the barbarous filth. In the far east, the Trinnimecs have lost control of large swathes of their Hearthland territory. There's talk of new states rising there in the power vacuums, as warlords begin consolidating territory and awarding themselves titles. Off the coast of Blightswamp, ships appear and then then disappear on the horizon. They never come close enough to be properly observed, but it's a surprising amount of activity in a region where there should be no ships at all... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Royal Highlands The governor's gems are accepted by the young Emperor's liaison. The child seems uninterested in meeting the provincial governor, however, being as he's overwhelmed by all manner of boring dignitaries and statesmen. The Imperial Councillors still makes note of the wealth of jewels on display. The governor is curtly thanked, and allowed a chance to mingle with the less important guests in the banquet hall. He makes a fair splash there, at the very least. (+5 Imperial Influence) The sorcerers were at the fight, and were more than happy to help after such a marvellous investment into their research materials! The three adept sorcerers talk happily of ow exciting the battle was, and how one of them managed to burn a whole ship! What fun! The bandits are butchered left, right, and centre on the trek through the mountains. They're not all dead, but the roads are clear at the very least. (Road trade and upgrades now available) Aulus' March You build the things. You upgrade the things. The fleet go to the things. Have fun with the Korvics btw. Blightswamp The Imperial Capital is surprised that Legate Ferio managed to perform anything of any value at all. His dreadful reputation seems to override any influence gained from the act of brutalising some filthy Korvics. Despite an increased interest in slaves, most people in the south don't really want Korvics anywhere near them--especially not swamp-Korvics. Even the people at the Circus Hubectus are unwilling to buy the men and boys for fights. Though there's a little interest in the women and girls, as soon as potential customers hear that they're from Blightswamp they utterly refuse to buy. No-one wants a potentially diseased slave. Looks like the Governor is still stuck with them. Plains of Farlus A group of master sorcerers from the capital turn up just after the announcement for the academy is made. They make it very clear--to both the local sorcerers and the Governor--that any academy built will be subject to the will of the Conclave. They will be allowed a modicum of autonomy in their service to the province, but all artefacts will be under the jurisdiction of this new academy and the Conclave. If this cannot be accepted, then the Governor will have an empty building. The search still turns up very little. More of the hills are found looted clean or are simply just... hills. The further inland from the roads they get, the more prevalent the white stones become. Talking about white stones, Octavia performs her research and discovers that the white stones are definitely stones, and certainly white. They are completely mundane, with the exception of one point--she cannot identify what kind of stone it is. Even local masons are puzzled by it. It's not magical by any means, but it's not found anywhere in the Empire. Riviera No information on the old Kook's whereabouts come forward, but he is finally identified! Luvenis Senem, semi-famous athlete and notorious con-artist, has been scamming people for almost 30 years. Having found no fortune in marathon running and hiking, he took to petty theft to seize honest citizen's hard-earned money. His silver tongue and exceptional energy has kept him out of the hands of the law for now. He's apparently only 50 years old. Who can say where the miserable ruffian is now...? The roads are painted crimson from bandit's blood! The filth are unable to outrun the thundering hooves of the Kataphraktoi and those that hide are quickly found and slaughtered by the Rivieran infantry. Though not all the bandits are gone, they're certainly no longer a constant threat to the Rivieran merchants. (Road trade and upgrades now available) The young Emperor is ten years old, and his mother refuses to allow him a chance to drink the Provincial wine. It is sampled and enjoyed by the Imperial Council instead, and it is lauded for its quality. (+1 Imperial Influence) Tamaraad Coast The missionaries are relieved to know that their request was remembered and will be well-funded by the devout Governor. They buy ships, supplies, holy books, and hire pious sailors. With the blessings of Neai, they depart knowing that ancestors will grant them success. The news of the mission is sent to Her Temple in Altaire. They take note of the Governor's piety, and continued service to the faith. (+1 Imperial Influence) The gold finds its way to the capital and manages to get into the hands of the right people. Some of it ends up in front of the Emperor, some in the hands of bureaucrats and Imperial Councillors, and others to "concerned citizens" of high standing. Many important people make note of this gold-bearing governor. (+5 Imperial Influence) The Blackwoods The Korvics are none-too-pleased with the sudden interest in assimilating them. Before they had simply gotten by on pretending the Provincial authorities didn't exist, but now that they're trying to change their way of life! Though there is a lot of grumbling, there are many Korvics that are interested in adopting a culture more advantageous to themselves--the money they are getting being one such advantage. It seems that there's a social divide forming among the Korvics in the Blackwoods. The rangers stalk through the trees, bringing death to all they see. Eventually, they start running out of bandits. Strangely, more bandits were predicted to be in the woods, but other than empty campsites nothing more can be found. For the most part, the Blackwoods has now cleared its bandit problem. Family loyalty is a big deal among the Korvics, which unsurprisingly are the majority of bandits. As promised, the families of those who were proven to know their kin's activities are enslaved. More grumbling among the Korvics occur. In the meantime, the eccentric master sorcerer has managed to finish his incantations among the forests and homes of the citizens, with very few Blackwoodsmen casualties at that (though a few huts and burned down here and there. He is very unpopular among the natives now). He draws out a final, massive sigil on the fields just outside Elona, and with a whisper and crackling white bolts of magical energy, the thousands of sigils light up in unison and locate... ... nothing. There is nothing magical about the foggy woods. This doesn't seem to phase the Sorcerer, but rather make him even more excited to uncover the mystery! He informs the governor that he plans to stay longer. Free of cost, too. Annor's Crossroads The tests actually come back with some success! The newest Millus bomb variant seems to actually have a greater chance at killing the person it's aimed at, rather than the one throwing it. There are still a lot of dangers involved with exploding pots regardless of how well designed they are, and none of your troops are yet willing to carry them on a battlefield. The Sorcerer's Conclave shows some interest in the project though and they show their interest in the form of cold, hard cash. They are willing to invest 10,000 denarius (10AP), provided all schematics are shared with the Conclave. What is a "firework?" Is it what the woodsmen does when cutting firewood? Strange, alien words, Governor! Perhaps Lucretia has finally gone mad... The Emperor receives the weapons, and orders them to be brought before him. The young man is excited by the strange, pretty bang-bang tubes, as he's seen them fire before during training drills outside the capital. He's very pleased to have his own, though his mother seems less excited. (+3 Imperial Influence) The scouts find something in the mountains! Gold! Beautiful, gleaming gold tucked away in an abandoned mine high up in the mountains bordering Riviera! Such riches are sure to pl-... ... wait, this isn't gold. This is some sort of bizarre material that looks somewhat like gold, but is completely worthless. Surely, though, there's someone willing to buy such a silly thing for the humour of it. (+2AP per turn from Fool's Gold) The blood of bandits flow, and their screams are heard on the crosses that dot the roads. Crows feast on the dead happily. The bandits have now been dealt with, perhaps never to recover... Bahzuuth Jungles The fort is slowly restored, and beneath the collapsed stonework, southerner refuse, and scrub, skeletons clad in rusted armour lay in and around the walls. Perhaps its previous occupants? The soldiers of Pius occupy the fort on its completion. The scouts are sent on their mission and begin to prospect around the Hopeless crags, but find nothing of any worth. The mountains are barren rock with little indication of anything else being available. They are tall, however, and they make note of stonework relatively close by. Perhaps another abandoned fort. The poor and needy of the city sing praises to the Bahzuuth governor who feeds and clothes them through his sheer generosity. (+2 Imperial Influence) Island of Salathai As the restorations are completed on the newly recovered mine, the miners report that there are clearly foundations and ruined supports for even deeper shafts. They don't have the expertise and tools for excavating further, though. Perhaps if they had more knowledge in engineering they could perform such work (+15AP towards T3 iron mine [when you can actually build one]). The mine is patrolled heavily by the soldiers, and nothing out of the ordinary is found. Perhaps it was abandoned in the past due to banditry, or collapses? Though the bodies aren't covered in rubble, and iron mines aren't known for attracting thieves like gold and jewel mines do. Very mysterious. The commander arrives, and only slightly drunk as well. (Skype) The Gray Coast The Tentallicon manor, just outside the local craftsmen districts and foundries, is purchased at some expense. Cheaper than most due to the smell of smelting iron wafting around the place, and the previous owner being desperate to sell. Though the Governor's escorts make the capital's gossips snicker, they are surprised to actually see Claudia become pregnant. This leads a number of people to reconsider their previous assumptions, but there are still plenty of rumours abound as such a spicy topic is unlikely to die anytime soon. Some more lurid rumours imply that Claudia's child was fathered by one of the manor's servants. The Esk Savannah The scouts travel far to the south, deep into monster-infested territory. What they spot is more of what they saw before--beasts attacking and eating one-another ravenously. Abandoned villages have become impromptu nests for the creatures, and their numbers swell their greatest there. The most alarming news from the scouts is that they spotted a third variety of beast. About the size of a village, covered in scales, and flying high in the air near the mountains to the far south. Some of the more paranoid soldiers claim that the massive creatures were watching them. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Events No sign of any old Kooks this year. It seems he's gone to ground due to the bounty on his head. Messages are sent to the Governor of Blightswamp and the Governor of Salathai! Rejoice! Missionaries (by the grace of the Governor of Tamaraad) will be arriving in their provinces next year! To bring the faith of Naei and the auspicious ancestors will require much work, and they are happy to receive any donations from the provincial authorities! A message is sent to the Governor of Aulus' March. Apparently it's been penned by a pirate.

942NE Joyous tidings for all that live within the empire--the Emperor has reached his 10th year! Much celebration around the whole empire (mostly), knowing that the Imperial succession is strong and secure! As a result, all Imperial funds sent to the provinces are halved due to the lavish celebration for their young liege taking priority. In other news, due to upkeep costs the First and Fourth Fleet are ceded to the governing authority of Aulus' March and Salathai respectively. To be used at the governor's whim in order to deal with the piracy problem. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Royal Highlands: The trip through the mountains is long and difficult, but these abandoned ports are sure to be discovered. What they find, however, is more than they bargained for. One of the old ports is as it was left, but utterly rotten and collapsing in on itself. The foundations could probably be salvaged, though. (10AP towards one port) The other port is a different story. It’s still occupied, but by pirates. About six shabby galleys and two biremes are anchored in the small harbour, and pirates mingle, eat, gamble, and drink far from the eyes of any Imperial authority. A few watchtowers on the surrounding hills keep an eye on any trespassers that come by land, but the pirates in them don’t seem too observant. The surveyors, luckily, managed to slip away before being spotted. The spies come back with some success. Due to the prevalence of banditry the criminals are hardly subtle about their occupation, especially when drinking. Before long, a dozen major bands are identified along the rubble of the old highway. They’re in the mountains, too. Tamaraad Coast: Those that are working the mines are proselytised to by a small division of priests that have made camp around the mine entrance. They have set up small shrines to Neia and remind all who are laying the foundations for the mines that the wealth extracted from the mountains is holy, and the will of the ancestors. While some of the workers try to ignore the deluge of prayers, blessings, and idols, most of the workers get into the spirit of things. One supposes that dull work is made easier by believing that it’s holy. Annor’s Crossroads: Scholars study old buildings, and work out some of the mathematics needed to set the angles and measure the dimensions. They’re still perplexed by much of the processes that bring about the shaped stone. ... and it still isn't working! Especially the timing! The clay pots break very easily, and the fuse is tricky to deal with. Although the explosive still has a long way to go, it's not as lethal as it was before. The Sorcerer’s Conclave in Altaire give their blessings for Annor’s Crossroads to continue their research into gunpowder weaponry. They will be observing their progress with interest. After so many years of running free, the bandits in the region have clearly gotten lazy. Some don’t even post lookouts around their camps. The bandits that resist are killed without mercy, with those captured being sent off to piteous, endless labours, chained up in textile workhouses. Their leaders decorate the roads with their fetid, rotting corpses as a warning to others. Though the bandits are yet to be wiped out completely, the rest are certainly more wary (Road improvements unlocked. See rules). Riviera: Inquiries into the amulet do catch some attention! But not from the sources the Governor was probably hoping for. A master sorcerer from the Conclave in Altaire informs Andronikos that he will be arriving at his home this year in order to take possession of the amulet. Notably, without compensation. He advises Andronikos not to "accidentally" lose it while he's on his way. He also mentions he's bringing along 20 elite Prophet's Guard to ensure easy transport back to the capital. Aulus’ March: Legate Orbus apologises to the governor, but expresses that he has no time to allow your soldiers to train with his legions. The Korvic warband over the collapsing falls has grown to 8,000 savage warriors, and Orbus has come to the conclusion that they may not actually collapse on their own this time. He is therefore moving supplies, having his soldiers perform drills, and doing a lot of very important war things. He requests that you send any provincial forces available to his rally point. Looks like you’ll be training those troops yourself! Blightswamp: And they find things. A surprising number of things. (Skype) Plains of Farlus: The cavalry are an excellent choice for hunting bandits, as most of the criminals can’t afford horses. The riders run them down without mercy on the flatlands. There is still work to do, but the roads can now at last be travelled (road improvements unlocked. See rules). There are a lot of mounds on the plains. The ones closest to the old highway appear to be picked clean of anything worth denarius. Most of the mounds were once ancient primitive graves, but others contained strange white stone. You mark out the ones that are pillaged or are simply regular hills, but it’s a large operation and may take a few years. Despite looking through taverns, local gathering spaces, and the usual criminal hotspots, no-one is willing to speak a word of grave-robbing. Some claim that they’re unsure what the words themselves mean! No-one’s talking, and the black market is silent. You might need to wait a while for them return to their practices. Baahzuth Jungles: The poor of the capital appreciate it, but there are so many poor and needy there that a thousand denarius barely causes much change in the daily life of the wretched. It’s still appreciated, and the citizens of the capital make note of it. (+1 Imperial Influence) Legate Pius returns covered in blood once more, this time with only 30 women and children bound in ropes. According to him, all the men, and some women and children violently resisted him. None of his men disagree with his statement. He also makes it known that he will not perform any more of the governor’s veiled slaving. If he desires something killed, he may call the legate, but from this point on all requests for “patrols” are being refused. Island of Salathai: The survey team returns in quick order. The mine has clear traces of iron, and a great number of human skeletons. They’re not sure what the skeletons are indicative of, but this mine WAS abandoned in the past. Perhaps it was raided in the past? (5AP invested in abandoned mine) (Gain 1 iron resource) A retired torturer from Morothai applies for the position. He apparently has an Imperial commendation for the most information gained from the least fingers removed. The pirate prisoners talk quickly, but aren’t too knowledgeable on the navigation of the ships themselves, but they often wait out the winter at an old fortified port on Oarsbrekk. They meet pirates from many bands in the port as well as it’s a major recruiting spot. Other than that, they live transitory lives on the sea and in hidden inlets like on Salathai, the Gray Coast, and Riviera. The absurdly rigorous and organised patrol route is executed. Though it’s a bit complicated for the newly-minted soldiers at first, after a few weeks on rotation it becomes routine for them. Dozens of bandits are killed on the first set of patrols, and the land is far more peaceful as a result (Road improvements unlocked. See rules). Gray Coast: The legate informs the First Governor that he has no right to authorize any invasion without the say-so of the Imperial Council. Though he certainly sees the benefit of removing that particular Korvic stain, he does not wish to hurt the position of his brother-in-law, who is currently angling for a position on the council as he speaks. If the Governor wishes to push the issue, he is welcome to petition the Imperial Council for it. Blackwoods: A very curious master sorcerer (and avid traveller) arrives with 20 Prophet’s Guard to look into the situation. He’ll investigate as the year goes on, curious about the mysterious disappearances. He takes the denarius immediately, and begins poking around villages and abandoned farms. He’ll sniff out anything magical occurring for sure (he’s also known for being quite the eccentric back at the capital). The infantry are dispatched along the roads and butcher slow and relatively lazy bandits. The miserly captives are strung up on crosses along the road, making a grizzly spectacle for those who pass by. Many, however, disappear into the thick woodlands without being caught by the armored soldiers. Despite the problems, the roads are now clear enough for both work and trade to continue relatively unmolested. (Road upgrades unlocked. See rules) Esk Savannah: (Taken from Skype, since Will’s a nerd and attending some kind of acronym conference) 20AP towards port. 5AP towards 1 cohort of light cavalry with veteran experience and T0 equipment. 5AP towards upgrading one stable to T2. 15AP towards 1 mercantile district. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Events: A toothless old kook is running about towns in Riviera, exclaiming to all who listen that there's "gold in them thar hills!" He invites anyone willing to come with him in order to gain an early chance at striking rich! There's something strange occurring down near the borders of Bahzuuth Jungles. Some unusual activity deep in the jungle... A Blackwoodsman runs into Elorna screaming about monsters!

941NE The dangers are many, but the empire's borders are still relatively quiet. Only a few nagging concerns are popping up here and there, but Imperial authorities seem mostly confident they can be dealt with. There are rumors spreading along the roads that the Trinnimecs are losing control of the Hearthlands. Small rebellions are popping up everywhere, and they can’t divide their attention between their Imperial possessions and the hordes of Korvics assaulting their northern frontiers. Having heard of a meeting among the Provincials, the Imperial Council has sent their secretary to observe. He will be awaiting at Annor's Crossroads with the Governors. The Gray Coast: The Legion’s legate receives the “logistical aid” with much appreciation. Searching through the trees of the Gray Coast reveals nothing worth using. Only certain trees are appropriate for ship building, and most of those on the Gray Coast are too thin for any major warship. (No lumber resources found) Much like the lumber search, the iron search turns up nothing. What tiny deposits of iron that are found aren’t worth the effort to dig out of the ground, let alone set up an actual mine. (No mineral deposits found) Provided that those iron shipments are well-guarded, it reaches Annor’s Crossroads without much harassment. Bandits tend to flee when there are soldiers around. No-one doubts the pedigree and lineage of the young man. It’s not the man that’s the problem to the people of the Capital--it’s the location. No-one of any real standing wants to move to the dirty provinces and especially not the dreary Gray Coast. Blightswamp: The filthy swampmen are ready and willing to serve as swampily as possible. They are concerned about the lack of weapons, but they‘re confident they can think of a way around small problems like that. Species of trees that grow in Blackwoods also grow in smaller numbers in the swamp. Many die before they reach maturity, but the rest are strong and firm. Royal Highlands: The workers of the Highlands dig deep into the gem-filled mountains, finding riches to please any red-cheeked merchant. There is still much work to be done, but with a little more labour, it might be finished by the conclusion of next year! The bands of soldiers are prepared to fight the rough-and-tumble trial of facing down the cowardly bandits that plague the roads. Maybe the light armour will prove useful when chasing them down...? The Blackwoods: Without a port on the lake, one would wonder how ships like that could be constructed. However, something changes in the fabric of reality as they are built. Clearly, some being from another dimension had not accounted for ships being built in a lake where a port would be a complete waste of resources. This mystical power of building ships without ports is unlocked for all peoples everywhere, but only galleys. Only galleys may be built without ports. The newly recruited soldiers would be a touch confused to be sent on patrol the same year they’re being trained. The governor’s advisers suggest allowing them to be fully trained before being released on to the dangerous roads. Aulus’ March: “But how,” asks one recruit, “are we meant to fight them when we haven’t been fully trained yet?” Such a question baffled the instructors, and they allowed them to continue their training until next year, when they would be ready. The news isn’t good from the scouts. The Korvics are still gathering, and clearly seem to have an element of organisation among them. Some are foraging, others hunting, and others are tanning leather and hammering new weapons at makeshift forges. The leaders of the various clans and tribes greet one-another like brothers when they arrive. Something is clearly brewing, here. Annor’s Crossroads: Talking to a few accountants, a couple of dock-workers, a few well-placed friends, and a second cousin of a second cousin, some documents disappear from the Imperial Library. Which documents? They’ve never heard of any "documents." No-one knows what you’re talking about. The resources in question are sent off to the debauched vineyards of Riviera. Outrageous! Hopefully they didn’t have to pay too much! Sure are a lot of confused recruits these days, huh? All of them are barely in their armor before launched into patrols! The new soldiers, like many others before them, beg to be allowed to finish their sword drills before being sent off to fight bandits! One cannot speak for the governors’ children, but the nobles of the capital aren’t particularly interested in sending their children off to the filthy, bandit-infested provinces just to get a chance at aligning themselves with poverty-stricken backwaters. Baahzuth Jungles: Hacking and smacking down jungle trees is tiring work, but much progress is made. New, fertile clearings are torn from the thick canopies. The savages in the south may not be pleased, however... Legate Pius returns from the jungles with bloodied armour and blade in hand. He and his soldiers drag behind them 100 savage women and children in ropes. No men are among the slaves, however. According to him, the male tribesmen “all resisted” and all his blood-covered soldiers agree with his testimony. The new slaves are ready to be taken wherever the governor pleases, much to Pius’ frustration. But, orders are orders... Tamaraad Coast: Initially, the surveyors and the builders ventured together towards the Sandshield Mountains. While resting at the site of the coming tomb, the workers shout their surprise as they dig into the mountainside. Glimmering yellow rocks barely beneath the surface of the stone bedazzle the labourers, and the surveyors recognise the substance to be gold. Local priests proclaim it as a miraculous sign of the ancestor’s favour, and that the Governor’s piety is absolute! Blessed be Silus! (+1 luxury resource [Gold]) Esk Savannah: The accountants of the Savannah inform the Governor that there aren’t enough horses to build further breeders. Perhaps it would be better to look into upgrading the ones already available? (15AP refunded—may use next turn) The Legate Somnus agrees and appreciates the co-ordination. He is especially thankful that the provinces have a element of autonomy, given the situation in the Savannah being what it is. He would be happy to have the new recruits fight alongside the legion troops, if they have the guts and gumption to face the southern beasts. Riviera: Dirty wine, from dirty money. Delicious, though. No resources of any worth are found in the mountains. After centuries of habitation, one would have thought someone else would have found something here. However, the prospectors did come across something else... A pile of oddly-shaped white stones with a vague resemblance to bricks stands out on the green, verdant mountainside. Curious, they move the stones aside, and discover an unusual stone amulet. At least, they think its stone. The amulet feels warm and cold simultaneously, and patterns etched into its surface morph and change depending on the angle in which one looks at it. Peering at it for too long gives them headaches, but they bring the discovery back to the Governor regardless. Perhaps they will gain favour by presenting it to him? Dirty dealings by a dirty boy make dirty girls cry screams of joy! Plains of Farlus: Some “magical” trinkets are presented to the sorcerers, all of them are fakes brought forth by opportunistic peasants trying to score easy denarius. Half of them aren’t even convincing, and the rest are supported by wild claims of ‘fixing baldness’ or ‘curing cows from the ‘pox!’ The edict is well-received by the law-abiding people of the Plains. In fact, it arrives just in time for a certain charlatan to attempt an escape! The people watch happily as the man who attempted to fool the Governor is whipped publically. They are sure this will not occur again. The black market has gone to ground since the governor’s edict went out. They aren’t interested in being punished, and see every invitation or interest as a possible trap by law enforcement. There won’t be any dealing in the near future, that’s for sure. Island of Salathai: A party of surveyors are sent off to investigate the mine, but after a week with no contact, people are beginning to get worried. (Skype) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Events A toothless kook from the mountains of the Gray Coast is ranting and raving about "gold in them thar hills!" He claims of riches awaiting those who journey into the deeper parts of the mountains... The Korvics massing across from the Collapsing Falls in Aulus' March have risen in number from 2000, to 4000 warriors. The Korvics massing on the border of Blightswamp left their position heading East. Perhaps they had never intended to raid the swamp at all? The priests of the Tamaraad Coast wish to speak with the governor on a matter most holy in nature!

The Year is 940NE The beginning of a new, terrible year. Relatively speaking though, the Empire is surprisingly peaceful in terms of conflict. Most Korvics beyond Aulus' March seem content to remain in their filth-covered hovels, and major raiders from all foreign belligerents are eerily silent. It's the perfect year to farm one's crops, start a business, or be robbed by domestic bandits. The Imperial Council continues to refuse handing direct command of the Imperial legions to the provinces for whatever bureaucratic reason, and they continue to squabble among themselves for the ever-decreasing amount of pie available in the capital territories. Considering the state of the provinces though, something clearly must be done. They bit the Governors of the provinces to the holy city of Altaire to meet in the Old Palace for the formation of the 'Provincial Council,'--a new organising body for the territories beyond the capital. It would be unwise to defy them. Banditry is currently making most overland trade impossible, with the exception of armed convoys. Events: A small group of Korvic boats are seen traversing the lake that borders the Blackwoods. The scouts lost sight of them when they entered a cloud of the lake's morning fog. Who knows where they might be now...? Korvics are noted to be gathering in suspiciously large numbers North of Blightswamp, according to the denizens of local forts and swamp-folk. They are nearly 500 strong at this point, and more are trickling in from the surrounding landscape. -One of the Gray Coast's iron mines has suddenly stopped sending shipments or messages. An accountant for Riviera's tax collectors has been found taking money off the top of the collections and keeping it for himself! Scandalous! Since he was high-ranking, it is determined that the governor should decide his fate (when he gets back home). A toothless kook from the hills surrounding Annor's Crossroads is ranting and raving about "gold in them thar hills!" He claims of riches awaiting those who journey into the deeper parts of the mountains. A shabby-looking man has approached the Sorcerer's Academy in the Royal Highlands to sell a "magical amulet" he found in the Plains of Farlus. As the Sorcerers wish to improve their standing with the governor, they offer the amulet to him after they appraise it. Korvics are gathering in the circular valley just beyond the collapsing falls. Korvics have always been fairly populous here, but this is clearly the beginnings of a large-scale raiding force. Their numbers have swelled to 2000 warriors already, with more pouring in from the eastern reaches... A spectacular specimen of a horse has been presented to the Governor's department of the Plains of Farlus. Apparently it's an Esk thoroughbred. The owner is willing to sell it, if the Governor desires it. The poorly-disciplined sailors of the Fourth Fleet instigated a fight with some locals on Salathai. Long story short, a tavern was burned down, and now the Islanders demand justice... A swarm of ravenous beasts are attacking livestock in the southern part of the Esk Savannah. Almost 50 of them, in fact. A drunken man approaches a guard post near a gravesite on the Tamaraad coast, insisting he's been attacked by a skeleton. Barbarous tribesmen are harassing the spice-farmers in the Baahzuth Jungles! The spice-farmers are complaining that they aren't being properly protected by the legion, there. (These little events won't be happening for everyone every year, but I decided to give you all a taste for your first turn ? ) You may post your actions and RP as you see fit, provided that your AP spending is very clear. I don't deal well with vague stuff.

Thanks for all the interest, guys! Here's hoping that this game lasts more than three turns, hey? Final choices for factions: 1. Blightswamp: Zanderaw 2. Blackwoods: Samoblivion 3. The Gray Coast: Bickando 4. Riviera: Hellfiazz 5. Annor's Crossroads: Praetor 6. Royal Highlands: Seannie 7. Aulus March: Devland99 8. Plains of Farlus: Sneaky2 9: Island of Salathai: Sir_Loin 10. Esk Savannah: Will (TauFireWarrior) 11. Tamaraad Coast: Godwein Stafyr (Zer^4%23) 12. Baahzuth Jungles: Taketheshot For those who didn't get in, I'm really sorry. Shoot me a message and we'll see about something else we can have you do a little later if you're still interested. ?