Stars high and bright, the sliver of moon about to disappear over the horizon. Bertie reached the peak of a steep hill and peered down into a valley. Several campfires burned bright, discouraging both the chilly night air and the marauding wolves. Despite the late hour – Bertie judged it to be about half a night’s sleep before dawn – he saw several animal skin-clad figures huddled in the warmth of the biggest blaze, engaged (appropriately enough) in animated conversation.

The strange humans were too far away for Bertie to hear clearly what they were discussing, but it was immediately obvious to him they were not of his tribe. The skins covering their nakedness were not at all in the style of the proud Lurker Tribe of the Barbarian Clan, Bertie’s people. And their haircuts! If one of the strange people stumbled into Bertie’s small village, the stranger's haircut – if you could call it that – would have caused the young ‘uns to point and openly laugh while the elders would need to turn away least they be unable to contain their mirth and give offense.

At least that’s what would happen if Bertie’s village still existed. Two moons ago he had returned from an extended hunting trip to find nothing of his people but the bodies of a few of his kinsman savagely hacked beyond all recognition, and sundry household goods wildly strewn around what had been his village. Carvings on a great pole planted in the middle of what had been the Ceremonial Circle told the story at a glance: his people had been attacked by their sworn enemy. Bertie feared all had perished in the savage raid; but he had gone looking to see if he could find any survivors. He had failed to find a soul.

Half a moon ago he had decided his quest was futile; but still he looked. Tonight he was ready to abandon the quest. He looked harder at the figures around the blazing fire. Would they be enemies or friends to him? Now several were raising their voices in heated argument and he became better able to understand some of the words drifting up to him. He had heard their dialect before in his travels, and had learned enough to communicate in a rudimentary fashion. Still, he realized there was much he didn’t know. What was a faction? Gameplay? Election? This was all foreign to him.

Bertie wondered whether the people below were merely traveling through or were planning to settle permanently. They were camped on fertile land, close to food and water. It would be a good place to establish a village and grow. He would observe them for a few days, he decided, before making any attempt to approach them. They seemed harmless enough but who knew what he might learn when daylight came and he could see better?

Bertie withdrew to a slight hollow where he couldn’t easily be observed. He wrapped his skins tightly about him, closed his eyes, and quickly fell asleep.

oh! By the way! I have blog software I could put up as well if we wanted!

sorry for the random plug

OOC: (Not sure exactly the purpose to this thread. Are you searching for answers to what's going on, in a rp manner of course, or is this thread solely for your posting, in which case I apologize for this post.)

@Ice: I’m not sure exactly where this blog is going to end up, but there’s no point behind it other than fun. Anyone is welcome to post in the thread, although if they do they’re likely to find themselves written into the ongoing story!


As was his habit, Bertie came fully awake in an instant, listening intently to the stillness of the predawn night. Nothing stirred, not even the birds that would soon roust themselves to twitter whilst awaiting the rising sun. He sensed no danger nearby. Overnight fog had crept in on its little cat feet, reducing visibility to perhaps a couple dozen steps. “Am I near the coast?” Bertie wondered. He shook off the lingering sleepiness and cautiously climbed the few steps to the peak of the hill above him. The fog was too thick for him to see the strangers’ camp; but he thought he still heard faint sounds of their talking.

The fog looked like it would last a bit. Bertie figured the shroud provided by the fog and the lingering darkness would allow him to scout nearer the strangers’ camp without risk of detection. With skill and grace borne of long practice Bertie quickly and stealthily made his way down into the valley of the strangers’ camp. In a matter of minutes he had reached the valley floor.

Not daring to approach nearer to the camp (still having no notion of what manner of men these strangers be) he searched for a place where he could hide and observe. Soon his trained eye targeted a likely spot in the form of a brush-covered rocky ledge protruding from the side of the hill above him. The ledge was just out of reach; but Bertie was able to leap and grab its edge, and then pull himself up. He discovered the shelf ledge was quite narrow and largely covered with brush growing from its rocky surface. This wouldn’t do at all. However, behind the brush there was a hollow – a cave, really. He cautiously sniffed to see if he could detect the presence of an animal – he didn’t want to share the lair of a bear! – and satisfied himself he was the only creature there. This would be an excellent hiding place. He would be able to lurk there shielded by the brush covering the cave’s entrance. No one would be able to spot him.

Dawn came but the fog still prevented him from seeing the strangers’ camp. He could hear much better from his new hiding spot then he could last night and was able to make out more of what they were saying, though he still found much of their language incomprehensible. They seemed to be arguing over rules and poles. He understood both words, but what rules could there possible be about poles? Rules about holes he knew – everyone did: when you’re in one, stop digging. But poles? He shook his head and listened some more. He soon noticed that almost every time someone would speak he would hear the same voice reply with a counterpoint. From the sounds of their different voices he figured there were about a dozen.

A figure materialized out of the fog. He seemed to be searching for something. “Gotta be grain around here somewhere. Wheat. Rice. Corn. It doesn’t matter. Anything that I use to brew a delicious beverage. Or grapes! An amusing little wine could be just the thing. Looks like we’re going to settle here and I know we’re going to get thirsty clearing the land and mining and what not. At the end of the day a fellow wants a little tipple and maybe a nice chat with some of the guys. Maybe a sporting event or two. Nothing wrong with that. Good, clean, healthy fun. If I can get my hands on the supplies and maybe get a little social club going – perhaps a pub – my fortune will be made!”

Bertie, scout and hunter, knew of several sources of grain not far away at all. This stranger seemed pretty normal. At least he wasn’t obsessed with rules and poles. Perhaps if he joined this band of strangers he’d show him where he could find some grain. He watched the solitary stranger fade out of sight into the fog.

Bertie’s stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten yet. He rummaged through his provision pouch. There wasn’t much left – he’d have to go foraging or hunting soon – but he did find one of his breakfast favorites. “Yummy! Bear claw!” He munched on his vittles and sat back to see what developed in the camp as the day unfolded.

(Excellent read, please do continue)

They seemed to be arguing over rules and poles. He understood both words, but what rules could there possible be about poles? Rules about holes he knew – everyone did: when you’re in one, stop digging. But poles?

:lol: Nice story!

I look forward to the next installment :D

In the pre-dawn air, Seidrik the Gray raced on his bare feet, in full pursuit of a hair, a morcil to please his gris...his morning stew. As the foggy air clung to his furry vestments of wolf fur, and his mind wandered to the burning sensation in his calves from the sudden exertion of sprinting after the rabit, Seidrik thought back to the cave he had left. The memory brought with it the stench of gangreen that had claimed his uncle, the only father he had known, from an infected wound left by the bear they had killed to claim the cave. Seidrik had burried his father a month ago, thanks to a lion that had attacked them in the night. Now, his uncle...burried in the back of the cave.

Why did his family leave their home with the other tribe? What would he make of himself out here in the wilds again, and now without shelter? Food...he needed food. Behind the hills, Seidrik knew of a stream that seaped up out of the rocks there. He could probably make himself a nice shelter later. Right now he needed to eat...it had been a week since he had left the remains of the cave bear...no desire left after his uncle's death.

Seidrik gripped the fist-sized black and gray stone he had plucked from the stream and claimed as his good luck omen...it had never failed him. As he ran after the hair, he raised the stone over his head, waiting for the right moment.

Then, as the hair bounded up in the air to clear the roots of a tree 10 spans from Seidrik, the stone was released with a furry and the accuracy of hunger and practice in the wilds. THWUK!!! The stone struck the hair in the side of its skull, killing it instantly. The day was looking much brighter now.

As Seidrik collected his fresh kill, a noise drifted to him through the fog from the dim glow of a campfire he had missed in his hunt. A gnawing paranoia gripped him. These other people could be another tribe, and their voices sounded like they gripped over serious matters. What were they hunting?

Seidrik quickly glanced back through the fog toward the location of the cave above the rocky outcropping...where his uncle was burried. He could never go back there...the place had become a tomb full of the stench of his uncle's rot and death. Further ahead, he spied a large tree that should suffice to allow him a vantage of the party near the fire. It would atleast grant him a safe place to listen.

Quickly, and careful not to snap a twig, Seidrik scrambled up the large tree, his wolf skin vestments making him look like a wolf running up a tree. Then, with the best stealth he could muster, he slowly edged his way along a long branch that overlooked the camp seen.

The fog was lifting and Bertie saw the wandering nomads had lit a huge bonfire. Smoke billowed high into the sky, a beacon sure to draw the attention of all near or far away. The campers appeared to be preparing for something: a dozen or so goat skin tents had been erected to form a square around the bonfire, and what appeared to be several wild boar – or rather their carcasses – were being roasted over glowing goals behind one of the tents. Barbecue! From the looks of it the happy campers were throwing a luau.

Time had passed in a most extraordinary way. Bertie had munched several berries from the sacred plant shown to him many moons ago by the revered – and, alas, now deceased – shaman from his village. The shaman advised him that chewing a few berries from the sacred plant would bring him inner peace. As always Bertie found this to be true. Peace (and a peculiar sense of well being) pervaded his soul.

Whilst in the heights of his well being Bertie had been gripped with a vision so forceful it seemed to him to defy all time. Yesterday and tomorrow were the same, and he saw clearly what had been and what was to be. An avuncular figure from an antique land, seemingly from the grave, appeared before him. He told Bertie of a vast ruined statue in the mist of a lone and level sand. All that remained of the statue were the two bodiless legs of the king of kings; and the stone head with its frowning face. Bertie didn’t know what any of this meant so he popped another berry, hoping for enlightenment.

The note from a ram’s horn blown loud and clear rose from the campsite. Bertie saw there were many people flocking to the bonfire beacon. Clearly the campers were trying to draw attention to themselves. Were they trying to attract others to their band? Bertie thought it a good possibility. Either this was a devious trick or these were peaceful settlers looking for like-minded folk. Being of a charitable turn of mind (no doubt because of his great feeling of well being) Bertie decided to chance the latter. He gathered his belongs and leapt down from the cave.

He had taken only a few steps before his keen hunter and scout eyes observed a wolf-like figure stretched prone near the edge of the branch of a great tree. Wolves didn’t climb trees, of course, so Bertie immediately deduced it was a wolf skin-clad human. He grasped his shillelagh tightly (hey, even back then everyone was Irish on St. Patrick’s Day); friend or foe? He approached stealthy. Not sensing danger, he decided to announce himself.

“Ahem. Friend or foe? And what’s your name?”

The startled figure almost fell from his perch on the branch. “Friend!” he said. He appeared to notice Bertie’s club. “Friend! Friend! And my name is kwarriorpoet. Or rather, Seidrik The Gray.”

“Well, which is it?”

“Sedrik the Gray. Seems more appropriate. Say, do you know what’s going on in yon camp? Quite a blaze they’ve got going.”

“Dunno. Looks like they’re trying to attract attention. Free luau maybe?”

“Let’s hope!”

The pair agreed to approach the camp together. As they approached the outskirts of the camp they came across a large outcropping of slate. A figure stood next to it, and saw Bertie and Sedrik. “You two! Come here! Look what I’ve got! Isn’t it great? We can draw pictures on it to share with everyone. I’ll call that part of the rock the gallery. I’ll wall off another part of it so the factions can record all their private business. Let me introduce myself, I’m croxis, and I’m making my rock available to everyone who joins the village. Any one at all, in the world as we know it.”

“A world wide rock?” asked Sedrik. Cool idea.” Bertie nodded his agreement, and the two of them entered the camp.

A figure approached them. I’m Oni of Chaos. You guys new here?

“Yup. Whatcha doing?”

“We’re getting organized so we can go out and explore! Right now we’re forming factions and pretty soon we’ll be holding a debate and then we’ll poll which faction should lead his.”

“Pole?” asked Bertie.

“Yeah, poll. You know, vote. Why don’t you guys step over there? That’s the tent of the Warlords Faction, and Provo is going to make a pitch to the audience to get more members. We’ve got a band and everything. I’m a member; you guys might want to join.”

Bertie and Sedrik allowed themselves to be steered towards a large tent. An orchestra was playing a tune with their drums and primitive instruments. A figure leapt onto a small stage in front of the tent.

“Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome! Fremde, etranger, stranger. Gluklich zu sehen, je suis enchante, Happy to see you, bleibe, reste, stay.

“Ladies-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s and Gentlemen-n-n-n-n-n! Welcome to the Warlords Faction, the best of all factions! Come inside the tent and listen to our ideas! Plenty of time before we vote, and we’re deciding on our platform now! Ours are the best ideas in the entire world, let me tell you! Don’t listen to the pitches from the other factions, the Warlords Faction is the one and only!”

Bertie could hear other factions making similar pitches. Suddenly the band played louder and started singing.

We say we want Provolution,
Yeah, you know;
We wanna rule the world!
Factions mean it’s time for evolution,
Yeah, you know;
We all wanna rule the world!

A figure walked by; somehow Bertie knew it was Dutchfire. “Free Bird!” yelled Dutchfire.

If I leave here tomorrow
Would you still remember me?
For I must be traveling on, now,
'Cause there's too many places I've got to see.

“Stop it stop it stop it!” Provo said glaring at the band. “Now folks, step right up, join the Warlords and you’ll get to choose which characteristics our new civilization will have! Come one, come all, step right up!”

We say we've got the real solution,
Yeah we do;
We'll show ya all the plan.
Vote for Warloads, no dilution,
Yeah ya know;
And we'll do all we can…

Bertie and Sedrik wandered over to the next tent where the Tribal Council Faction was being pitched. Sedrik stayed to listen. Bertie kept going, passing the tent of the Philosophers of Legion until he came across a figure that seemed familiar. Of course! The grain-seeking fellow he had seen earlier. “Hi, I’m ice24k,” said said fellow. “Welcome to Poverty’s Pub! Come inside and wet your whistle.”

“Are you a faction, too?”

“Nope, just a guild of like-minded people. Any one can join; nothing hidden here. Pretty soon my pub will be hosting a debate amongst the factions..That should be amusing. In the meantime, come inside and have some adult beverage. And barbecue! I’ve got those renowned pit masters, Ozzie and Mandy Diaz, cooking up some down home ‘cue for us out back.”

Bertie agreed that ice’s invitation was mighty enticing, and was entering ice’s tent just as the Philosophers of Legion’s band was striking up a tune. Just as he disappeared into the pub, out of the corner of his eye he saw Dutchfire standing before the Philosopher’s tent. And then he heard him -

“Free bird!”

An avuncular figure from an antique land, seemingly from the grave, appeared before him. He told Bertie of a vast ruined statue in the mist of a lone and level sand. All that remained of the statue were the two bodiless legs of the king of kings; and the stone head with its frowning face. Bertie didn’t know what any of this meant so he popped another berry, hoping for enlightenment.

Ozymandias by Shelley! I read that for my English literature class.

Ozzie and Mandy Diaz
:lol:

Oh, and:

Free bird!

Seidrik finished off his pint, shook hands with his new friends, and on his way out, turned back to reflect on what he had already been involved in. So many new people from so many places...they had all somehow been drawn here to this very moment. Only a handfull had known each other before arriving here.

"What was so special about this place?", Seidrik thought.

It was a defensible clearing, at the foot of some great hills, that were more like small mountains, and water was nearby along with a good source of lumber and game close and hand also. He hadn't noticed much of this before in the thick fog, but now, it was as if he stood in the midst of an oasis in the wilds, a spiritual nexus that drew people and events to it. This was a place where stories and legends would be given birth.

Looking back into the tent, Seidrik could see a man, dressed in Dearskin hides sitting on a log, surrounded by other people, that Seidrik had only just met. This man, he had learned was known as DaveShack. His dimeanor said "trust me". His open arms said, "I'm glad you're here". His original plan for his faction, as they called this group, but a small tribe is what they looked like to Seidrik, had many elements that appealed to Seidrik.

After joining the Tribal Council faction, and also officially becoming a citizen of this budding village, Seidrik did what came naturally to him. He studied things in the hopes of making them better, he listened, he made notes, and he helped write a new plan for the tribe, but one thing was clear to Seidrik. This was not his house to lead, his roll would definitely be key to the council, but the roll as Chief needed to rest with someone with more wisdom, someone with a veteran's eye for what would work. Seidrik hoped it would be Dave, but respected the naiscent democratic principles embedded in the Tribal Council's plans, and presented his ideas and left them to discuss in their tent.

Now, Seidrik was direly thirsty, and the smell of the roast barbeque boar meat was filling the air. Thinking of the first person he'd met inexplicably in these parts, Seidrik went looking for Birtie.

His thirst and hunger were too great to resist, and all of the smells were now concentrated and wafting out of a huge tent with a sign that said "Poverty Pub." Contemplating the use of Poverty in the name, Seidrik strolled into the pub, an epiffany dawning on him as he entered...Ahhh, this is a place where you wash the poverty away from your soul, a place where all people are equal and united by a common purpose...to eat...drink...and forget the day. Taking off his wolf-skin hat, Seidrik lept to a seat at the bar and began washing his soul clean...

In a dry cave not far from where The People were gathering a mystic sat by his fire. His hands were cupped around a mystic rock that fell from the sky; it's two engraved eyes seemingly staring at its holder. Carefully the Mystic proceeded to eat the sacrificial fruit that was found near where the Stone of Eyes fell.

"Is it time?" asked the Mystic. He opened his eyes and turned over the Stone.

SIGNS POINT TO YES

Ozymandias

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair. :king:

The light was dim and the atmosphere smoky inside the Poverty’s Pub tent. Long tables, about half of which were occupied, roughly defined a muddy looking circle in the middle of the tent. Was that a mud pit? Bertie took a seat at the nearest table and immediately a buxom serving wench put a pint of the pub’s finest down before him. “Drink up,” she winked at him, “sell-by date is, oh, maybe in half an hour.” Bertie had no idea what she was talking about but followed her advice. The beverage – and her advice – was so good he had another; then one more after that. In between quaffs of the pub’s finest he looked around and observed the fellowship inside the tent. At the table next to him Bertie overheard a fellow discussing an amusing incident that apparently had happened to him some years ago:

… Group W's where they put you if you may not be moral enough to join the army after committing your special crime, and there was all kinds of mean nasty ugly
looking people on the bench there. Mother rapers. Father stabbers. Father rapers! Father rapers sitting right there on the bench next to me! And they was mean and nasty and ugly and horrible crime-type guys sitting on the bench next to me. And the meanest, ugliest, nastiest one, the meanest father raper of them all, was coming over to me and he was mean 'n' ugly 'n' nasty 'n' horrible and all kind of things and he sat down next to me
and said…

Or perhaps the fellow was merely discussing the crowd at the pub; who could tell?

The dim light, the influence of the pub’s finest, and the lingering feeling of sacred berry-induced well being contributed to heavy eyelids . . .

Bertie envisioned a swamp in a the distant land, Lerna. Creatures called factions lived there. Time passed and several of the factions came together into a hydra-headed one, huge of body, and accustomed to getting its way in all things. It took to going forth into the country and ravaging it and any cattle it came across. Smug and self-satisfied, panting and snorting the Lernaen hydra challenged any and all to displace it from the place it claimed for itself. Into the swamp came another faction, on a chariot. Soon a terrible battle broke out between the two. There were fiery arrows, huge clubs, and even a crab! After a fierce struggle Bertie could see the winner. It was …

THWACK!!! THWACK!!! THWACK!!!

With terror Bertie apprehended that a distant Cthulhuian horror (http://forums.civfanatics.com/showpost.php?p=2635993&postcount=16) had resurrected itself, a horror Bertie thought was buried safely in the past.

“Ethelbert, you slacker, you did it again!” said the tall figure, waving her whippy black riding crop at him. Her tightly fitted black loin cloth showing her taut, robust frame to full advantage. Schoolmarm Thwackum!

“What? Who? Why? It wasn’t me, I swear! Stop hitting me!”

THWACK!!!

“You still can’t spell a lick, Ethelbert. Just read what you wrote in your last scribbling:

Bertie kept going, passing the tent of the Philosophers of Legion until he came across a figure that seemed familiar. Of course! The grain-seeking fellow he had seen earlier. “Hi, I’m ice24k,” said said fellow. “Welcome to Poverty’s Pub! Come inside and wet your whistle.”

“It’s ice2k4, Ethelbert, not 24k. And why do you keep referring to yourself in third person?”

Bertie whimpered softly, knowing he couldn’t escape the wrath of Schoolmarm Thwackum. How could he have made such a mistake? He had been reading a lot of literature lately so maybe he was a little addled.

“OK, Bertie, it’s the usual drill. In order to pay penance I want you to …”

“Wake up, fellow, the debate is starting.” Someone was shaking Bertie’s shoulder roughly. His eyes blinked open to discover he was in the Poverty’s Pub tent; still dim, still smokey, but now overflowing with eager drinkers. Ice2k4 was shaking him. “Come on, wake up! We can’t hear the debaters over your snoring!”

“Ice! I’m sorry Ice.”

“No need to apologize, fellow. As I publican I often see people falling asleep, particularly after they’ve had a brace or two of my finest.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that too, but I misspelled your name.”

“No worry. Why the game’s only starting so it should really be ice4Kbc! Now have another pint and watch the debate.”

Bertie gratefully accepted the pint the buxom serving wench gave him. Bowls of popcorn had appeared on all tables, and the pub’s clientele alternated sipping and munching as they watched muddy figures slip and slide in the debating pit. So that’s what a debate is all about! Now he knew.

He felt a breeze on his back as the tent flap was pulled aside to let another person into the tent. The voice sounded familiar.

“Free bird!”

Seidrik had been trading barbs and vicious assaults for whay seemed like days now...his loyalties were unexpectedly fierce...and his emotional attachment to his chosen faction a surprise even unto himself. As if from a daze, he awoke, mud and bodies everywhere. Had their fight clarified anything, or had it merely made things more confusing...the differences that had once seemed so clear...now appeared so similar. He saw people in the mud pit with him, people he had only just begun to know, and people he had liked and respected, people with whom he had shared a pint or two...even a round of galf with...Now, they all had these strange masks on and were also covered in welts and mud, with blood shot eyes staring through the muck.

What have we done?, Seidrik asked himself. I am a bard, not a fighter, I am not one to get so mixed up in the thick of things as this...but maybe I am?

His hands began to lower, and the muscles in his back and shoulders slowly lessened their strictures. His fingers out wide, Seidrik began to back away toward the edge of the pit. He saw hate still burning brightly in the eyes of the other challengers and knew that his probably still looked the same, and knew that everyone there had caused damages in equal share...no one was clean. His mind raced for a way out, a way to save face and maintain at least an illusion of the once budding relationships that appeared to have at least at one time had a chance of becoming closer.

Finally, his mind remembered something from his past, something a village elder had once said, "It is far easier on the soul to report on History than it is to be a part of history." Seidrik had wanted to be a story teller, a historian...a bard, who song tails of his people and the heros around him...now, he had become someone, a figure for whom a story would be told. His doom was cast in stone it would seam...he was in the muck.

A glance to his left, showed him that free spirited Birtie watching the fight with a drunken grin on his face, just enjoying life. Oh, how Seidrik yearned to be at that table with his own pint in hand.

How long does this battle have yet to last, before Dutchfire calls an end to it and lets the audience decide the victor? What must he do to win? Is there a true victory here to be claimed? What will happen after the battle, after the vote?

“Drinks all around” Ice cried, “time to toast the victors of our first election! And let me introduce representatives of our newest guild, formed specifically to announce election results!”

Three shortish gentlemen entered, stage left.

We represent the Lollypop Guild, The Lollypop Guild, The Lollypop Guild
And in the name of the Lollypop Guild,
We wish to welcome you to Triadland.
We welcome you to Triadland, Tra la la la la la la

The shortest of the three gentlemen stepped forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, citizens and lurkers, the Triad has won the election fair and square! They schemed, they scammed, they schmoozed but when all was said and done the will of the people was with them! Three separate factions each felt they lacked something and couldn’t stand alone. They formed a common bond hoping the other two factions would make up for their deficiency. Together they hope they’re complete.

“Let me introduce the ruling Trinity, those three Amigos, the amazing Trio elected by their respective factions to form a coalition government – the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, and the Lion! Put your palms together and give them a big Demo Game hello!”

The crowd applauded wildly and The Poverty’s Pub singers burst into song -

Da da da, I don’t love you you don’t love me, aha aha aha

“That’s the wrong Trio, guys” the shortest Lollypopian frowned at the singers. “Citizens, it will be an exciting first term as the Triad tag team takes on the challenge of launching our civilization on its quest for glory, profit, and fun. Watch them found our capital! Observe their initial exploration! Question their research path! Puzzle over their production queue! Will their decisions place us on the yellow brick road or will they need someone from Kansas to help them?”

The Poverty’s Pub singers once again burst into song –

I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment's gone
All my dreams, pass before my eyes, a curiosity
Dust in the wind, all they are is dust in the wind

“Wrong Kansas, guys” the shortest Lollypopian glared at the singers. “Now, folks, the election’s over but the luau is still going strong. There’s still plenty of barbeque left and Ice is pouring Mai Tai’s and other tiki drinks for your imbibing pleasure. Get out there and enjoy yourselves because next comes the hard work of settling and conquering our great land.”

The crowd surged towards the exit. Bertie found himself next to Sedrik. “These seem like nice folks and all, though a little preoccupied with terminology and procedures and rules. Looks like they’ve got things moving now, though. Say, you’ve fit in right quick. You joined a faction and everything, I guess?”

“Yep,” said Sedrik. “Unfortunately we lost this election, but I’m sure there will be more coming down the way. You planning to stick around or are you heading back into the bush?”

“Haven’t decided yet. I figure it’ll be slow in town for a spell, once they create a town, that is. I’m a scout and a hunter by trade and not much used to indoor ways. If folks value scouting and hunting, I’m their huckleberry. If they don’t, well, I guess I’ll be in the wind. We’re going to need horses at some point so I might go out looking for some. How about you?”

Just then the surging crowed jostled them apart and Bertie didn’t hear Sedrik’s reply. He watched the surging crowd propel Sedrik towards Ice’s luau Mai Tai bar, like a salmon returning upstream to its ancestral home.

Bertie stood still a minute. In the distance he heard the cry of a wolf, its voice inviting him back into the unknown. The luau band struck up a tune and many in the crowed started to dance. The Poverty’s Pub singers joined the fun –

I’m in the mood
The rhythm is right
Move to the music
We can roll all night
Oooh, Slowride
Oooh, Slowride, take it easy
Slowride, take it easy

Smiling, Bertie made a decision . . .

Lol Hilarious reference to Alice from Wonderland and Great Political Satire. :D

Yours truly

The Scarecrow

Lol Hilarious reference to Alice from Wonderland and Great Political Satire. :D

Yours truly

The Scarecrow

OOC: Wizard of Oz, actually...

Wizard of Oz then :)

Seidrik awoke with a huge pounding headache and smoke from the many cook fires still clinging to the ground. A half eaten rack of ribs lay on the ground, next to some over turned cups and the ground appeared to have been trampled roughly. There were other bodies around him in various states of rest and waking. The sun was just over the horizon, reflecting off the waves crashing to the East. As he raised his head a wave of nausia and dizziness hit him, threatening to bring up all of last nights roast pork and fish.

Glancing to his left, Seidrik saw three curiously small people, the Lollipop guild from last night, and a smile broke over his face. Memories of the drunk little guys clammering to be tossed around so they could fly like a bird, and a drinking contest that had run most of the night...then there was the game of pebble cub, where you bounced a pebble off the table into your cup...It was the most fun he'd had in ages.

Glancing down, he found himself stripped down to just his dearskin pants and a couple half naked women splayed about next two him, each with an arm on his chest. Wow...if only he could remember that...He didn't even know who they were, but at least they appeared to have been good choices for company, nothing that would embarass him too much anyway.

After cautiously removing himself from the company of the women and the ground, Seidrik moved over to an overturned chair at the edge of the remains of last night's debauchery. Turning it up, he stretched and sat down to watch the rest of the sunrise. Afterall his head was still in no shape to be moving much.

Off toward the beach, he saw some people beginning to gather, some with fishing nets, and others pointing at things and already arguing. His thoughts turned to Bertie and his question about leaving and heading into the wilds... His head needed some clarity, and being under trees at the moment wasn't going to help with that.

Ice2k4 came around with a cup of warm water with a smell of herbs in it. "That was some party eh? From the looks of you, I'd wager this is about the strongest thing you can take right now. You were quite the dancer too, what got into you last night man? Hahahaha

With a grumble of thanks and a curious look mixed with the beginnings of a blush, Seidrik accepted the cup and began nurcing it. There was a strong hint of mint and something bitter, almost disguised...black root maybe? It was good though and his stomach and mind were clearing up real fast.

Turning to Ice2k4, who was also watching the activity at the beach, Seidrik said I do not think my spirit will ever be the same. I do not feel as though I can ever embrace the wild in the way I once did. I don't think any of us will ever be the same. And yes, that was a hell of a party my friend.

Ice2k4 nodded with a mischievous smile and pointed toward North East of where people were gathering by the beach. Bertie left a message for you. Says he knows what you'll decide, and if you are who he thinks you are, then you'll meet him up on that hill. Says there's a scouting party forming up soon. People want to know the lay of the land. You seem the sort for that work, and once those women wake up (with a wink) you may want to be far off anyway. Plus, those scouts will eventually come back and be part of this, whatever this is that we're going to be doing or building here. You may never fully embrace the wild again, but you would be able to have a foot in both worlds as a scout.

Seidrik consider it for all the time it took to slowly sink in through the murky watters of his slurred mind. Once it all hit home, Seidrik drank the rest of the herbal drink, shot up out of the chair, put a hand on Ice's shoulder and ran for the hill, grabbing his axe on the way. He couldn't find his shirt to save his life, and didn't really look for it, this was the call of a new adventure.

Glancing to his left, Seidrik saw three curiously small people, the Lollipop guild from last night, and a smile broke over his face. Memories of the drunk little guys clammering to be tossed around so they could fly like a bird, and a drinking contest that had run most of the night...then there was the game of pebble cub, where you bounced a pebble off the table into your cup...It was the most fun he'd had in ages.

Glancing down, he found himself stripped down to just his dearskin pants and a couple half naked women splayed about next two him, each with an arm on his chest. Wow...if only he could remember that...He didn't even know who they were, but at least they appeared to have been good choices for company, nothing that would embarass him too much anyway.


Pebble cup sounds all too familiar :mischief:

Hmm, I seem to remember Art Leinus's experience with drunken women not going so smoothly. Better watch the sober people...:rolleyes:

Bertie lives in the wild,
He lives nice and calm, tender and mild.
Sederik has joined the Tribal's group
After the party last night he might need some soup!
Anyway, wow! Excellent read!:clap:

The sun was almost directly overhead and Bertie was halfway up a steep mountain peak when he first heard her voice.

“Mr. Bertie, Mr. Bertie, wait for me!”

He peered behind him and saw a comely lass panting up the slope behind him. “Oh please wait, Mr. Bertie, I need your help.”

“It’s just plain Bertie, m’am. What can I do for you?” Bertie’s keen scout and hunter’s eye took in the fine features of her face framed by long, disheveled tresses. He noticed that although her well-tailored leopard-skin loin cloth outlined her full bosom in a most pleasing manner, it also bore the redolent stain of what appeared to be one of Ice’s potent Mai Tai cocktails. Bertie concluded the comely lass had been at the luau; might have at some point been a little tipsy; and had left that morning before completing her toilette.

“You appear to be in a hurry.”

“Yes, yes I am,” she said trying to catch her breath. “I woke up late, and he was gone! And he left this,” she held up a shirt, “so of course I must return it to him.”

“Yes. Yes, I see,” said Bertie, who clearly didn’t. And your name is? And the name of the shirtless fellow?”

“Oh, excuse me; of course you don’t know me. I’m … I’m Alice. And I’m looking for Seidrik. I spent a lot of time with him last night. Me and my sibling unit.”

“Seidrik the Gray?! That scamp!”

“The one and the same. I saw him in the debating pit and said to myself, ‘Self, what a man! You gotta have him!’ And then later, during the luau, we ran into him. Me and, um, Holly. My sibling unit. And things just, well, happened. By the way, did you notice an earthquake last night? Anyway, Seidrik left this morning without his shirt, so I gotta get it back to him.”

In the distance white clouds of smoke appeared. They seemed to form a pattern of some sort. Bertie studied them, wondering if yet another wandering tribe of nomads was signaling their presence to all who wished to join them.

Alice pointed at the sun. “Look, it’s directly overhead. That means it’s noon.”

“It does?”

“Sure, some of Hatshepsut’s people are whizzes with the constellations and all of that. They’ve figured out how to tell time, sort of. Anyway, when the sun’s directly overhead it’s noon. And Hatshepsut, in order to keep her people informed, always has the noon news! Some of those whizzy people of Hatshepsut’s figured out how to communicate with smoke signals. I know how to read them. Want me to translate?”

“Sure,” said Bertie. “Noon news? What will they think of next?”

“Let’s see. It looks like they’ve got the usual smokecasters today – Toothy Grin and his co-caster, Bunny Hunny. Oh, Toothy’s telling about the founding of Arete …”

Toothy: The wandering group of nomads led by the Trilateral Commission has founded their first city. It’s called Art, and there was heated discussion among the tribe’s people about where to locate the city before they finally decided to settle on the coast.”

Bunny: That’s Arete, Toothy.

Toothy: Thanks for the correction, Bunny. Currently the Factionite nation is deciding on a name, and we understand the process is in preliminary polling. We’ll update you in a month or two when they get closer to a choice.

Bunny: In other Factionite news, their Prochon Warband unit has had amazing luck with huts. They’ve popped two technologies – Agriculture and Animal Husbandry – an incredible feat. This takes the sting out of a Hatshepsutian archer boldly claiming the hut right on their capital’s doorstep.

Toothy: This just in! The Factionites have now made contact with both Hatshepsut of Spain and Lincoln of Babylonia. Diplomatic ties have been established and relations are peaceful. However, both of these rulers view the Factionites cautiously.

Bunny: Let’s go to sports now, and our award winning sports guy, Rocky Rock!

Rocky: Thanks, Bunny. The Factionites First Tribal Tournament, sponsored by the Poverty’s Pub, has begun. Events are off to a slow start but we hope to report results soon. In amateur sports, we understand the Factionites, at their celebratory election luau, invented the sport of tossing and bowling vertically challenged people. That’s not what the Factionites call it of course, but Hatshepsut is nothing if not politically correct, and since this is her production we play by her rules. Fun was had by all. After the sporting event, key participant Seidrik the Gray retired for further games with his head cheerleader, Alice, and her alleged sibling unit, Holly. Back to you, Bunny.

Bunny: Thanks, Rocky. Gee, Toothy, I’ve heard that Alice is quite a looker, but Holly!!?! What was Seidrik thinking?

Toothy: Ice’s lethal Mai Tai’s have been known to cloud the judgment of men less susceptible than Seidrik, Bunny. Moving on, word has it that after a strong opening turnset by the Trilateral Commission, things have bogged down among the Factionites. Discussion in the Gameplay Forum has been desultory, and some key Triad figures have been all but absent. Smart money has it they’re discussing things in their private lair. Recent word is another turnset will be played on Saturday, so that should get things moving again. Other factions have also been relatively inactive.

Bunny: What’s the word on a possible revolt next week, Toothy?

Toothy: Too soon to tell, although since the Factionites are all about Factions and politics, odds are 60-40.

Bunny: I’ll take the over, Toothy. Breaking news! We’ve learned that the consort of Seidrik the Gray, Alice, has enlisted the help of the renowned scout and hunter, Bertie, to help her find Seidrik so she can return his shirt! Word has it that the searching duo will find Seidrik right about …

Bertie and Alice’s attention was distracted from the Noon News by a violent thrashing sound in the underbrush to their right. “Lunch!” they heard a human voice cry; Seidrik? The thrashing sound was upon them. Suddenly a white hare bolted into view, bobbing and weaving right in front of Bertie and Alice. Just as it entered a small cave – nothing more than a large rabbit hole, really – a fist-sized black and gray stone whizzed out of the brush and just missed the disappearing hare.

“Rats! My lucky stone never fails me.” A shirtless Seidrik hove into view.

“Seidi!” exclaimed Alice. “My Seidi!” Bertie’s keen scout and hunter’s eye observed Alice’s ample bosom was heaving with barely controlled emotion. He wondered if the stitching on her loincloth would hold.

“Alice! Bertie! What are you doing here?”

“Quite a suntan you’ve got there, um, Seidi,” Bertie grinned, pointing at the shirtless one’s torso.

Alice threw herself on Seidrik. “My love,” she said covering him with kisses, “aren’t you glad to see me?”

Bertie wasn’t sure that Seidrik was; though he certainly did seem happy to be reacquainted with his shirt.

As the couple embraced Bertie’s mind wandered towards thoughts of the white hare. Curious that Seidrik’s magic stone didn’t turn the rabbit into lunch. Bertie ambled over to the rabbit’s hidey-hole and peered in. Was there something there? What could it be? He fumbled in his provision pouch. Did he still have any of the sacred berries?

/ooc Bertie, this blog is awesome! I'll write a replay as soon as I can! Suffice to say though, that Seidrik is exactly how you put it concerning Alice and his shirt, lol! The Noon News was extremely clever too. Do you have a column somewhere in RL? As soon as my 9-5 grind slows down I'll post here again.

OOC: Great stuff Great stuff. Might just invent a second character in order to join in, since my Diamondeye is a shy and young Acolyte, not much the type this thread ancourages to :lol:

Bertie and Seidrik both heard a low cracking noise as someone moved up towards them. A young man, his hair bound in a rough ponytail and his simple clothes quickly arranged with some disorder, covered the most vital bodypart as well as his torso. He seemed to be only just entering adulthood and looked as if he had been in a hurry aswell. He looked from Bertie to Seidrik and then spoke, nerveously.

"I am Sindar, son of Hrundal. I want to be a scout and I was at the Poverty Pub party last night. When I woke up, Ice2k4 sent me after you so that I could learn something off you. I hope I can tag along?"

He clearly looked nerveous. He took a look at Alice, still embracing Seidrik, and the... peculiar... look on Seidriks face. He decided to help him out.

"Oh and Alice, I believe Ice2k4 said your sibling was waiting with an important message for you, back at Arete. He asked you to return as soon as possible."

@kwarriorpoet, thanks for your kind words. I’ve been thoroughly enjoying your writing, too. No professional writing experience for me. The decree for this demogame is roleplay, so I’m roleplaying (in my own, sick, twisted way) dammit!

@diamondeye, thanks for your words, too. I hope more people decide to contribute, particularly since I only plan to update the blog once a week or so. Your contribution to the story correctly anticipates a plot twist that probably requires an immediate musical interlude, however.

Bertie blinked disbelief at Sindar. “Say what?”

“Holly – Alice’s sibling unit – said he has an important message for her,” Sindar said.

At this news Alice’s eyes rolled; Seidrik’s cheeks burned; and Bertie’s jaw dropped.

An awkward silence was broken by the sudden appearance of the Poverty Pub’s singers!

:band::band::band::band:

Holly came from miami f.l.a.
Hitch-hiked her way across the u.s.a.
Plucked her eyebrows on the way
Shaved her leg and then he was a she
She says, hey babe, take a walk on the wild side
Said, hey honey, take a walk on the wild side

Bertie fumbled deeper into his provision pouch, now desperate for one of his sacred berries . . .

The sun was just coming over the horizon. Antimedus's servant yawned.

"Good morning, Mantia!" A strong, husky voice rang from the doorway. Antimedus's.

Mantia, Antimedus's servant, liked his life, no matter how hard it gets sometimes. Orphaned by the age of seven, Mantia had nowhere else to go but Antimedus's palace. He had been hoping that Antimedus knew a kindly family that would take him in. He was utterly shocked when he was offered to work for the Despot.
Of course, he stayed with Antimedus.

That day, Mantia's task was to go out into the woods and find some food for the people of Arete. He had never been to the woods before. He was afraid to admit it, but wolves have been spotted in those parts. What if...

Mantia shook the negativity off. He was a hunter wasn't he?

Well, in his own mind he was.

Suddenly, he heard a crack! "It's just the wind, it's just the wind, it's just the wind," Mantia assured himself. He kept walking.

The sound of the branches crackling came even closer. "Hello!" came a voice. Mantia jumped so hard he fell into a thorn bush!

"You're new to these parts, aren't you?" It was a man who looked as if he knew those woods. He had a nice suntan and a couple scratches on his face.

"Who are you?" A confused Mantia's voice came as he plucked the thorns from his shirt.

"I am Sederik the Gray. Do you need some help drasticly uncoordinated one?" Sederik grinned.

"I am Mantia. I come from Arete. I am on a quest for berries. I am also a poet."

"Are you a forager?"

"No..."

"A hunter?"

"No..."

"Then how do you expect to find berries?"

"I just hoped I'd stumble upon them. It is for Antimedus, so I can't just give up."

Sederik liked this clumsy fool. He made Sederik feel old. "You know, you should meet Bertie. Excellent forager, the man."

"Thank you, Sederik. Although, I need to get back to Antimedus. Do you have any spare berries?"

"Sure. Here you go." Sederik said goodbye to the servant, and with that, was off.

Sindar looked around, confused by the sudden noise and crowdiness, and saw that Seidrik had disappeared from the small group of people. He started to yell at the band:
"THAT'S FINE! That's fine! We don't need an encore!"
With those words he looks around to find Bertie in a desperate attempt to find something in his pouch (perhaps one of those berries he seems to be addicted to?).
He nears Bertie and nearly yells: "Let's go find Seidrik and head off to the scouting party!"

At the sound of the word "party", the band goes crazy and starts singing another mindbogging tune...

/ooc Sindar (Diamondeye) I took Mantia's post (Civplayah) to be an event that happened previous to your introduction and to Alice's embarassing embrace and sudden departure, not to mention the band and Bertie....soooo....

A confusing morning it had been. Seidrik had lost a shirt, met a young man stumbling in the bushes looking for berries, lost a rabbit, witnessed some strange cloud magic called the noon news, been suddenly reaquainted with Alice (which had brought forth berried memories of Holly as well), found his favorite shirt (thank the Sun for that!) and now met another young man, named Mantia. His stomach growled for breakfast, and Ice2k4's herbal drink was starting to wear off, his head becoming wracked with a dull pain again, only much lesser than it had been. Seidrik thought he should try some of these sacred berries perhaps...they might make him forget the pain for while at least.

Turning to Mantia, and stuffing himself back into his favorite shirt, as bear stained as it might have been, it did still smell of Alices floural perfume which was part of the better half of her being everything but her overly bubbly and clingy self, he thought of just how to use Mantia. "So, you want to learn to be a scout? Well, you should know that my friend Gaiyut is the best tracker I know, and he makes me look like an Elephant trampling through dry grasses!"

“Tell you what, you get that rabbit for me, then I’ll put in a word for you with Shattered, although it might be tricky since I am a member of a rival faction. He should prove reasonable enough though…are you a member of the Philosopher’s faction?”


Turning to Mantia, and stuffing himself back into his favorite shirt, as bear stained as it might have been, it did still smell of Alices floural perfume which was part of the better half of her being everything but her overly bubbly and clingy self, he thought of just how to use Mantia. "So, you want to learn to be a scout? Well, you should know that my friend Gaiyut is the best tracker I know, and he makes me look like an Elephant trampling through dry grasses!"

I guess you refer to Sindar when you turn to the boy that wants to be a scout. Soo...

"No sir, I am not a member of any faction. My little brother is a protector of the faith, though. Not exactly my kind of faction, being strict religious. He seems to be comletely forgetting there is anything such as women or drinks in the world. On the other hand, he and my father would be upset if I decided to join another faction, so I doubt that will be possible. Now, I'll try to catch you that rabbit!"

Sindar leaves for a short while, then returns with a long, rather straight and solid stick. He has broken off all the smaller branches and sits down. He finds a flint knife from somewhere in his clothes and begins to sharpen the stick. It takes some time, but he is sitting just outside the rabbit's hole, so it has nowhere to run.

A loud horn blast is heard eminating from Arete. It's three notes long, with the first two being just short loud bursts, then a much longer note. Instantly, Seidrik and Bertie are drawn to look toward Arete, but the trees block the view, except for a dust cloud to the South trailing to the West, telling of some large number of people or beast headed toward Arete.

Seidrik says in an excited voice to no one in particular "That must be the Warband returning home!"

Bertie seems frozen with a hand in his berry bag and his head turned toward Arete.

At that same moment, with his eyes toward Arete, Sindar feels a sudden jarring impact on his newly sharpened stick...Breakfast has arrived.

Sindar quickly retracts the stick to find a rabbit caught on it. He quickly snaps its neck, then turns to Seidrik, and hands him the rabbit. He finds some small branches and quickly start a small fire.
"I suggest we get something to eat before going back to join the scouting party. I'll see if there is anything edible nearby while you roast the rabbit."
With these, words, Sindar grabs the improvised spear he caught the rabbit with, and runs away. He quickly returns with two eggs and a wounded bird. Its' wing seems broken in several places, and Sindar has only recently broken its' neck. It seems as if the bird has had the injured wing for a bit of time.
"I was lucky enough to find it this way, just beside the nest. Let's eat!"

Another luau was being held by the Poverty's Pub Guild. This one Mantia decided to go to.
He was very pleased to see Seidrik there.
"Mantia! Good to see you!" It was Seidrik. "This is Bertie, the excellent forager I told you about." Bertie nodded his head in agreement.

Mantia decided to keep walking, to meet other people. He stumbled upon ice-2k4.
"Welcome to Poverty's Pub second luau! I am ice2k4, the host of the fabulous affair. Come, sit down, grab a drink, relax!"
The next person he met... well he didn't know that person's name. All the person said was Free Bird!

The final person he met was a young man named Sindar. "Hello. My name is Sindar. I'm in training to be a scout. What do you do for a living?"

Mantia never thought small talk would be so hard. He wanted to say "I'm a servant for Antimedus," but he thought since he would be turning 18 next week, he might want a little more independence. "I... don't know," Mantia answered finally. "I guess I might be looking for a new job soon. Do you know any good places to work?"

Sindar answered, "Well, I heard that Poverty's Pub is hiring new bartenders."

Mantia thought that was the perfect job. Seidrik and Bertie and everyone else hung out there all the time. He would be with his friends, and get paid for it too!

"Ice2k4!" he yelled. Ice came running. "Yes?"

"Is the bartender job still open?"

"Of course!" Ice2k4 answered. It seems Mantia had finally found a living.

Bertie smacked his lips in appreciation as he polished off the last of the delicious meal. Sindar had mad hunting and foraging skills, he reflected; and who knew Seidrik could cook? But of course Seidrik could cook, he quickly corrected himself. Seidrik came from a long line of barbeque-crazed fanatics. Grease ran in his veins.

Patting his full, plump belly Bertie idly thought of the events of the last hour or so. For a time the place been like Grand Central Station1! (1Editor’s note: semi-obscure reference to the future.) People coming and going, confusion reigned! And the most remarkable thing he’d ever seen: after he had dug deep into his provision pouch and found a sacred berry – his last, alas – Alice had snatched it from him!

“It’s speaking to me!” she squealed with delight. “’Eat me!’ it’s saying!” and she popped it into her mouth. Immediately she shrank, and in her diminished state was of a size where she could comfortably fit through the entrance to the rabbit hole. Which she did; and thus promptly disappeared (not doubt responding to Sindar’s message that Holly needed her presence ASAP)2. (2Editor’s note: Throughout his blog Bertie has been borrowing shamelessly from a wide variety of sources. Most would say he’s been outright stealing, but we’re more charitable. In any case, here his laziness catches him up. In the original source (Dodgson, using the pseudonym Carroll; London, 1865) it’s what Alice drinks that makes her smaller, not what she eats (which serves to enlarge her, as so many of us find to be the case).)

“Strange,” Bertie thought to himself, “eating sacred berries never made me shrink.”

Bertie’s thoughts were jerked back to the present by the sudden appearance of the Poverty’s Pub Singers.

One pill makes you larger
And one pill makes you small
And the ones that mother gives you
Don't do anything at all

Bertie’s glare stopped the singers in mid-stanza, and they left. The thought of berries – and his lack thereof – compelled him to action. “We must scout this place,” he declared to Seidrik and Sindar,” and see if we can find some berries. For, um, dessert; among other things.”

The three energetically began to search for berries. Sindar moved to one edge of the hill, a little distance from where they had paused to eat. “Hey, look!” he cried.

“Berries?” Bertie inquired hopefully.

“No; but something almost as good. Ivory!” The three peered down the hill at a vast ivory depository. “Whoever controls this will have happiness and power” declared Seidrik. “We’ll have to tell the people back in Arete; they’ll want to be all over this.”

The three continued their quest for berries. Seidrik wandered off in a direction opposite from the ivory. He saw something shiny high on a hill. “Look! Gold!” The three rushed up the hill to get a closer look.

“Wow,” said Bertie. “Gold so close to ivory? I’m thinking pretty good spot for a city, how about you guys?” Seidrik and Sindar nodded their agreement.

“Hey, what’s that?” Sindar pointed to a rock outcropping. There, next to what appeared to be the entrance to a cave, was a bush loaded with juicy dark-colored berries.

“That’s the ticket!” Bertie exclaimed happily. “Sacred berries!” All three rushed to the bush and began stuffing their faces with the juicy fruit.

“What are you doing?!!” A man’s head popped out of the nearby cave; a mystic. (http://forums.civfanatics.com/showpost.php?p=6618912&postcount=12) “Don’t eat them all! I need those!”

The three jumped away from the bush, startled. “Sorry, sir,” Sindar apologized. “We didn’t realize they belonged to anyone.”

“That’s the trouble with people today, always thinking of themselves and not of others. No consideration at all. What’s the world coming to?” The mystic looked closer at the trio. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said to Bertie. “Didn’t recognize you. Come to stock up?”

“Yup. Didn’t know you were here; this is a new location for you.”

“Arete was getting too crowded for me. I like to be out on the cutting edge of things. I’ve been exploring around here; great spot for a city. I’m holding the fort until the folks in Arete wake up to the possibilities here.”

“We saw the ivory and the gold,” said Seidrik. “It really is a good spot. We’ve got to let the people in Arete know.”

“No problem,” the mystic said. He reached into the cave and pulled out the mystic rock that had fallen from the sky. Staring into the two engraved eyes, he pulled a berry from the bush and ate it. He blinked, rubbed the rock, then turned it over and looked at it. “Message sent and received,” he declared.

“H-h-how did you sent it?” asked Sindar. “I don’t understand.”

The mystic looked at him – it was a long look – and pointed toward the bush. “Simple. I used my BlackBerry. Doesn’t it always give you a great feeling of well being to be constantly connected, to be in touch?”

“Thanks for the help, Mystic,” Bertie said hurriedly. We should probably scout around a little more so when settlers from Arete show up we can show them the lay of the land.”

“There’s a good spot for a city just south of gold. Look around a little; there’s more to be found.” With that the mystic disappeared into his cave.

The three friends heeded the mystic’s advice and headed south. There, on a hill, they saw what they knew would someday be a new city.

“So convenient to the gold and the ivory,” Sindar said.

“Look, we can set up a barbeque pit here,” said Seidrik.

“And there’s a great spot for a pub over there,” exclaimed Sindar. “Ice can send Mantia here to run it! Why, we’re standing right where downtown will be for our new city!”

Suddenly, up popped the Poverty’s Pub singers!

Just listen to the rhythm of a gentle Bossa Nova
You'll be dancing with 'em too before the night is over,
Happy again...
The lights are much brighter there,
You can forget all your troubles; forget all your cares, and go
Downtown -- where all the lights are bright
Downtown -- waiting for you tonight
Downtown -- you're gonna be all right ...

Bertie, Seidrik, and Sindar looked at each other in horror. “No Petula Clark!” they shouted in unison.

Eager to leave behind such an unpleasant experience – and also eager to discover the additional resources the mystic had hinted at, they continued to explore in a southerly direction.

“Look to the left on yon hill,” Bertie pointed. “Is that copper?”

“It is, Seidrik agreed. “And over to the right in the valley; is that rice?”

“Yeah, it is,” Sindar said. “Gee, what a great spot: food, wealth, happiness, and power. This city is going to be a powerhouse!”

“Yup. So Sindar and Bertie, should we keep on exploring? Perhaps find another city site? Or look for something else? Where should we go next?”

Once again the persistent (but perky!) Poverty’s Pub Singers appeared:

I know a place where the music is fine
And the lights are always low
I know a place where we can go

Off stage, the entire DemoGame community: No Petula Clark!

Hahahahaha!

I busted my gut over and over on that last one, Bertie! Now, how do we work blazing saddles, the producers, camalot, and The History of the World into this...Blog...thing?

OOC: This is simply ridiculous! I love it already!

Sindar looked at the two others. "Well, we could try to find another city site, but wouldn't that be a little bit boring?" The berries had certainly made him loosen up towards the two elder and more experienced scouts. His nerveousity was gone with the wind.

"I say we head for Babylonia! I've read in some strange text that they have some seductive women over there... The text, which has, unfortunately, been lost, speaks of "the babylonian whore"... Whatcha say?"

Suddenly, they hear a loud cry from behind: Free Bird!
When they turn around, Sindar has disappeared to join The Blastoid in the scouting party.

After the departure of Sindar, Bertie and Seidrik were discussing which way to go when their attention was drawn to the sudden appearance in the sky of urgent smoke signals announcing a special edition of the Noon News. Since the discovery of writing, reading of all sorts – including smoke signals – was no longer a difficulty, so our heroes had no problem deciphering them.

This is Toothy Grin with a special edition of the Noon News.

Bunny: But it’s not noon yet, Toothy.

Toothy: It’s noon somewhere, Bunny. We have a special report from our undercover correspondent, Holly, who is embedded in the secret lair of one of the Triad’s major factions.

Bunny: And we all know how seriously Holly takes her assignments.

Toothy: Indeed, Bunny. We’re sure she’s well embedded. Holly, are you there?

Holly: Indeed I am, Toothy. I’m here reporting from the secret lair of an undisclosed Triad faction. This faction’s secret lair is buried deep underground in the general vicinity of the Pig Farm. I’m posing as an intern, and have become invaluable to the faction head – we’ll call him Head Honcho, though he prefers the term High Mightiness – and his right hand man who we’ll call Henchman – though he seems to go by whatever term Head Honcho wishes to call him at any particular moment. Head Honcho certainly seems to enjoy the perquisites of power.

Bunny: Holly, how did the Triad’s leadership take the recent attempt at rebellion?

Holly: Badly, Bunny. Fury and rage were the order of the day here deep underground in the secret lair. I was present when the news reached this faction’s leadership – I was evaluating swatches of cloth for a new wardrobe his High Mightiness was ordering; he values my fashion sense, although he might be a tiny bit surprised at some of the styles I recommend – and I overheard the following exchange:

Henchman: Your Grace, the peasants are revolting.

Head Honcho: Tell me something I didn’t know, nimrod. Of course the people are revolting; isn’t that the whole premise behind our faction?

Henchman: No, no, you misunderstand. I mean they’re voting in a poll on whether to overthrow our power!

Head Honcho: Let them eat cake.

Henchman: They seem pretty riled up, Mightiness.

Head Honcho: And who is the leader of this outrage? Our despised rivals, the Tribal Council?

Henchman: No, those guys seem to be missing in action. The lights on but …you know the rest. No, it was Vandal Warlord, m’lord.

Head Honcho: Who is this pesky Vandal Warlord? Will no one rid me of this troublesome turnip?

Henchman: He is a nothingness, m’lord, a mere bagatelle. He is the head of a laughably small faction. You know what we think of other factions, particularly the small ones.

Head Honcho: Nevertheless he shall feel the wrath of the Triad and my iron fist!

Henchman: Technically, High Mightiness, we haven’t discovered Iron yet, so according to strict rules of roleplay . . .

Head Honcho: No iron! No iron!? Why haven’t we been researching this? Nevermind, we’ll make it a priority so I can have an iron fist. But how else can I describe my mightiness? Let’s see, we’ve got dyes; hmm, nothing there. Horses? Neigh. Pigs! We can do something with pigs! How about my hammy fist?

Henchman: I’m not sure I quite follow, sire.

Head Honcho: Hammy, as in big and fleshy! You know, meaty!

Henchman: (sounding dubious) Yeah, maybe that will work. I mean I guess one could say you’ve got meaty palms . . .

Head Honcho: Then it’s settled! Vandal Warlord will feel my ham-handed wrath! He will be declared an enemy of the state!

Seidrik had been shaking his head at all of his. He mused outloud: “Ham-handed. You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

Henchman: Whatever you say, Meatiness. I mean Mightiness! Any other business, m’lord?

Head Honcho: Not at the moment. But tonight I want you to send that young intern, Holly, to my chamber.

Henchman: About Holly, Mightiness, there’s something you need to know …

Head Honcho: Don’t tell me you’re jealous, underling? You’ve been monopolizing her attentions. It’s time your superior has his turn.

Holly: Whoops, well I think that’s about the end of the report on my end! Back to you, Bunny.

Bunny: Keep up the good work, Holly. Toothy?

Toothy: In later developments, we can report that although the rebellion failed, the margin of victory was surprisingly small. Observers noted this seemed to be a wake up call to the Triad, for some reforms quickly were instituted. Indeed there is great hope a new age is about to dawn. Bunny?

Bunny: Hear, hear, Toothy. Well folks, that’s all today. See you next time.

Bertie and Seidrik looked at each other in amazement. Rebellion? Could it be?

Seidrik spoke. “ These events weigh heavily. I’ve labored my whole life in the mold of my family, as they have in countless previous generations. My family has lived in their country estate for the last 2 millennia. Politics was something we had long abandoned. But times are changing; this rebellion is a serious wake up call.” (http://forums.civfanatics.com/showpost.php?p=6747173&postcount=1)

“What do you mean?” inquired the puzzled Bertie.

“I have business in Arete. I can no longer live apart from my times, but must invest my energies in helping our fledgling civilization. Traipsing through the wilderness, having adventures, and eating berries is fun; but it is a life I must turn my back on, at least for awhile. Our current leaders have been able; but they are political animals, interested more in partisan politics than in developing a vision for the future. Our people are small now, but are destined to be great. Am I the one to lead them thither? Perhaps not; but certainly I can do my best to put our nation on the inevitable path to its great and glorious density.”

“Destiny.”

“So my spelling is even worse than yours.”

“I know someone who can help you with that. Anyway, that’s a big job. What if you fail?”

“Then I fail. But I will have tried, and my efforts, I am convinced, will better the lot of our people. Duty and honor call me Arete, Bertie. I will go there and found a new faction. You are welcome to join me, if you wish.”

“Thanks, Seidrik, but I’m a hunter and a scout. My place is in the wind. City ways aren’t mine; at least not yet. Maybe I’ll join you in time. For now, what say I scout south of here? Perhaps I can help locate a new city site where your faction can take root and grow.”

Seidrik headed towards Arete and a new dawn borne of the rising sun.

Bertie trekked south, alone once again. A few days later he became gradually aware of a presence that seemed sinister and strange. It was nothing he could see; but still, it was there. He had just passed through desert and was climbing a wooded hill when he heard an alien sound.

“Ack. Ack Ack Ack. Ack Ack. ”

“Ack Ack?”

“Ack Ack Ack!”

Bertie shuttered. Sand people; the worst.

He crested the hill and saw some wild cattle grazing in a valley below. Pausing to gaze upon them, he reached into his pouch for a berry. Seemed bitter; maybe a bad bush? Couldn’t be, Bertie decided; the mystic had never steered him wrong before.

He had taken just a step down the hill when the world exploded into white light. A soundless concussion rocked him. Stars shot through his splitting head. Knees buckled and he fell backward; he fancied he saw a cipher in white, a woman, her face floating high in the sky above him. He grew cold as ice; was that snow falling?

Bertie plummeted deep into the depthless pools of unconsciousness.

In the background the faint distant freight train rumble of a Johnny Cash bass line.

boomchikaboomchikaboomchikaboomchikaboom….

In the foreground wood choppers from Arkadai are busy splitting logs and piling them in a neat stack perhaps six feet in height. Cattle graze nearby. One of their brethren apparently had been separated from the herd, masterly butchered, and has been expertly secured to a spit waiting for … what?

boomchikaboomchikaboomchikaboomchikaboom

The woodchoppers finish their task, heave a canvas draped bundle atop the wood stack, and wander off.

Flies buzz.

boomchikaboomchikaboomchikaboomchikaboom

About an hour later Ice2k4 appeared. “Drinks all around?” he suggested, looking in vain for someone to serve a drink to. “Time to toast the victors of our second election! Let me introduce our guild formed specifically to announce election results!”

Three shortish gentlemen entered stage left.

We represent the Lollypop Guild, The Lollypop Guild, The Lollypop Guild
And in the name of the Lollypop Guild,
We wish to welcome you to the Arkadian Dynasty, tra la la la

The shortest of the three gentlemen stepped forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, citizens and lurkers … and judging by the crowd, or lack thereof, we certainly hope there are lurkers out there! The Arkadian Dynasty has won the election fair and square! No scheming, scamming, or schmoozing required! After the people got their fill of the Triad, all they wanted was a leadership that would show up!”

The shortest of the three gentleman scanned the crowd; or lack thereof.

“I speak metaphorically, of course. Without further ado, let me ask you to put your hands together for the Arkadian Dynasty and give them a big Demo Game hello!”

boomchikaboomchikaboomchikaboomchikaboom

The shortest of the three gentleman scanned the crowd; or lack thereof. “Um, and don’t forget that Ice is pouring his lethal Mai Tai’s and other tiki drinks all night to celebrate, and Seidrik has a killer barbeque planned! Plus other added attractions!”

At the sound of the words ”Mai Tai’s” a crowd began to gather. Alice and Holly strolled in arm-in-arm, both wearing fetching sailor suits. BCLG100 and Joe Harker appeared, discussing intricate points of strategy. Ravensfire and DaveShack ambled in engrossed in discussion about days gone by. Dutchfire appeared suddenly and seemed to be searching for something. Within minutes there was a line out the door of the Poverty’s Pub, Arkadai branch.

Last to appear were Seidrik and Lord Civius. Seidrik took in the scene, and mentioned that he wasn’t thirsty anyway. “Let’s look at some of the other preparations, Lord Civius.”

The pair walked over to the wood pile. Seidrik reached up to the canvas clad bundle and tugged at it. The canvas fell away, revealing … a supine figure.

“Alas, poor Bertie! I knew him, Lord Civius: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy . . .”

“Bertie’s dead?! How did that happen?”

“No one knows. We came upon him in an unconscious state, and couldn’t rouse him. It looks like barbarian sand people did it. Or maybe Hatsheput’s agents are the perpetrators, and covered their tracks by pretending to be sand people! There’s been some tension between us and Hatsheput, you know, particularly since we settled Arkadai so close to their borders.”

“So what’s going to happen to him?”

“Well, the woodchoppers came across him first, and started building this, as you’ll notice, rather massive funeral pyre for him. Sentimental fools, those. I saw it and – dedicated barbeque chef that I am – thought it was a preposterous waste of hickory. So of course I decided we needed that pile ‘o logs for our election victory b-b-q! But as you know, you really want to reduce your fire to good embers before you introduce your prime beef to it, so I thought ‘why not kill two birds with one stone?’. So to speak. So we’re going to give Bertie the pyre treatment, then later, after a few dozen Mai Tai’s have gotten us into the mood, we’ll feast on Q!”

“Sweet. So when is this funeral?”

Seidrik squinted at the sun. “Now? Where are those singers?”

Enter, stage right, the Poverty’s Pub Singers!

The crowd gathered around the funeral pyre. Bertie lay atop it, hands folded across his (indecently large) belly, eyes decently closed.

boomchikaboomchikaboomchikaboomchikaboom

A child wailed; a distant dog howled.

Seidrik rose to speak. “Dearly beloved. The sooner we roast Bertie – so to speak – the sooner we can barbeque our prime beef, and then eat!”

“Hear, hear!” murmured the crowd.

“Bertie was here, he was swell, now he’s gone, the game goes on!”

The crowed roared, Mai Tai glasses raised, “The game goes on!”

Seidrik nodded towards the Poverty’s Pub singers. The black-robed ensemble arranged themselves mournfully in a position before the funeral pyre. Six DGers, pitch torches ablaze, approached the wood pile. In a whoosh the wood stack was alight. The Poverty’s Pub singers commenced their dirge-like solemn funeral hymn:

The time to hesitate is through
No time to wallow in the mire
Try now we can only lose
And our love become a funeral pyre
Come on baby, light my fire
Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire!

DGers, heads bowed, began to smell bacon.

Dutchfire withdrew his face from his Mai Tai long enough to take a good gander at the Povety’s Pub Singers. His eyes widened. “Free Bird!” he exalted.

The Poverty’s Pub Singer in the front row center, hands clasped around some object, raised them to the sky and released them. A white dove flew towards the sun, circled over the funeral pyre, then settled on Bertie’s brow.

Birds are birds, ya know? Their ways aren’t ours, and can be mysterious. Which is polite talk to say the dove . . . dumped on Bertie.

White, sticky mess sliding down the nose towards his half open mouth. What was the small, brightly colored berry-shaped object in the stinkiness? Something the dove hadn’t fully digested?

The crowd shuddered, and took deep pulls on their Mai Tai’s.

boomchikaboomchikaboomchikaboomchikaboom

“Free refills!” announced Ice.

While the crowd’s attention was distracted by exchanging spent glasses for fresh, they missed what might possibly have been perceived as brief eyelash fluttering by Bertie.

Inside what seemed to him a small bubble in a vast galaxy Bertie knew only this: “I’m not dead yet!” His head throbbed, and he dimly remembered . . . nothing. Somehow he was hungry for breakfast. Youch! It was hot. He tried to rise; and couldn’t.

A vision, first fuzzy and distant, then close and distinct came to him. An angel of mercy dressed in white, there to caress him and relieve his bodily aches?

The distant sound of the Poverty’s Pub Singers:

And she'll tease you
She'll unease you
All the better just to please you
She's precocious and she knows just
What it takes to make a pro blush
She got Greta Garbo stand off sighs
She's got Bette Davis eyes

His fairy godmother? Nope, a vision of loveliness in a cute little nurse’s uniform. Tight across the bodice, short skirt, stockings produced from Arkadain silk, high boots. Bertie grew . . . interested.

She'll let you take her home
It whets her appetite
She'll lay you on her throne
She got Bette Davis eyes
She'll take a tumble on you
Roll you like you were dice
Until you come out blue
She's got Bette Davis eyes

“Fat chance, Ethelbert; don’t even think about it. I’m tired of pulling your lousy little nether regions out of the fire. Both figuratively and this time literally. Shape up, man! You’re a slacker! Always have been, always will be.”

Crickey. Schoolmarm Thwackum.

Bertie tried to reply but couldn’t. Not conscious but not unconscious he lay there helpless.

The bird doo dropped off Bertie’s nose onto his upper lip, and continued sliding southward.

Schoolmarm Thwackum leaned close to Bertie. There's something wrong with you but what do you expect me to do? she cooed. Oh what you gonna do with your problem I'll leave it to you. Problem, the problem is you.

She extended her ivory index finger and with the blood red talon tip flicked the bird mess – including the small brightly colored object – into Bertie’s mouth.

“Take your medicine, Bertie. What you need is one of those magic berries you’re addicted to.”

Almost immediately a feeling of well being spread through Bertie. He felt alive! And hot!!!

He leapt up.

Alice screamed. “Bertie lives!”

“He’s trapped by the flames!” Holly exclaimed. “He looks disoriented and doesn’t know how to get down from the funeral pyre!”

“It’s just a jump to the left, Bertie,” Alice instructed.

“And then a step to the right,” Holly added.

“Put your hands on your hips,” Joe Harker suggested.

The Poverty’s Pub Singers! chimed in:

You bring your knees in tight.
But it’s the pelvic thrust
That really drives you insane.
Let’s do the time-warp again.
Let’s do the time-warp again.

Bertie – ignoring any implications his resurrection might have for the time and space continuum problem (that’s another blog) – pumped his pelvis and jumped free of the blaze.

“You look like you could use a drink,” said Ice, thrusting one of his potent Mai Tai’s into Bertie’s hand. “Party on!”

Bertie was welcomed back to the land of the living, and quickly got caught up with what was happening in the game.

“We just discovered sailing,” Dutchfire informed him.

The Poverty’s Pub Singers didn’t miss their opportunity!

Sailing
Takes me away
To where I've always heard it could be
Just a dream and the wind to carry me
And soon I will be free

“No Christopher Cross!” exclaimed the entire DG community.

“Q is ready!” Seidrik announced. “Come and get it!”

The next hour was a whirl of eating, drinking and general high jinks. Then the crowd started moving towards the dance floor, and Bertie found himself next to Seidrik as they were both carried along by the flow. “Congratulations on the election victory, Seidrik. You’ll do well.”

“Thanks, Bertie. You planning to stick around or are you heading back into the bush? Might be a war soon; something to consider.”

“Haven’t decided yet. I’m a scout and a hunter by trade and still not much used to indoor ways. Now that we’ve discovered sailing I might get myself on a boat, see some of the world. It’d be nice to be first to circumnavigation. I’ll decide in the morning.”

“Good idea, Bertie. I’d recommend . . .”

Just then the crowd jostled them apart and Bertie didn’t hear Seidrik’s reply. He watched the surging crowd propel Seidrik towards Ice’s Mai Tai bar, like a salmon returning upstream to its ancestral home.

Bertie stood still a minute. In the distance he heard the cry of a wolf, now rare since the land was so developed, its voice inviting him back into the unknown. The band struck up a tune and the crowd started to dance. The Poverty’s Pub singers joined the fun –

I was dreamin when I wrote this
So sue me if I go too fast
But life is just a party, and parties weren’t meant to last
War is all around us, my mind says prepare to fight
So if I gotta die I’m gonna listen to my body tonight

Yeah, they say two thousand zero zero party over,
Oops out of time
So tonight Im gonna party like its 1999

Smiling, Bertie made a decision . . .

OOC: Real life has thrown me an unexpected pair of curveballs, both high and in my wheelhouse so I should be able to hit at least one out of the ballpark, possibly for a grand slam. But I’m going to be really busy until August or September and I’m going to have to drop out of this demo game. I’ll try to stop by from time to time to vote, but I won’t have time to continue with the blog for a good long while. But I did take time to resolve Bertie's state of unconsciousness (where we left him in April) with his funeral (post above this one) . . . :lol:

Thanks again for all the positive comments I’ve received while writing this. I enjoyed it, and hope it’s been entertaining to read.

Leave in May
and go away
but remember
come back in September!

Wow...Your prose and words and musical interludes will be sorely missed!

I am no longer the King, you know...just a Voice now, but the DG lives on! It lives on!

So, too I hope that you, Bertie, will return.