Discussion in 'Fall from Heaven Lore' started by Dean_the_Young, Nov 29, 2009.
For that you'd have to ask Ahwaric, I just merged them and made my tweaks.
The Bannor are liberated, though not without cost. In their confusion, their garrisons thought us barbarians and fired upon Comillo and Brigit.
Or, at least, that's what the reports say. But the Prime Minister is... different, these days. He's abandoned the Undercouncil, and sequesters himself in his chambers, rarely taking interest in anything but our military advisors and sages.
Our economy, though strong, seems to be lagging. If only we could convince him to sponsor over-seas trade, which would open up far more markets and easier travel across our own continent, let alone send supplies to places such as the Bannor or Mechanos lands.
Why does he not see it?
I fear he is not well.
The Jotnar have been brought to heel. The giants, formidable as they are even to our most seasoned Adventurers, suffered a lack of production, having worked too much for fields of grain.
Bound in chains, Hephaestus will be brought to Midgard for trial and punishment for unleashing the Frozen upon our lands. Frozen, I might add, our armies are struggling against: they spawned into this world with champions of their own, with Ice Golems and frozen souls, far in excess of the Jotnar. In the Frozen Mountains which they claimed, they have all the advantages of the treacherous cold terrain.
One boon, however, benefited us: the creation of a fort on their Eastern frontier was completed just as the frozen made their first settlement expansion, dividing their armies away from the capital. While troops blockaded the second city, our adventurers, mounted on deer that our Ljosalfar allies bid them to ride, came from the south to assault the Frozen capital.
Across the seas from the Amurites, we came across the terrible truth of the Calabim. The status of the non-vampires is... terrible. It horrified even the Prime Minister, as Calabim nobles we came across would speak many of the same justifications as we have used for our Indentured Servitude programs, and were actively seeking membership into the Undercouncil.
The Amurite cities were the most aghast at the acts seen, and their city states turned from scholarship to war. Spellswords were taught acts of magic, before being trained again into true Grigori Dragon Slayers who retained all the magical knowledge of their homeland. With help from Carrow the Hunted, the rotting core of the Calabim was rapidly toppled over, and the Calabim elite disposed. The masses greeted us with joy, and were all to glad to hand us the heads of their oppressors.
Prime Minister Esirce, looking better than he has in years, gave an announcement to the Council today: the Grigori are toppling the Undercouncil, though we ourselves made it. Since then, it has become twisted, a source for misery in this world: the Overcouncil is more interested in making money in enabling smuggling and crime than in secretly purging it. The Grigori Indentured servitude is being uprooted for mere chattal slavery, and more malevolent kinds as well in the secret whorehouses filled with captured women.
All that was good with the Undercouncil was good because we were enacting it, the Prime Minister explained. And now, with others falling into temptation and justification of it, we alone are to blame. We must fix what we have broken.
Prime Minister Esirce has made this secret declaration: the Grigori will end all the suffering of the Undercouncil, and destroy the Undercouncil members for as long as they remain so. If the rest of the world clings to it, then so be it.
The Frozen are defeated. Taranis howled as he was chained.
He thinks we can not end him. He is mistaken. Prime Minister's obsession with magics is now made clear: he has been seeking a fundamental mastery so that we could do just that. Our father Cassiel was ended by the agents of Winter, and now we return the favor. Not for our own benefit, but for the future.
The Frozen will never set foot upon Erebus again.
(OOC: For some reason, a bug has all my normal human horse-archers looking like red domes. Funny, but it goes away with any racial promotion. I promoted my Adventurers to the Ljoslafar substitute, with the deer, and it gave them all Elven promotion as well. Guess they're culturally elvens, even the orcs of them. )
The first of the Undercouncil we have faced is the Khazad, whom we ourselves brought into those halls. Brigit, Comillo, Father Jeon, and Mary Mobeus. All them and more have landed on Khazad shores, and the Holy City of Khazak has been captured. The Tablets of Bambur have not been destroyed, though many in the Prime Minister's council urged him to.
"The Gods are not our true enemy. We are," he said. "We Grigori grew arrogant, and we are the reason for this war. We will not blame others for our own mistakes."
The Kuriotates, who have rightfully been furious with us when the Undercouncil had bribed the Calabim to war with them, have fallen. Carrow the Hunted and Kimble the Quick have defeated their champions.
Yakut has given no resistance, one their armies were defeated. She does not even accept a post as governor-general of her former capital. I feel she is the one leader Prime Minister Esirce regrets to have toppled.
With the rest of the world at our feet, with the climax to the Undercouncil at hand, an Ardor has swept the land. It is as if the Grigori have been born anew: Merchants, Sages, even a Great Prophet revering Cassiel has been born in the D'Tesh lands.
Among the rest is a woman calling herself Panlupan. Other Adventurers have recognized her as one of their own. Though born amoung the boat people, the Lanun, she has taken up magical skills as an Adept.
I doubt she will have much role to play, though.
With the Ardor has come leaps in technological advancement. Our Great Merchants have produced one breakthrough after another in the realms of trade, increasing our trade routes and commerce substantially. Our Great Sages have made great headway towards mastierng passing through the Ether. Though other technologies are sooner and could provide immediate benefit, Prime Minister Esirce is insistent that we focus on that: it would allow us to connect our most distant cities on every continent, and could well prevent a fragmenting of the Grigori empire into separate regions of culture if some new age of disaster were to fall.
The Khazad have fallen. Athel Revus showed just how far into the Undercouncil's temptations he fell.
Worshippers of the Earth Mother, in practice the Undercouncil made worshippers of Mammon out of them. Slaves filled their lands, working to further the riches of the Dwarf Lords. It sickens even the most stalwart defenders of the Grigori system. Brigit responded to our passionate dismay, and her wings healed, giving her flight once again. Even as the last Undercouncil halls were burned, she turned north, and began to fly across the sea to the last continent, yet the one clost to Midgard: the continent of the Overlord-worshipping Scions and the dark Sheaim.
Slave labor in Grigori lands is dying out: there seems so little to do, and now adays it is far cheaper and faster to let trained workers with harder tools do the labor. Now, most all captured prisoners are sent to the nearest city, where they can quickly pay off their debts with infrastructure projects needing immediate labor.
Kimble the Quick, hidden as he is oft to do, captured a Pegasus over the continent of the Kuriotates and Calabim. With it, he has flown to the Last Continent, weilding Orthus's axe, and never forgetting that he is Aeron's chosen.
I feel this game of the gods will not last long before we triumph. First the Sheaim, and then the Scions, and then... Reconstruction. That's the word everyone is whispering.
And it's over.
The foul Sheaim fell after an invasion of heroes. Pinchete the Dragon Slayer and Sidhelle the Mage laid seige to the Sheaim capital from the South. While the Sheaim had the production and numbers to withstand Pinchete's seige, replacing archers as fast as Pinchete could kill them, and their numerous other cities were sending significant reinforcements. Armies of Pyre zombies were raised, and sent.
And then Kimble struck from the East. Having captured a Pegasus, Kimble was the monster of destruction, able to capture entire towns in a single battle and had no fear of oceans and rivers. Kimble came, Kimble saw, Kimble killed.
Though the Sheaim were the most dangerous foe we had faced, surpassing even the Frozen with their demonic allies from the Planar gates, their sorceries were their undoing. Pyre zombies not only damaged our heroes, but set fire to the Sheaim cities themselves. Our heroes could only watch as the Sheaim cities were razed one by one, consumed by their own sorcerous flames.
Even as the Sheaim were overwhelmed, a more conventional army landed on the last shores of the Overlord-worshipping Scions. Conventional... except for the giants who emerged from our Galleons. The Pact of Nilhorn made peace with the last of the Jotnar, and three Hill Giants enlisted in our armies. Backed with catapult artillery, the Jotnar giants captured one small Scion city after another. By the time Korinna the Red Lady marshalled the Armies of Patria, we had already taken half of their cities.
It was close, though: Kylorinna was a Scion hero on par with any of our own Adventurers. But we had a trump card, one that deployed just in time: an arcane barge. Filled with mages, maelstroms and fireballs decimated the Scion army, forcing Korinna to return to her capital, where fireball bombardment kept her within.
The Overlords, though, would have their revenge. A rash of Kraken, Drown, and even Stygian Guard, the staunchest warriors of the Overlords, have attacked trade and shipping.
Groo the Wanderer, Carrow the Hunted, Panlupan... they were just amoung the casualties of the Kraken attacks on our Galleons. Their names will live on in our memories.
Even so, the gods could not save the Scions from Xivan T'nava the Upsurper. Korinna was repelled, separated from her armies to the South. In the Holy City of the Overlords, Kimble tracked Xivan into the sacred temple and took his head even as the coward clung to the Necronomicon. When shown the head of the Upsurper, Korinna consented to the Scion capitulation on condition that the Scion people be allowed to... live... and continue their traditions.
The Prime Minister agreed. The last war of civilizations in this Age has ended.
There remains much left to be done, now that there is peace. The Undercouncil is disbanded, now that the last members have fallen, but it's agents remain, hiding, for the next convening of the council.
The barbarians, the savages, all still remain in the world, having nothing and only knowing to destroy what others have. The Overlords threaten the seas, their fortress of Rinwell a breeding ground for the Stygian Guard. Though the gods have been rebuked from Erebus, their followers remain in our lands, protected by the same beliefs that lead us to not follow the gods.
There will be more. This age is not over, not yet.
Or maybe it is. A new age may begin.
I'm surprised that your economy held up so well against all these conquests/troops. How'd you manage that one?
Well, not by cottages, that's for sure. Only ones I had were pre-built Jotnar cottages. Market, mainly, and never leaving City States. Even with City States, I was constantly at 50-70% tech rate.
Besides markets, my main income was in resources and improvements: the second Doveillo city was COVERED in dyes, for example. Plus, most of my culture-control wasn't from cities: I really got into setting up forts to nab resources, and using slaves to improve them. I think I only built three settlers, period. Improvement-wise, after a point lumbermills were my big money/production maker, giving me something like 3 gold and 3 hammers per lumbermill. I'm also a habitual Bounty Hunter for my Adventurers: they do most my fighting anyway, so why not maximize it?
When I switched to slavery, though, I almost crashed my economy from the numbers I was getting from barbarians. Pretty soon, I found it was actually cheaper AND faster to use actual workers for improvements, and send the slaves to rush buildings. Was very much an interesting experience: I think 'indentured servitude' will be more common in the future.
Normally I'm big on the economy path, with an emphasis on trade and trade routes. In the run up to the end game, when I got a number of economy techs and finished the Great Lighthouse, my economy was supersized, especially when I kicked off a Golden Age.
I'm going to write up an 'epilogue' of sorts, and then eventually begin another game. I might wait until Valk's next update, if it's soon, but I want to write a sequel of sorts. I can't quite decide which path, though, because I have three different ones in mind, and am not sure how to stitch them together: a Grigori Civil War (random leaders, but all players are Grigori), a breakup-of-empire (technically another Civil War, but more of different cultures rising up and declaring independence with the help of the Gods: very much Grigori vs. Gods), or a Final Accounting (play for a religious victory/Altar of Lunnotar victory).
Next version should be up in just a few days.... Aiming for Thursday.
A civil war on the same map, and your faction being one led by the narrator would be interesting.
Don't know how I could get it on the same map, though. Care to share? If I can load it as a map, I might simply do an advanced start to skip some of the early-game drag that makes me the inevitable winner.
I honestly have no idea. The best thing I could tell you is that it probably needs to be made into a scenario somehow. That's all I know.
A Note From the Scholars of the Third Age
The Diary of Remus remains the most direct manuscript surviving from the Second Age for deriving insights towards the governance of the Prime Minister Esirce. Our sages and scholars poor over the manuscripts in cross reference of other, less observant, documents we've discovered.
We can finally prove your claims, with absolute certainty, that the Second Grigori Empire did unify the civilized world... for a time, as we well know. Likely every culture in this new age claims lineage from our second empire, in their own way, just as we trace our lineage back to Cassiel and the Patrian Empire. These interpretations vary, of course, from people to people: the Svartalfar to our South, the only people we have come in contact with yet, for example, have tales claiming to have taught Kimble the Quick the secrets of the Dark Forests, and take pride in him as one of their own. To our knowledge, Kimble was certainly a human, only briefly came in contact with the Svartalfar, and received his forest-craft from the Ljosalfar.
While Remus's Diary, recovered in the Broken Sepulcher, is much worse the wear, we believe we have uncovered the cause of the Ice. It was as he feared: the world remained a dangerous place, and one that caused shifts that caught our ancestors unprepared. The multi-cultural nature of the Second Grigori Empire was a reflection of its wide dispersion, and it was not until the practice of traveling through what our forefathers called "the Ether", a term we do not quite understand, that the Grigori were able to start binding the cultures together across the oceans and continents.
Doing so, however, led to a fatal flaw: with the focus of expansion and travel on the portal gates, great swaths of territory, and even entire oceans, were ignored, as men could skip them as they pleased. And in that oversight, the barbarians grew. They, in themselves, were not fatal: the portal network allowed a modest army to move great distances. But their numbers were complicated by the Overlords, who took many of the barbarians, made them their thralls, and took them into the uncontested oceans. And, when they built the forces they needed, they began the Flood.
The Overlord's first strike was devestating: tsunamis destroyed most every coastal city in the world, and the sudden rise in sea levels submerged the rest.
Midgard, the nexus of the portal network, was built on high ground and was spared the worst of the waves. With it's defensive fortifications, it even withstood the waves of Drowned and Stygian Guards that the Overlords produced time and time again from Rinwell Island. But the barbarian invasions, including many of our own people driven to desperation, starved the capital, and led to it's abandonment, an event you yourself remember.
Similar invasions across the world broke the backs of the component parts of the Empire, dashing them to pieces. The Overlords spared none, other than perhaps the Scions who had once worshiped them. It was all our forefathers could do to build the Last Armada in such desperate times, and to send it on it's fateful mission to destroy Rinwell, or at least deny it as the Overlord's base.
After that... it is far less clear. We believe Remus died in the chaos, or vanished in the Portal Storms much like you did when the Nexus broke, in which entire cities vanished into the Ether and any who traveled through the Network vanished. For all we know, he, or your fiance, might appear in thin air just as you did, at any time. We have not the faintest understanding of the ether at this time, or why you and you alone have returned from the ether.
Our other sources, fragmented and rare, are sketchy at best. Somehow, though we know not how, the Overlords turned their cursed waters they had spread across the lands and turned them to ice. Great sources of ice magic, or even ice mastery in Mulcarn's abandoned sphere on their part, must surely have been required, but the effect was devestating: the Overlord's Ice, frozen water at it's worst, killed off almost everyone.
Chancellor, the Overlord's power, while mighty, appears to be fading. At your leadership we moved to our new location, and it appears to be for the best. The Ice has yet to melt... but the temperatures are warming.
Chancellor, we are the Grigori. Guide us back those forgotten paths, lead us once again as a people unafraid of the gods. Others, our former cousins, may have forgotten that they were Grigori, even if in addition to something else. We have not. We will triumph over the Gods yet.
To be continued...
Act 2: Apostate of the Heaven
Drifting in the ether...
Lost, listless, waiting...
Dreaming of his true nature...
When he wakes, slay him fast, or forever mourn the consequences.
-Words of the Dreamer Ilea, written into the Second Necronomicon. It is thought to have been near the beginning of the Third Age.
My name is Messa. And I am a Grigori.
I am... lost. There is little other way to say it. I was, am, a member of the previous age, and the age before that. In the Age of Rebirth, I was a young child, living in Cassiel's own palace. When Auric rose and fell, I, like the rest of the core governant, was affected by the chaotic magic of the return of the Ice, and I did not die of age or sickness. When Prime Minister Esirce reigned, I was another of his aides, a companion and close friend of the daughter his last companion bore during that age. I assisted as best I could, not being a famed Adventurer myself, and watched as Erebus came to be one.
When the Flood came, I remained. I am Grigori: there was nothing else I could do and claim the name. I did my duty, for myself and my people, the people of the world. And when the decision to abandon Midgard was made, I was one of the last into the Nexus. I remember the white of the dimensional magics glaring, blinding me to the fires and devestation as the Stygian Guard burned in the city... and nothing else.
I came weeks ago, in the medicine hut of a village who spoke the Grigori tongue. They recognized the emblem on the signet I wore, but besides that the familiarity they and I shared was sparse. I thought them barbarians, savages, and from my clothes and armor they thought me an angel descended heaven. It is harder to say which of us was farther from the truth.
Though there was suspicion, our bond as Grigori was undeniable. Even so deprived, so near extinction, they retain that spark that separates us from the rest. I could not leave my people in such straits, and they came to believe my words as true. I, who had lived through the ages, knew more by memory than their sages. Or rather, I knew things to be known, things they had no conception of. Even without being able to share the knowledge, the fact that it is known gives them hope, and direction.
We have come to an understanding. I can, will provide guidance, as best I can. And they will take my counsel, if they accept it. I am not their master, and they are not my subjects: we are a group of individuals, joined by common cause and direction.
We will recover, find our lost fellow mortals, and for Cassiel's beliefs to grow we will make Creation safe from the gods.
One of the first controversies I have overcome is the settlement of our capital. Some, more than a few, desired to establish right where the village had been. I warned them of the foolishness: it was poorly situated, with no food in view, no defenses, and no water for irrigation once the water melts. For longer than I was comfortable, and longer than any desired, we marched east; a group of warriors had spotted mountains of mushrooms, frozen as they were, near an icy river. Though our growth would remain slow, the Mushroom Mountains promise rich gains once harvested, though that would be some time in the future.
To appease those regretful for leaving their old homes behind, I sent a scout to the old village to make a small monument in memory of the first start.
Hardly had Midgard be (re)founded after so much delay than we saw scouts approach our lands. Their signits sprung to my mind immediately: Svartalfar. We shared our fires cautiously: they were pleased at our neutral nature and for our enchantment mana that the Palace holds, but the collapse of civilization had made them wary.
They did, however, tell us about their ruler: a Svartalfar named Hatheim, who was a sly elf that I vaguely recalled as a mid-rank governor of the Svartalfar province in the old Empire. She had kept her people alive and together as much by sly cunning as any legendary treachery that the Svartalfar were known for.
She did not know me, at least. Nor has she made any sign of wishing to return to the prior state. But in many ways, she and his are still Grigori: they worship no gods, and our once-rule has moderated their behavior to what Prime Minister Esirce once described as 'acceptable norms.'
They no longer string up peasants for idling near noble mansions, for example.
Stuck in their own city, besides the rare parties who take raw materials from the countryside, the Grigori have been near stir crazy. I can not blame them: though the winter breeze wakens me, it is far from durable for a people, and drives them to despair.
So it was with some pleasure I received "Civilization: Fall From Heaven", a board game people can play within their homes even as the winter winds blow. Long, complex, but engaging, it allows players to play different civilizations of old, and wage war and make new histories. It's a mix of strategy and wish-fulfillment, and quite fun besides. Tournaments have begun, with people quickly signing up and making alliances. Without a doubt, we have a new tradition on our hands that will outlast the winter: leagues have been formed, if you trust the rumors. I might have had something to do with it, after approving funds for a massive gaming center.It wiped out our funds, but I think it was worth the cost.
*Of course, everyone expects me to play the Grigori, but I have a penchant for playing the Illians. To deliberately lose Auric's Ascension, of course.
(OOC: Got the board game event)
To the east of Midgard was the Broken Sepulcher, known even in my time(s) as a place where great and terrible things were prone to gather. Rumors always abounded of some terrible beast or another living there. When the Svartalfar scouts, I made the decision to send our very garrison to drive off any threats before the elves arrived.
I thank myself for that action every day now. For we did find a great and terrible being: Comillo. The garrison, blind to how close to disaster they had nearly walked into, rescued Comillo from the grips of a great and terrible threat. Comillo nearly ran them out of the sepulcher himself, collapsing a vaulted catacomb to keep the demons within. Afterwards, he was so weak my garrison escorted to Midgard in preparation for his funeral.
Comillo recognized me. He was shocked to see me, no more than I was to see him. He asked me what had occurred to let me survive. I could not bear to ask him the same.
Comillo is recovering. Must recover: the wounds he wears have led him to wear his mask in public, to the relief of almost all who see him. Only in the private of my own quarters does he relent to take his mask off. It may be some time before the legend is back to his former self. In the meantime, we welcome his company, and knowledge. His council echoes my own: mastering animals will benefit us sooner and more than any other route of re-discovery we can imagine.
Even before Comillo returned from his ordeals, a wintered man walked over the Ice to our capital. He had the same sent of ether as I did.
He is... familiar. I can not place why, but I faintly think of my childhood.
As I said, he stinks of ether-travel. It also best-explains his words of being from the Bannor. There are no Bannor near hear, as far as we know, but he speaks as if he fought in Hell just last year.
Perhaps he did. I have no sense of having passed time when I was in the ether. Anything is possible, these days.
Father Jeon has organized a temporary Garrison under him, until the primary one returns from the Sepulchur. Until them, we wait, and gather more materials for a granary to store what little food we gather. It should help develop a merchant class, though, to more effeciently distribute what little we have.
For barren plains of ice, we sure do get a lot of arrivals. A mercenary named of the Hippus tribe, Melusine comes to us not out of ideology or repentance, but pride. Overshadowed by another, Melusine wants to emulate the legends of the Grigori, to outshine even the Hippus.
(OOC: I kid you not: I am a lucky son of a gun. There hasn't been a single reload since before the Sepulcher, and I've gotten a number of Adventurers. It's insane, since I haven't even gotten techs/civics that will boost my Adventurer rate.)
A magical, beautiful beast rode to the city gates today. Radiant with it's white hide, the unicorn was promptly killed by Melusine, who wanted a mount but wasn't a virgin. We scavenged the horn, though.
Good news today: my friend Kersasus Actium has been acknowledged as a Merchant amoung Merchants. Kersasus, my truest friend since arriving in this time and place, is a true Grigori in heart and spirit. He needs not the gods, and makes value of himself.
Kersasus is now my Finance minister: I will have none other. Not only has he made great profit from streamlining what little we have and setting up popular Civilization tournament leagues, but at his hand the grain stores are filling much faster than they would otherwise. While far from overflowing, at last we are seeing the possibility of real growth in the future.
Another unicorn appeared. This time Melusine was more careful, but no sooner did he lay hands on the beast than did it mysteriously explode, leaving only its head and horn.
I have said it before, and I'll say it again: for a desolate glacier, we get a lot of people.
These immigrants, in fact, are elves. Svartalfar elves, in fact, with a few Ljosalfar thrown in: refugees even in Hatheim's land. They remember the old empire, when they and we lived together, and have come back now that they are aware we still live.
While expensive, I have chosen to fund a new settlement rather than simply add them to the current population: not only could we likely not feed them, but with the materials we have at hand we can, hopefully, settle some place with a food surplus to ship north.
We still have to find such a place, mind you, but we are better when we are prepared for it.
Would just like to point out, Hatheim is female. And this time has rather obvious breasts, unlike Maer last time.
Bah, I'm just too civil for my own good. What is it with all masculine-faced women characters?
As Melusine cleared Goblin Forts from the southern wilderness, to make way for future roads for trade between ourselves and the Svartalfar, he came across an unusual discovery.
Prisoners taken by the goblins, for work or other services, are far from unknown. Phatasms, however... unable to break the bindings the first Sheaim placed upon her soul, she has not been able to return to the afterlife, and instead haunts the living with her peerless music. More than a few goblins, once the corpses were inspected, showed signs of near starvation, too enthralled by the melodies to even feed themselves.
Samawen is a spirit who deserves a final rest. She returns to Midgard, until we can find some means to break her arcane bonds.
Farther East, Comillo has rescued another prisoner, one who reminds us why we Grigori must persevere. Lita the Witch is a wild woman, but her heresies were such that even savages and barbarians would lock her up and leave her to starve. Her crime? Not following any of the gods.
Lita returns to the safety of our lands, where she will receive the same protections as any Grigori. Infact, Lita has requested to settle in the new city of Junon, sited on the West coast.
p.s.: Lita has settled, and made company with fellow heretics. Even so, they have profound insights. They have consecrated an Altar of the Lunnotar, an Altar to a God none know of.
Another Great Merchant has been born in our cities. A nasty son of a , by any measure: he's looked too fondly at the old practice of Indentured Servitude of the last age, and has openly advocated for forced labor.
I can't say that he doesn't have a point. But his thoughts, character, suggest he'd go much farther than what he speaks. Regardless, he is a wizard with money, and has further increased the food stores of our small capital, still frozen.
Frozen it may be, but we have a basis for further expansion. Not violent: I have already dissuaded my political allies and rivals that we will not invade the Svartalfar, and instead will search for peaceful reunification. Instead, our heroes clear the lands of barbarian forts and dungeons, tame wild animals to benefit our cities, clear the mana-guardian monsters that dot the landscape, and in general make the continent a more peaceful place.
Until we know more of the world, it is impossible to claim a grand strategy, but we have long since dedicated to relearning writing. Some have argued it more important to relearn basic fundamentals, such as mining, or other things to shape the world around us. But I disagree: the winter is long and fierce, and those practices would give us little benefit for some time. But even in our homes, we are well placed to relearn writing, and the benefits of education will more than compensate in the long run, both storing knowledge gained tediously, and making way for new knowledge. Once we can store and carry knowledge, we can then trade with our Svartalfar friends for those fundamentals as the winter ends.
We have mastered writing, at last. Though not enough to open technology trades with our southern friends, Father Jeon has formulated a school of thought that will help us catch up the difference until we can. We are also soon to begin forming a settlement party: I had been leery, wary of dangers, but then a new Adventurer came from our ranks.
He calls himself Kimble, after the hero of old. In many ways, he reminds me of the Legend. But he has a long way to go until he can claim that name without mutterings.
I choose to give him that chance, though: I remember Kimble well, and Kimble was once a young boy himself. I wouldn't refuse another the chance. We have equiped him as a scout, and after some time to train in Midgard he will go out East, to tame as many animals as he can.
Huh. Can't seem to play past turn 100 in LENA. Just CtD's. I've done a few World Builder edits for a few older Adventurers, but it hasn't caused problem to date.
if the Ngomele are in game, i've found it to be unstable. aside for that, not, though
The first of what I suspect is Comillo's many secrets from his time in the Winter has appeared before us: as beautiful as a mud golem but as melodious as any damned songstress, Clairone has my personal welcome to our capital.
It is humorous: some few fools told me that thousands would march against a harpy within these walls, until I pointed out that Midgard had neither walls or thousands of people.
We should change that, I think. I had been intending to wait for the Thaw to come north, but it may yet be faster to do the work by magic ourselves. Why leave to the whims of jealous gods what can be done by ourselves?
A young woman has risen into prominence in Midgard. Not a prophet, or a proper philosopher, but when I finally met her in the market square, I recognized the eyes. The eyes of a Grigori Adventurer.
Branding is not meant for war. Not yet, not this way, not by these means. I look to turn her keen intellect towards the arcane. She has far more magical potential in her thumb than any five Grigori may gain in their entire lives.
Yes. This will work well, when we do turn our attentions to magic.
Having learned the rigors of competitive trade, our merchants are coming up with more and more means for commerce and prosperity. And the root of those is knowledge.
Markets, with their ability to motivate farmers to provide just the slightest more food, are rising up across the lands.
Unfortunately, one market, the one of knowledge, remains shut. The Svartalfar did deign to teach us hunting, how to be something less than fools in the forests. But the lion's share of their knowledge, from copper working to mysticism...
It does not bode well. Especially as they have resorted to the worship of nature, joining a coven calling itself the Fellowship of Leaves.
At times, it is hard to be Grigori. Our forests do not mature, do not bear greater fruits like theres. We do not ask the gods for scraps and secrets, which should be learnt on one's own. We are proud, but it is hard. Even in Kalm, our city to the South East.
Riots have occurred in the coastal cities: the Overlords own messengers have washed on our shores, messages sewn in the skins of thralls from the last age, long since worn out of any other use.
Saverous... could he truly be alive? Or is this another fiend in the same mold? Either way, it is terrible to know that the Overlords swim the oceans freely yet. I had hoped they had died beneath the Ice, but that would be too much to hope.
Our southern friends are also nervous. The Southern borders are met between our folk and theirs, and here and there drips and drabs of immigrants speak of a fear crossing the nation. Fear of water, fear of a return of the Ice. So much so, even, that a Svartalfar city of Idris has risen in the desert mountains of the South West, south of Junon.
Hathiem thinks she is Sly. Thinks she is Clever. Thinks she can get away with treachery.
Svartalfar warriors and hunters have claimed their birthright, taking cover in the cloak of night. To hear the Svartalfar government talk of it, they disarmed in search of peace, that the brigidands in the border regions are just that.
I remember the Svartalfar, Hathiem. I remember how you and yours murdered the Ljosalfar queen.
They will feign shock and horror. Quite likely many of their lower castes will believe their government's lies. I care not. We will set them straight.
Thankfully, there are loyal Svartalfar yet. Ducet the Patient came to us, knowing the truth, and turned and gave his words to our soldiers. His teachings are becoming the basis of a new military academy.
By his advice, the Nameless Tower and Gereth Minor fell to our supporters. His cleverest tactic was sending a trained herd of mammoth to the Svartalfar's western lands, diverting their forces from garison any one focus.
Soon the capital of Thariss will fall. We will see if Hathiem wishes to talk then.
We have made a Pact with the Hill Giants who live in the Nilhorne Mountains outside of Midgard. Joining our cause in exchange for protection for them and theirs, the Three Giants will make a good defensive force for our Grigori empire, which is increasingly intruded on by Frostlings and Trolls from the Eastern Plains (of Ice).
Cinnia, an Overlord Dreamer, floated into our nascant harbor on naught but a raft of drift wood and seaweed. She claims, at least, to be the favored of one Overlord in particular, one who's name I can not bear to write but will refer to as, what did she call it... the Lucid? One so spiteful and covetous of its more brutal bretheren, that it is almost benign to mortals in order to gain their favor?
I care not, to tell the truth, but I did give her leave to travel to Junon, to meet Lita the Witch. Perhaps between the two of them, those crazies can find some fundamental truth.
Or perhaps I just got a pest out of my hair. Regardless, I win.
Now excuse me, I have an important matter of state to attend to.
What do you know. Hathiem can be made to see reason, and it only took the loss of over three quarters of her empire, which is now rightfully returned to ours.
Though tempting, I declined to take Hathiem's head, or anything else of hers that she might offer, for simple reason that she is more useful to me alive and autonomous than brought into direct governance.
She understands that: she understood it when her sages came to share tracking, mysticism, the building of watercraft, everything that the Svartalfar knew and would not share before.
While of course we will keep the garrisons strong enough, I have little fear that she will have any desire to repeat the attempted banditry. The Svartalfar don't have the military anymore to try, and have no desire to repeat the process.
No, Hathiem knows what awaits her if she rebels, no matter how much she hate it. And she knows what awaits her if she doesn't: vassalization, when it comes time. But until then, she can curse my name and call me her worst enemy all she wants, and I will still hold the ancient forests of the Svartalfar.
So, i had something that happened in my game that was so storylike (and would have been perfect in this story)
as Prime Minister Esirce, Thessalonica was leader of the elohim, and her empire was destroyed, and maybe 10 turns later, she appears as a great sage in my city.
Almost as good as the time I conquered the Svartalfar under Volanna, only to get her as an Adventurer soon after.
As a side note, how much culture is needed to reach legendary status? I'm currently trying to turtle out for a Culture Victory, thanks to Opera's additions to give the Grigori culture clout, but I've never done it before.
Also wondering if I might get an Altar of Lunnotar victory first. Thanks to that first Great Prophet I popped, and the Dagda Memorial...
Certainly not how I intended to try and win the game, but the Orbis/LENA additions seem to make the Grigori better for something other than warfare victories.
Transcribing to follow...
A scrawled note is attached the page, a copy of a order written long ago. It reads:
Some may have forgotten what it means to be under Grigori rule. The first principle is, and has always been, that you are free to do what you wish, so long as your freedoms do not infringe upon others. If you do, you will be stopped.
The city is already in riot by those who perpetrate these actions. Father Jeon, see to it that they relearn that lesson, if you don't mind.
Comillo has grown soft-hearted during his time in the ice. Or perhaps that is what has made him stronger. Regardless, Comillo's daughter now has a brother, one Mr. Nutt, one who's turning into a remarkable young... goblin.
Understandably, some people are unhappy. First a harpy, then elves, now a goblin. What next?
When young Nutt told me, and it was so sad when he did, I could feel Comillo watching my answer. And my answer was: prove them wrong, and one day they will look to you, and then you can make them accept them whatever you wish.
One, small, consolation is that the Clan of Embers, the face of Orcs in creation, is a peaceful civilization. More so than us, even. At least there's less of a negative stigma of relation there.
Father Jeon, I accept your suggestion. The merchant agent will be pressed into public service to make up for his crimes. Reports suggest Tharsis is still a bed of instability and dissent: solve the matter as you will. I ask no questions.
After an amphibious landing on the south-western isle, our scouting-hawks, dressed in the old universal paintings of messaangers, were received and returned by overseas people.
The most fearsome we met has been Kane of the Malakim, desert nomads. In the previous age, they were an unorganized people who settled the deserts inbetween the Old colonies. Kane, a man of this age, has organized them, and they are warlike. Though we are technologically supperior in many ways, they have researched warfare itself as a science, and refrain from answering any of our requests for maps.
Down further south, however, the Ljosalfar live under Amelanchier. I did not know him in the last Age, but I suspect his story is timilar to Kane's: a minor leader who, in the time of crisis, took the reigns of power and forced his people to survive by sheer force of personality.
At least he is not a evil temper. Map negotiations, and even a few trade secrets, are in discussion. I do wish to visit, but a time for sailing remains far off. Even though the most tantalizing reports suggest that the Southern Lights have returned to Erebus...
Belatu Cadross. What other people might call a Prophet, we do not. He is a philosopher, sprung from the same sort as Lita, with whom he discusses many an issue about philosophy, religion, even the origin of us all. He does not whisper unknown futures, but reflects on the truths, truths without age.
With his settlement, whispers of a new cult have reached my ears. Speakers of Truth. Apostates of the Gods.
Rumor says they gather around a single altar, one which protects them from all divine misfortune. If so, that Altar could be put to great use.
Cinnia entered my chambers this early morn, and yet was as unaware as I. Sitting beside my bed, she rambled. Whispers, warnings, from the Lucid One, who would have me do...
She woke up before she could speak, and claims not to recall even leaving her home, coming to Midgard. To date, she has not said any more to the interrogators either, and investigations into her sudden disappearance from the South are... worrisome. Even so, she did no harm, and will likely be released soon.
More effort will be made to track down these Luonnatar. If they can be weapons against the Gods, I want them, regardless of what silly superstitions they may or may not hold.
The lush and green South having been settled, we are beginning to spread East. Edge... should not be named so. It is not even on the coast, or far end of the continent. It is, however, well placed to harvest a variety of resources once it grows in culture. To aid that, we have sent of number of animal troupes of all types to the settlement, to give it a cultural boost.
Our economy is weak, unfortunately, though codes of taxation are being crafted. On one hand, more resources from the East should help bring in more money. On the other, though, we will likely have to build cottages and settlements down South, where more people can live to do more business.
Though small cities and settlements are growing, and the means to keep them clean and healthier as well, the Ljosalfar have sent us a warning: an undead ship prowles the waves.
As if the sea beasts along the coast weren't bad enough, the Sailor's Dirge comes to haunt us all.
After sanitation, we will likely do one of two things: research magic, to terraform our frozen lands into something more productive, or learn the arts of forging, necessary to sail the seas. Likely the later: the world may well be a dangerous place, and we need to learn just who is the worst of the worst.
Separate names with a comma.