So those of you who are sending AI turns, please do so.


This thread will be to chronicle the adventures of Sombre, Sasooli, and the other one who has yet to make an account here.

The in game messaging system is basically garbage (you can't even see what message you've sent after sending it) so it's much better to use this thread.

It is the 2612th year since the battle of Arcoscephale and the founding of that first of the worlds great empires. Though Arcoscephale has fallen somewhat into decline it has survived the scourging of a great many evils from the world and seen humans rise to take their rightful place as rulers of all they survey. The beasts of the wild, the fell giants and the things that lurk in the dark had been driven back, last seen many hundreds of years ago, now only the subject of stories and rumours of the lands beyond civilisation; those few that remain.

Or so it was thought. For though it is the 2612th year by one reckoning, it is year 0 by another. Exactly two months ago the world was twisted beyond recognition. Mountains were ploughed under rivers, seas were cast to the sky and the patchwork, fragile world of the proud humans, the so called masters of this land, came to a sudden jarring end.

This is a time of turmoil. A time of gods and heroes. It is the true test of the will of men.

Aelfwold and his surviving men picked through the field of battle pausing occasionally to finish off one of the foul undead creatures. He was the first Castellan to leave the relative safety of the area immediately surrounding Chelms but he would not be the last. The land itself no longer bucked, but this could hardly be called a time of order - groups of bandits, armed gangs and madmen speaking all manner of foreign tongues roamed the lands around Chelms, lands unrecognisable to even the most well travelled bards and foresters.

As if this wasn't bad enough the walking dead had been sighted to the east of Chelms. Aelfwold had seen a husk before in a performance held by strange mystics from the south but these were something else entirely; scores of foul clawing undead come from some nightmare. They had fallen readily enough to his longbowmen, but only due to the efforts of ten brave spearmen who held them at bay. Ten brave spearmen who gave their lives for the Tower this day.

How many more would have to give their lives? A question for the magisters, he thought, for the history books, once Chelms was restored. For now it was enough that he and his men still stood, as did the Tower of Chelms. Order and honour and all things right in a world gone mad. These he would stand for until he fell.

To the north then, a plume of smoke. Reports of people enslaved under the heel of a petty tyrant, a bandit 'king'. Onward.

Gokenin Yukikiyo cast a dubious eye at the wooded foothills stretching before him, rising to clouded peaks in the distance. He glanced up at the angle of the sun for the hundredth time that morning: yes, they were still marching Southwards. Mere weeks ago this place had been a broad valley, a great river thundering through it. What times were these, he wondered, when the Kami of hill and stream might change places as readily as partners in a dance?

Still, such questions could not change his resolve. His lord had ordered him to bring news of his clan's estates, which stretched a full two weeks' ride to the South. Forest or mountain may attempt to bar his way, but his duty to his lord was inviolate.



Shortly after midday, a small collection of buildings came into view on the edge of the forest. The houses were strange and squat, and the people who emerged to stand warily opposite his own men, clutching various crude weapons defensively, were pale of skin and strange of feature. Still, the law dictated that the peasants living on this land were the property of his lord and master, so Yukikiyo began to address them.

"I come from the Kōkyo Palace, on the orders of the great Daimyo Yuki Daichi. Our lord wishes to know the fate of his lands in these troubling times, and so I instruct that you bring out the headman of this village so that-"

His speech was suddenly interrupted and the breath knocked from his body by a javelin, hurled from the hand of one of the strange peasants, which hit him square in the chest. Two of his samurai retainers rushed to his side as he struggled to his feet, while the peasant Ashigaru under his command stepped forward and lowered their Yari spears toward the foe, waiting his command to move. As he regained his composure he saw the strangers' faces turn to shock and fear, apparently amazed that he had survived the blow unharmed.

Later, he would have time to wonder at that fact: to puzzle over who these foreigners could be, so ignorant that they had seemingly never heard of the supernal thickness of skin with which some members of Clan Yuki were blessed as a reward for their ancestors' services to heaven.

Later. For now, there was time only for righteous rage at the sheer impertinence of this slight to his master and his clan; time only for honour to be satisfied. "Yuki!" he cried as his sword leapt from his belt to his hand. His men answered him as one voice, their spears flashing in the afternoon sun as they surged forward.

Whoa, what happened to my glorious Utgård? In turn three they were expanding with the rest of them, and suddenly they're at the bottom of the barrelǃ Did they run into the Ashen Empire or a player nation?

For the most part Jomonese samurai chopped them into very small pieces. I think they were unfortunate enough to attract the attention of the entire clan of the Aka-Oni samurai.

Well, at least they fell to a worthy opponent.

Lailat_Wars: Inactive game will be removed in 4 weeks