Mictlan
From CouncilOfWyrms
According to the venerable Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apep), Apep is "not so much worshipped, as worshipped against."
Apep of Mictlan would like to agree, and further note that efforts to rid himself of his troublesome worshippers, such as demanding constant blood sacrifices so that they would turn against his cruelty, have not, of late, proved as successful as he would have liked.
Here follows a record of his travails. (You may note that this is a similar style to the turn reports by C'tis; Mictlanians are not known for their originality.)
My travails, by Apep
Turn 1, During Which I Despair
Supplies are low, morale is low, food is low. There are some tasty looking virgins chained in the temple dungeons, but my followers recoil in horror at the suggestion that I could just eat one. Apparently, God (ie, me) dictates that they should be chained to the top of one of their many useless stone pyramids and flayed alive over the course of many hours. They tried to get me to slither in majestically at the end of the ceremony to eat the remains, but I won't have anything to do with their sick little games. When I eat someone, they're either dead before they know it, or else the poison takes over and they don't feel a thing, all very wyrmane. None of this ritual-torture-for-the-glory-of-me dung.
Turn 5, During Which I Fail to Escape
I tried to run away today, but that wretched dungbeetle of prophet (self-proclaimed, may I say) followed me, along with the saddest lot of slaves in chains and terrified militia. Guess what? I'd be terrified too if all I got was some feathers and a sling against chain mail and broad swords. And guess what? They died, though some of the less terminally dim individuals did clue in that they should run away. But, get this, they ran back to the capitol, where I hear as deserters they're being subject to much ritual flogging. If it were me, I would just melt into the woods and leave this sorry kingdom, but alas, wyrms don't melt well.
Turn 10, During Which I Want To Stab My Eyes Out From The Pain
Oh, ye gods. Apparently, dumb as they are, my so-called "researchers" are actually the best in the world. I hope this is a statistical fluke, like counting the number of papers published without respect to their quality, but if not... no wonder so many of my fellow wyrms are getting themselves killed, with followers like these. I sincerely hope that I will be next. My self-appointed chief researcher was quite concerned when I indicated I was going out to fight alone again, and insisted on teaching me the following "spell" that they had just uncovered, in their world-class research facilities no less, to protect me from arrows. Ahem:
"Please don't hit me, Mr. Arrow
Please fall from the sky like a sparrow
Hit with a rock."
I could just cry.
Turn 17, During Which I Discover the Mictlanian Board of Tourism
Things were going well enough lately that I knew they had to be up to something. It's been months since I've been anywhere near a single one of my followers, and I've found that does excellent things for my morale. I spent a while relaxing by the seashore, ate a lot of fresh fish, did some crossword puzzles ("hmm, three symbols, the second symbol is owl, means 'to disembowel'"), practiced my calligraphy.
When that got boring, I thought, "Hey, why don't I go eat some plainsmen?" And that was all well and good until I saw the signs. Plastered over every open wall, they bore an inscription that was acceptable, if a bit insipid, until the eighteenth word: "Mictlan's Board of Tourism Wants YOU!!! Come visit the fair land of Mictlan, ruled by the dread snake Apep, who will eat a virgin's liver while you watch."
Leaving aside the gross misrepresentation of my refusal to have anything to do with their sick rituals... Snake? SNAKE??? Who do they think I am? A snake. I'm so depressed I'll just show you the rest of the poster without comment, and let you draw your own opinions... snake. Blech. I feel dirty just thinking the word.
Turn 29, During Which My Followers' Untimely Demise Proves Bizzarely Unsatisfying
Kishia, last independent province on my borders (discounting that really tough one). I hit it with all my Wyrmly might, and a bunch of stupid little animals that my mages "bred". And yes, that is as disturbing as it sounds; I guess it's lonely being a researcher. I was very cross about that. Luckily I had some useful fiends and devils to send at the barbarian hordes. Yet no sooner had I rejoiced over the dead then Vyrmin, my brother Wyrm in Abysia, came around and started killing my followers. That looked like fun, so I went to help, and when we ran out of the little guys we started striking at each other.
At this point I was forced to retreat off the field by some powerful mythical force. Still, Vyrmin was sporting about it, agreeing to give me some of the magic gems he found in the province. He'll be last against the wall when the revolution comes.
Turn 30 - 48, During Which Nothing Happens
There was some momentary excitement out on the north-east border with the Spider-people when a couple of their provinces rebelled and my more zealous followers moved in to secure order. The dragon came down to oppose this reconquest, and you can imagine my surprise when I found out that we won. No, my human followers are as useless as ever, but ever-increasing numbers of demons are joining our ranks, enticed by the prospect of flesh blood. Disgusting creatures really, but very useful.
Turn 49, During Which I Discover the Plural of Vastness
Sorry, I've just been informed that that's actually a picture of one of our own blood sacrifices...
Other Tales
The 3rd Airborne
Alijan Ba'al blessed under his breath as he surveyed the carnage. Imps crawled through ribcages, cavorted in entrails, and hurled spleens back and forth with wild abandon, all the while maintaining a high-pitched chatter. Back in Hell, the impish ruckus never failed to drive fornicators insane. On this plane, it was beginning to annoy even Alijan. He struck his trident and roared, a noise which turned mortal brains to mush. The imps' chattering subsided an imperceptible fraction.
"Look you little freaks. These humans were killed for a reason. The Wyrm Apep has summoned us from the fires to fight in the Great Ocean War. We are the 3rd Airborne Squadron, and the world will tremble before us."
The imps broke out into laughter at this and started imitating his pronouncement in high-pitched mockery. 'Damn force of chaos and jest. No respect for military discipline.' Alijan knew that Marou, Captain of the 1st Airborne had a pack of serious-minded devils under his command, but then he was a combat veteran from the Machakan Insurrection.
"All right you maggots, you hellspawn! We leave now for Skull Temple Island, R'lyeh's island fortress and secret research laboratory. We'll go in fast and low over the water, wipe out their outer defenses and maintain a beachhead until relieved or reinforce. Once we've..."
Splat. A chunk of brain hit Alijan's forehead and oozed down his face. His trident darted out, skewering the offending imp into the ground where it twisted, laughing, until it died. Alijan wiped brain-juice from his eyes and was gratified to note that the other imps were now marginally less cacophonous. Well, this was his lot in unlife. What else do you expect when you steal an Archi-devil's parking space?
"Fly! Fly now to Death and Glory!" and with some semblance of dread, the 3rd Airborne rose out of the sacrificial carnage and flew into the darkness.
The Song of Oothoon
A humble elegy from Magoth, the warrior poet, on leading the 1st Underwater Expeditionary Force into the halls of R'lyeh.
Across the tides of war, I salute a noble foe.
In the frigid depths of Ice Coast
we first met godlike Oothoon
towering at the head of a great army:
huge sea serpents, hordes of slaves,
and three vastnerati, glittering like stars.
There, where heat is a flickering dream,
we struck down godlike Oothoon,
and every fell creature which followed her,
but spawn unnumbered on our side fell,
and we lost Igarak to the the inky depths.
We carried to the city of R'lyeh
the bones of godlike Oothoon.
Under dark walls we met another great army;
sharks boiled up from the depths
and all lesser creatures were slain.
Yet at length, we did overcome
and buried godlike Oothoon's bones
in the deepest cavern in the deepest hall.
There, in the living rock, Nycafor carved this epitath,
in strokes a spear's depth deep:
"It is said by the wise
that on the last day
all Wyrms, living and dead
shall come once again
to the great council hall,
to decide the fate of the world.
But until that day
godlike Oothon lies here
far from the glittering stars
in her city, R'lyeh,
she watches, she sleeps... and she dreams."
When Suli-Krom Fell
A final tribute to a noble Wyrm
When Suli-Krom fell from the heavens above,
he filled all our world with his grace and his love.
In the great council hall his fair wisdom was sought,
and his honor or conscience could never be bought.
When we needed a Vice-Wyrm the answer was clear,
Vanheim's great sage was the choice far and near.
For his wisdom was heard in both forest and dell,
when to the writing of laws great Suli-Krom fell!
When Suli-Krom fell, 'twas Man did him in,
with treacherous deeds in a world full of sin.
Man's charter allowed him to fight the undead,
but he managed to plunder sweet Vanheim instead.
And now there is silence 'round Vanheim's grey tower,
and a burial mound, and a single white flower.
And we swear now to vanquish that demon from hell,
who smiled to himself -- when Suli-Krom fell!
