__________ __________/ \__________ <__________ Turn 1 __________> \__________/ _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Wednesday October 08, 1997 at 05:41 AM EDT by Dirk Pellett to all players; She dropped her pack, pushed the door open, and waited. There was no sign of anyone inside. She entered, tensed for action, but saw no threats. The room was just a small office in an office building in a newly-built 'village' consisting almost entirely of office buildings. She turned quickly when she heard a voice, but saw no one. "You are early. But such is your reputation, so I have been expecting you. Your manner suggests one who is accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. Be assured that I shall give you no orders. If we come to an agreement today, it will be at the free will of all concerned. Your name is Red Harris, is it not?" "At your service," she stated, remaining alert, examining the room's contents cautiously but confidently. She saw only one chair in the room, and one table, with a few documents and a flag upon it. She saw no one else in the room. "How shall I address you?" she asked. "You may call me L'ennemi du bien. Please be seated; we have much to discuss." The voice was quite clear, but gave little information about the speaker. "I prefer to stand when I'm unsure of the situation. You sent the invitation and provided airfare and enough money to make it worth my while to accept. Here I am, on this island, which has its own sinister reputation by the way, ready to listen to the details of your offer you mentioned in the invitation. However, it would help a great deal if I could see the person speaking to me. For one thing, are you a man or a woman?" "The answer to that question is not necessarily 'yes'." "Really? Then are you a god? Or something altogether different?" She heard a brief chuckle, and that told her as much as the words that followed it. "I am neither omniscient nor omnipotent, nor am I infallible. But I am unlike you in important ways, and I do have much knowledge and power that are unavailable to you, so you may consider me to be a god if you wish." She was unable to determine the direction of the voice. "Not without proof." She paced around the room apparently glancing about without interest. In reality she was searching intently for the source of the voice. She didn't mind working for reclusive people, or egomaniacs, or even lunatics if the money was good and the cause was just, but she had never accepted a contract without knowing about the person who made it. "Very good. You pass that test: you are open-minded, yet you are skeptical and not superstitious. But let's discuss the offer now, and worry about proof later. My situation and my need is this: I am in command of the Organizers forces in this year's Olympic Wars. As you probably know, they lost to the Athletes four years ago, and to the Spectators two years ago. They seem to be very disorganized, for a group that claims to be based on organization, and they don't have the strength of the athletes, the speed of the reporters, nor the numbers of the spectators. In order to make a decent showing in this war, they need a different advantage, so I am here to help them." "And, I take it, I am here to help you?" "Correct. If you accept." "Before I accept, I must know more. Most importantly, I will not wage war on innocents, for any amount of money." "Not even for a god?" "Most especially not for a god. Any god that would ask me to wage war on innocents is a god I would wage war against." "Everyone on this island is here voluntarily. There will be no innocents to worry about, at least initially. And you pass another test. I would not have hired you if I was unsure of your character on that point." "I'm beginning to like you, whoever you are. But what are these tests? Something I'm supposed to prove? Because if they're like the Three Trials: swordplay, thievery, and treasure-huntery, I've been there, done that, and all I got for it was a few lousy t-shirts. And a pet three-headed monkey." The voice chuckled again. "Same here. No, these are different tests, and I'll tell you no more unless you pass each test fairly. As explained in the letter, this island is the scene of a war every two years -- the Olympic Wars, they are called. Each war is in a different theme, and this year it is Medieval Fantasy. People dress up and act the parts of various fantastic creatures, usually using the latest technology to simulate the 'magic' part of the fantasy. However, the war is real, and the danger is real, and the world is watching. Your part in the war, if you accept, will be to give these disorganized Organizers an advantage to make up for the advantages of the other sides." "And what might that advantage be?" she asked, still circling the room casually. There was probably a camera here also, but she hadn't seen it yet. "Honor. It was the one essential quality I required in a hero, and your reputation was such that I became very interested in hiring you for this part." That impressed her, but still she had doubts. "And what is your definition of honor? That's my biggest concern remaining," she stated. "Often people believe honor -- which they wrongly equate with morality -- consists of forcing other people to act the same way they themselves do, wishing the whole world to be just like them. If that's what you have in mind, I'll be on my way." "That may be what the Organizers wish, but it isn't what I had in mind, personally. Honor consists of many elements, and we can discuss them at length later if you wish, but the two strongest are respecting the desires of everyone involved in an activity, and keeping ones word. When I heard you had these qualities, I sent for you to see whether you would join me in this adventure." "I accept the position." "Thank you. I must say I am a bit surprised at your age." "Joan d'Arc was younger. Some people dream, others do. I'm no dreamer. Speaking of which, let's get started. I presume this stuff on the table is a bunch of legal blather I have to sign, right? What is this flag for?" "Take it with you. You'll find it very useful in the war to come. As for the documents, yes, unfortunately there are still about a billion lawyers too many in the world. What a pity we can't use them as shock troops in this war. The Organizers seem to be fond of legal documents, and I'm required to have anyone I employ sign these forms. Waiver of burial rights, hold harmless for all mishaps, etc. Essentially, you're held responsible for whatever happens to you, regardless who did it, as long as you're on this island." She noted the documents had already been signed, L'ennemi du bien, initialed with a little "dlp" underneath. She read each carefully, saw nothing unusual, and signed. The flag did seem to give her a sensation of power when she held it up. "You are skilled at swordplay, you mentioned, which is good, since the rules of this particular war ban the use of gunpowder weapons, or any projectile weapons other than rocks and arrows. That makes archers rather valuable, where otherwise they would merely be decoration. How are your skills as a pilot?" "I am the greatest," she smiled. "Funny you should state it that way." She could hear a smile in the voice as well. "Aircraft are allowed in the war, but are limited to sub-sonic speeds, and non-explosive weapons. Cheap ones are merely for transportation, but the most expensive of them come equipped with hooks resembling claws. They can be quite nasty to deal with, so they say. I'll supply you with whatever craft best suits your needs at the time. For communication, we will primarily use radio, which can be intercepted easily by all sides in the war. Cruder methods of communication are not banned, but are more difficult to manage." "I presume we will use encryption, then." "Also banned, by agreement with the Reporters. They want to be able to report on everything anyone does. The Organizers tried to get them to allow closed-door meetings, but even that was refused. Then they wired all of the Spectators' sets, and insisted on free access to the Athlete's locker rooms. I'm not sure what they gave up in the negotiations, if anything." "Do you mean everyone will know my every move? I generally depend on secrecy for the success of my missions. This will be challenging." "I will also know their every move, and I will keep you informed of anything you need to know. I'll handle the strategic portion of the war and you'll handle the tactical part." "Will I be working alone? This looks like a bigger job than one person can do. I can easily imagine hundreds of combat-ready armies, even on this small island." She picked up the Olympic Wars Rulebook and began idly flipping through the pages. "I have some others in mind, but you are the first. I should be hiring another shortly, depending on who is available. You will work as equals, neither taking orders from the other." "Agreed. Are you planning to fight against everyone, or do you plan to have allies in this war?" "I haven't made that strategic decision yet, since I know little about the leaders of the other sides. If I can find another side that I can trust -- in both competence and honesty -- then I will gladly accept that side as an ally and our two sides will probably control the entire island by the end of the war. From the standpoint of ratings, for both sides, owning half the island is preferable to owning less than half of it after the two most competent sides fight against each other. I most especially want to avoid the hassle of 'fighting' the side opposite on the island without our armies ever meeting. Such a war of words would quickly grow tiresome and unpleasant for everyone participating in the war, and especially for those watching the war, as it did the last time I was in that situation." "Well, let me know of any agreements you make with anyone, so I can keep them with honor!" she saluted. She came across an item of interest and held it up to examine it more closely. "Good, a map of the island. Some demons, devils, dragons, ... uh, worms?? Are they serious?" "They're just barely tolerable stage copies, but nasty enough for this war. Retrofitted surplus military tanks, set up to 'breathe fire' like Chinese dragons. But we won't have any. All we get are some old museum-piece aircraft, old and dusty, and aptly named 'Ghosts'. Fairly fast but fairly useless in a battle. The Organizers got last pick, you see. That's why they needed me, and why I needed you." "It looks like our work is cut out for us. Have you decided on the best way to begin?" "There are no good choices, but I've decided you should go to Athens tonight. There are no vehicles allowed on any roads, except those designed to blend with the Medieval Fantasy theme, so you'll have to walk. Once our 'armies' are in production, you can have whatever is available. I have other tasks to ponder now, but call me when you need me. Among other things, there's a radio built into the flag." "That could come in handy," she said, as she headed for the door. "Good luck!" "There is no luck in this game, good or bad," the voice replied. "Now what is that supposed to mean?" she asked, turning around. She waited, but there was no reply. ==================================================================== REPORT FOR TOURNAMENT ROUND A, GAME 17, TURN 1, SIDE 1. ==================================================================== Red Harris arrives in I.O.C. with no allies for no gold. Starting gold = 4221. Athens taken by Red Harris; pillaged scouts for +175. New Build of Dwarves purchased in I.O.C. for -450. New Build of Giant Bats purchased in Athens for -160. Final gold = 3786. "Red" Hero Cities Gold Last turn NA NA 1 4200 (initial values) Gains +40 (income) Losses -19 (expense) Begin = 0 NA = 1 = 4221 Change +2 +1 -435 (see above for details) Final = 2 NA = 2 = 3786 Income/Expense: +60, -0 _______________________________________________________________________________ In game A17, it is now (Orange) Sir Boo's turn # 1. It must be completed by Friday October 10, 1997 at 05:41 AM EDT. Let's kick some Warlords butt! _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Thursday October 09, 1997 at 05:22 PM EDT by to all players; (SIR BOO'S TURN 1) Charles sat at his desk and turned off his radio. He had been listening to a conversation between the Organizers' Leader (or whatever they had called him) and one of their 'heroes', which he thought would be a good idea for his campaign. He didn't consider it cheating (although he knew it should be) because he knew that they could listen in on him as well. And that they probably would. He looked out the glass window on his wall and saw some of his former players ( he used to manage a baseball team) getting into their scout costumes. He wondered if any of them would come back alive, after the big battle. As his mind was drifting, his secretary came in. "Sir, your uh um... what did you say he was?" "A... a hero. No, a secret agent. No, nevermind, a hero." "Oh, well, your 'hero' is here to see you." "Send him in." And so he came in. He looked strong and great, but it seemed to Charles that it wouldn't be a good choice for a hero. "One of those all brawn, no brains people," he thought under a kind smile. "Hello, Mr..." "My name's Brian." "Sorry, Brian." Well, at least he could remember his own name. "So I understand you wish to lead the Athletes onward to victory. A person of this rank should be both smart and strong, but never strong and not smart or vice- versa. Do you have what it takes?" "Do I have hair on my head?" Actually, he was wearing a wig, so something wasn't right. He must've been lying just to get the posistion. It was a very well paid position, both of them knew. "Well, I'm going to need to ask you a few questions, to make sure you know what you're getting into." "I know pretty well, sir." Charles handed Brian a 5 question sheet containing a few strategic situations that the last manager had encountered (all of which his powerful troops were unable to handle). After about 3 minutes he had completed it, and turned it back in. Charles went through and set his answers up on a computer program, called WarBOT, that would determine the outcome of the situations Brian claimed would work. And sure enough, they all worked with only 20 casulties (out of 100 possible). "Well," Charles sighed, thinking there was some trick or scheme the hero-to-be had set up, "I guess you're in. Head down to Paris and standby for a report. You should encounter an associate later there. His name is, " he dropped to a whisper, " Andy. He may be disguised as another name for protection, though. That's why I'm giving you a codename. Tell me, what are your initials?" "B.O.O" he practically yelled back. "Shhhhh!!!" he replied in a soft voice. "Ok, your name will be Ringleader BOO. You must remember the ringleader part, or Andy won't recognise you. Got it?" "Got what?" " WHAT DO YOU MEAN, GOT WHAT? HAVEN'T YOU BEEN LISTENING?" "Oh, yeah. that's right. You were saying something, weren't you?" "YES, I WAS!! NOW GO BRIAN!" "I know, I know. I was listening. And by the way, this isn't a wig. It's a hairpeice." Brian left the room with a clever grin. Charles hoped that Andy would be better, and that Ringleader BOO would find his way to Paris." ================================================================= Statistic.......Start of turn......End of turn Cities...........1.....................2 Gold.............4215...............2840 Income.........40...................60 Expenses.....25...................25 Hero 1 Level..1....................1 Hero 1 Exp....0....................2 Hero 2 Level..N/A.................N/A Hero 2 Exp...N/A..................N/A Ringleader BOO defeated the city of Paris, pillaging for 175 gold. Wolfriders were purchased for Paris (450gp) Unicorns were purchased for Locker Room (1100gp) To Be Continued..... Next Turn! _______________________________________________________________________________ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tournament Game: "A17" Turn Number: 1 Gamefile Sent To: (Green) The Avenging Angel (lang@owt.com) Date Sent: Thursday October 09, 1997 at 05:24 PM EDT Date Gamefile Due: Sunday October 12, 1997 at 5:24 PM EDT (In GMT-0500: Sunday October 12, 1997 at 4:24 PM) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Friday October 10, 1997 at 08:26 PM EDT by Larry Lang to all players; You slowly awaken from your long slumber, in nervous anticipation of great things. And you wonder about many things -- the meaning of life, man's place in the universe, the paradox of black holes, and why you're always screwing up the VCR -- but most of all you wonder -- "why is everything around here written in second person?" But it does not matter, for you are a neutral scout, from Sarajevo no less. You will probably be dead by sunrise -- killed by a reporter at the Medieval Olympics -- and somehow all this will fit into a spy story. Hmmmm. And then you hear it. A knocking at the door!! What kind of killer reporter have they sent against you? Clark Kent? Lois Lane? You hope and pray it's Jimmy Olson. Maybe you can break his camera and he'll run away. Sob, there is no hope, even Jimmy Olson never loses. You're dead meat. Ever so slowly and carefully the door is opened and as you sneak a glance around the door, the shock overwhelms you. This is beyond belief. Your throat tightens, your pulse races, words choke in your throat. "OH MY GOD!" It's Barbie Bosom, star reporter for the Daily Grind!!!! "Why are you so surprised?" She asks. "Every spy story has at least one obligatory babe, usually more." She looks like one of those comic book heroines, except more shapely. She has a figure that makes an hour glass look flat. Just one smile is enough to give most men heart attacks. She makes Kim Bassinger look like a Basset Hound. She is so well endowed, you wonder how she can stand upright. You are her slave. Your heart is melting and you barely hear her words. "I'm going to have to tie you up", she whispers. "Oh Barbie, you can tie me up." "You can pillage me." "Do anything you want." And so Sarajevo fell to one of Larry's Angels. (to be continued) REPORT FOR TOURNAMENT ROUND A, GAME 17, TURN 01, SIDE 03 (Green) Start of Turn: Gold = 4215, Hero Experience=0 Heroine: Barbie ties up Sarajevo. Battles: None to speak of. Loot: Sarajevo is pillaged for 175 gold. Builds: Bats are hanging out in Sarajevo -- all for a measly 160 gold. Wolfriders are in training at the Locker Room for 450 gold. Final Results: Cities: 2 Gold: 3780 Income: 60 Expenses: 0. Final Hero Experience: 2 Change from last turn: +2 4215 +175 -160 -450 ------ 3780 _______________________________________________________________________________ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tournament Game: "A17" Turn Number: 1 Gamefile Sent To: (Blue) Professor Patrick (plang@vwc.edu) Date Sent: Friday October 10, 1997 at 08:27 PM EDT Date Gamefile Due: Monday October 13, 1997 at 8:27 PM EDT (In GMT-0500: Monday October 13, 1997 at 7:27 PM) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- _______________________________________________________________________________ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tournament Game: "A17" Turn Number: 2 Gamefile Sent To: (White) L'ennemi du bien (dlp@armory.com) Date Sent: Monday October 13, 1997 at 05:37 PM EDT Date Gamefile Due: Wednesday October 15, 1997 at 5:37 PM EDT (In GMT-0500: Wednesday October 15, 1997 at 4:37 PM) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Monday October 13, 1997 at 05:39 PM EDT by Pat Lang to all players; TURN REPORT FOR GAME A17, TURN 1, SIDE 4 (Professor Patrick, Blue) ============================================================================== The Spectators have at long last decided to enter the fray. The last of the line of original heroes, Piddly - Pat, arrives in the Couch for peanuts. Knowing that something is going to have to be done with all of those peanuts, Professor Patrick attempts to coax (with 1500 gold pieces) some elephants to join him in his aforementioned capital city. In the meantime, Piddly - Pat is sent to Calgary to seek out bats for companionship and future transportation. He pillages the poor natives of Calgary for the usual sum of 175 gold pieces and purchases batcages for 160 gold. The lowly scout left behind in the Couch commits suicide at the first echo of approaching pachyderms. All of Professor Patrick's troops let out an involuntary shudder at the thought of upcoming combat with the advancing armies of the evil Lawrencian Empire to the West and the distant yet potent Dirkian forces to the North. Starting gold = 4215. Calgary taken by hero; pillaged for 175 gold +175. Scout disbanded in the Couch. New build of Bats purchased in Calgary for -160. New build of Elephants purchased in the Couch for -1500. Final gold = 2730. Hero Experience Cities Gold Last turn NA NA NA Gains +175 (pillage) Losses -1660 (purchases) Begin = 0 = 1 =4215 Change +2 +1 -1835 (see above for details) Final = 2 = 2 =2730 Income/Expense: +60, -0 _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Wednesday October 15, 1997 at 03:15 PM EDT by Dirk Pellett to all players; Finding the first hero was easy. Subsequent interviews were not going well. The line extending out of the building door drew stares from passers-by, who usually crossed the street to avoid coming any closer to the wierdos. They knew the whole war was supposed to be fantasy, but these people were beyond the pale. The previous applicant had shown quite a lot of promise, being fairly adept with a blade, but he was an egomaniac, insisting on marking everything with a Z. The "O"rganizers surely wouldn't appreciate that. "Next!" Another applicant walked in the door. "Who are you?" the voice asked. "I'm Clar--" "Out!! I won't have any 'heroes' who wear glasses, thanks. Next!" The other applicants consoled him as he left. "You might try the Reporters, Mr. Kent. They're looking for another hero, I hear." The next applicant entered. "I'm Peter Parker, and I'm a hero." "What kind of a name is that for a hero? Out!! Boy, some people really bug me. Next!" "We're Ba--" "Out!! I only want one, and I'm not interested in any bats, *or* birds. Next!" The procession was suddenly interrupted by a phone booth slamming down in front of the office. The smoke cleared and the door opened. "Whoa! Bodacious, dude! Who's your decorator, man?" came a California surfer drawl. A tall raggy teenager stepped out, smiled, and said "We're not here to fight or nothing, we just wanted to drop in on what Rufus said was the last real war before the Big One." A short raggy teen stepped out and poked him in the ribs, saying "Heinous, Ted, you weren't supposed to say nothing like that." An old oriental gentleman followed them out of the booth. The two teens turned him around and ushered him back inside, saying "Nothing for you to see here, Sun Shoe." The taller teen waved and called out "Party on, dudes!" They ducked inside the phone booth, and within moments it dropped through the floor and disappeared. "'Sun' eh? There went someone who could have been useful. Anyone care to follow that? Next!!" the voice called. A huge muscular brute turned sideways to enter the door. "Conan," he said. "Go on," the voice urged. "Me Conan. Me hero. Me strong." "Next!!" The next applicant patiently waited for Conan to leave before stepping inside. "I need someone smarter than that, obviously. Who are you and what are your qualifications?" "I'm Smart and I'm smart." "So you say. But who are you?" "I'm Smart." "You're repeating yourself, but since you look reasonably normal, I'll give you a little leeway. Besides, I'm tired of yelling 'next!' all the time. You don't look like a genius to me. Explain yourself." "Would you believe... I'm a chess grandmaster?" "No." "Would you believe... I'm really good at checkers?" "No." "How about tic-tac-toe, best two out of three?" Just then, the applicant's shoe rang. "One moment," he said, and hopped on one leg while taking off his shoe. "Wrong shoe," he said, as the ringing continued. He hopped on his other leg while removing the other shoe and held it to his ear. "86 here. 99, I thought I told you not to call me when I was not at work." "NEXT!!!" The applicant hopped out the door, holding his shoe to his ear. ----- "And here is your martini, sir. And your second one. The pilot's name is Herr Schott. I won't be on this flight, however, I'm being relieved by Miss Rosie Tayle here. Enjoy your flight!" She smiled at him, but as she departed, she turned a look of unrestrained envy on her replacement. "I also hope you enjoy your flight, sir. That is why I am here, in fact," Rosie murmured. "I'm sure I will!" the passenger replied, and settled back to enjoy at least two parts of it, the first being the martinis. The flight left the ground and headed out over the ocean, passing an occasional tropical island underneath. Hours later, one in particular caught his interest. It was one of the new terra-formed islands, entirely man-made, built in the shape of five interlocking rings. Two were particularly hilly, two were covered in lush vegetation, and the center ring girdled a huge inactive volcano. Since that was his destination, he paid it close attention as the plane flew over at two thousand feet up. This did seem rather high, however, as they should have been landing at the small airstrip on the northwest ring, with no scenic fly-by on the flight plan. A voice came over the intercom. "This is the pilot speaking. I am called Number Three by my friends, but you may call me Death. I hope you have enjoyed your flight, Mr. Bond. You will be landing shortly, VERY shortly. Bon voyage!" At the end of the announcement, he heard a sound of gears grating, and the center of the passenger section opened up above him, resembling an early space shuttle of the previous century. Instantly buffeted by a two-hundred-mile-per-hour wind, he barely had time to finish his fourth martini and grab the armrest of his seat. "Now that's what I call shaken," he noted, "not stirred." He pulled two suction cups from his pocket, pressed the button that activated them, and climbed out of the cabin onto the outer skin of the aircraft. He climbed against the wind, toward the cockpit. The pilot, confident his passenger had 'disembarked' already, and having made sure of it by rolling the plane upside-down several times, activated the mechanism to close the cabin, and began making small talk with the stewardess and co-pilot, Rosie. A minute later, he saw James Bond's face peering in the window. Staring stupidly at the empty window, he said "did you see that?" "See what?" Rosie asked, raising her head. "Never mind," he said. A moment later, the door to the cockpit opened and the wind hurled him against the opening. Rosie held the joystick and avoided being dragged along. "Don't you know you should keep your seatbelt on whenever you're in flight?" A hand reached inside and dragged him halfway out. The pilot gripped the door handle desperately with one hand, and attempted to dislodge the unwelcome intruder with his other. The hand jerked harder, and the pilot was soon leaning out the door, upside-down, kicking his legs upward at the face above the door. The plane rolled side to side a few times, until Rosie got the joystick under control. James Bond took a needle from the lining of his pocket. The pilot, hanging upside-down desperately gripping the door handle, saw the needle approach his fingers. "Noooo!" he screamed, "Noooo!!! Arrrrrgh!!" His fingers lost their grip and he fell away. One of the propellers slowed momentarily, but quickly recovered. The former secret agent took his place in the pilot's seat, closed the door, and looked over at the co-pilot. "It's a good thing you don't go with the flow, too, Rosie. Now, where were you, when Schott hit the fan?" "I was right here, holding the joystick, like this," she smiled. ----- "Are you looking for someone?" a voice asked. Warily, he looked around, but saw no speaker, human or electronic. "Yes, I'm looking for office number 7. Is this the right place?" "That depends. Who are you?" "The name's Bond. James Bond. And you are?" "You may call me L'ennemi du bien. Come in. You're late." "My flight was delayed. There was some trouble with the pilot. Some people fly off the handle at the least little provocation." He casually inventoried the room as he entered. One table, one chair, some documents, a hat stand. He removed his hat and tossed it expertly onto the top peg. "No matter. I was expecting you to be late, since such is your reputation, so I have not been waiting long. By the way, if it really is you, then you must have received the Compendium I sent you. What does one use to prepare mandrake root?" "A tungsten spoon." "It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Bond." "Have we met before?" he asked, addressing a point halfway between the hilts of the crossed swords hanging on the wall. As he entered the room, he had noticed a glint of reflected light from that spot, where no glint should have been. He smelled just a trace of vaguely familiar perfume. He noted with appreciation a bottle of Dom Perignon, properly held in a stand near the corner. "If not, I have missed the company of a person of excellent taste. 1998, I see, a very good year." "How could you tell the year from that distance?" the voice asked, with a trace of astonishment. "Quite simple, really. The old label overlapped the new color of the bottles in only one year," he replied. "Though the color difference is subtle, arising from a lower concentration of sulfer in the glass when the glassmakers experimented with the Lazenby refinement process in 1998. As you may know, they soon settled on the Moore process, and changed the labels the following year." "You impress me, as always, Mr. Bond. But no, we have never spoken before. Tell me, what have you been doing since S.P.E.C.T.R.E. tried to subvert the Old Olympics? I heard of your retirement from HIS Majesty's Secret Service. Although, like most others who knew you, I didn't quite believe you had actually retired. Later, I heard of your involvement in Mars Olympus Mons Enforcement seizing the assets of the Mars drug cartel operating under the polar ice cap." "Interplanetary drug smuggling has its ups and downs. You might say the drug ring lost when MOME's wrath outgrabbed. I've been to Base Gallileo a few times, as well, but Earth has a stronger hold on me." After brief silence, the voice continued. "You do seem to get around." "Oh, I keep busy. A little of this, a little of that. I retired from the Secret Service at the mandatory retirement age, 75, which I reached just a few years before they raised it to 150. Regulations being what they are, I could not rejoin the Service, since I was above the maximum enlistment age of 35, even after they raised it to 70. So I went free-lance." "You keep fit, I see." "I do push-ups." "I can imagine. And you use the longevity drug, like everyone else who can afford it?" "Excuse me, I prefer to say I'm on my fourth life." "Most people only live twice, Mr. Bond. Sorry, it is a touchy subject with people who were born before the drug was commonplace, isn't it? Apologies for mentioning it." "Accepted. If you don't mind, I'd like to get down to business. You know my rates: one thousand one-ounce gold coins, plus expenses, plus an equipment allowance, and assistance as needed. Do you have any objections?" "None whatsoever, Mr. Bond. I know from many sources that you are a man of honor, a man who fights only for a good cause, and a man who is worth every penny he costs. Although I expect the Organizers will be very annoyed when they find out how much your equipment usually costs, they won't have any complaints if they end up winning the war. There is a victory bonus, you know. It includes that bottle of Dom Perignon." "And some Royal Beluga, I hope? I'll take the job." "I was hoping you would. Thus ends a rather daunting task. You have no idea how many would-be heroes I had to reject today. And that's not even counting the ones who couldn't find my office, ending up in the wrong city entirely. There are a few more details to clear up, like the forms you have to sign. Did you bring any of your own equipment?" "Your message indicated that explosives were banned in this event, so I left my Walther PPK with a trusted friend. However, in my luggage I brought a lightweight jet-ski miniplane with dual flame-throwers and a wide-angle rocket-launcher, which I converted to a rock-launcher. It's built for one pilot, but it can carry another passenger if they're close friends. An artist I know painted it to look like a dragon, in keeping with this year's theme. Is that acceptable under these rules?" "I don't see any problem, unless the fuel explodes. In which case nobody will be around to complain anyway, so don't worry about it. One more thing. I've also hired Red Harris, since this was has grown large enough, it really takes two to manage it, even of your calibre." "What's he like? I've never heard of him." The voice laughed. "SHE is honorable and sensible like yourself, with an unimpeachable reputation, though I'm unsure whether she has all of the qualities of a true heroine. We shall see, during this war. No, don't ask, I'm afraid you're unlikely to meet her in person unless your paths happen to cross somewhere." "Do you have a photo of her?" "Let's get back to business. The best strategy at this point seems to be sending you to Stockholm. Hmm. Did you ever get a sense of deja vu?" the voice wondered. "I feel like I've had amnesia before, but I've forgotten whether I've ever had deja vu." "Say, as long as you can fly, you may as well drop in and see Steve in Copenhagen. He might be able to help us out. Copenhagen is a little prototype town they started to build before they realized it was in the wrong place. They tore it down, but among the few buildings that remain is a pub for laborers. Steve's their leader, and I can call in a few old favors to get a little assistance during this war. Find Steve, give him a good handshake and tell him I sent you." "So, I fly into Copenhagen, shake Steve's hand, get a promise of some help, and continue on to Stockholm. Got it." He picked up his hat and prepared to leave. "Oh, by the way, did your decorator recommend all of those z-shaped scratches on the wall, there? And there? And the chair?" The voice just sighed. ----- The day was fairly boring for Red Harris. She took the first new powered glider that Athens built, and flew south. 'I'm glad they've seen fit to include some wildlife habitat on this island,' she thought, as she floated over a serene and foggy marsh, 'but I'd hate to get stuck fighting a battle in that stuff. Not to mention walking through it to get here!' She landed at Domning Domain to see the inventor, Pat, and finally convinced him to let her use his remote-operated Archon battle-jet for the duration of the war. She sent her glider back north and took the battle-jet south toward Antwerp, arriving shortly before nightfall. When she heard James Bond had been hired as the second hero, she just smiled a cryptic smile and said nothing. ==================================================================== REPORT FOR TOURNAMENT ROUND A, GAME 17, TURN 2, SIDE 1. ==================================================================== Starting gold = 3846. James Bond arrives in I.O.C. with a dragon for -1041. James Bond searches Steve's Hand, gains item: +6 gold/city. Stockholm taken by James Bond; pillaged scouts for +175. Red Harris searches Domning Domain, gains 1 archon. Antwerp taken by Red Harris; pillaged scouts for +175. New Build of Archers purchased in Stockholm for -1000. New Build of Dwarves purchased in Antwerp for -450. Final gold = 1705. "Red" "JB" Cities Gold Last turn 2 NA 1 3786 (initial values) Gains +60 (income) Losses -0 (expense) Begin = 2 = 0 = 1 = 3846 Change +5 +5 +1 -2141 (see above for details) Final = 5 = 5 = 2 = 1705 Income/Expense: +124, -14  _______________________________________________________________________________ __________ __________/ \__________ <__________ Turn 2 __________> \__________/ _______________________________________________________________________________ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tournament Game: "A17" Turn Number: 2 Gamefile Sent To: (Orange) Sir Boo (Braves1854@aol.com) Date Sent: Wednesday October 15, 1997 at 03:16 PM EDT Date Gamefile Due: Friday October 17, 1997 at 3:16 PM EDT -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Sunday October 19, 1997 at 12:41 AM EDT by Pat Lang to all players; Avenging Angel, My crystal ball suggests that the Lang brothers, Orville and Wilbur, might destroy themselves in their simultaneous pursuit of the contents of Dashort's Pit. What might you consider offering to the peaceful Professor Patrick, who believes that he CAN stop you from gaining your dreams of flight, were he to allow you to spread your wings without contest? The Professor really doesn't want a battle on his closest border so early in this game, but has been advised by his sages that it would be very unwise to stand by while you received such a condiderable advantage, even for Spectators. Please advise. Professor Patrick _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Sunday October 19, 1997 at 09:40 PM EDT by Braves1854@aol.com to all players; SIR BOO'S TURN 2 The sun shined through the window on the ceiling onto coach Charles's desk. He awoke amidst a pile of worthless papers he had been reading through the night before. He had figured out the tourney was 20 days long, each day representing a turn. He also noticed he had to once again search for another Hero. Ugh! He thought while rubbing his eyes open to get them working again. He pushed the papers to the side and laid his head back down. He wanted to go back to sleep, but the sun was just too bright and he couldn't get the thought of losing the tourney to another team out of his head. So he pulled his head up and splashed some ice-cold water on his face. Then, he started to call people in for interviews... 3 hours rolled by and he still couldn't find another person that would meet the necessary standards. He was getting desperate just as another person knocked on the door. "Yeah, yeah come in and have a seat." a tall, dark figure walked through the door. "Are you Charles, leader of the Athletes?" "Yup. And you are?" "Police detective Stan Stanley. You're under arrest for impersonating a person impersonater." "WHAT??!!?? What on Earth are you trying to pull?" "I'm trying to pull a gun, but it won't come out. Anyway, come with me." "NO!!! I AM Charles, and I'm going to stay RIGHT HERE!" "You are impersonating an impersonater, I suggest you stop now." " GET OUT OF MY OFFICE NOW!!!!!!!!!" "What's the password?" "Please?" "No" "Pretty please?" Stan had obviously heard the right password, and he walked out the office door. Charles sat down and called his secretary, asking that she send the next person in. Just then the phone rang. Charles turned on his videophone and saw his good (and only half-insane) hero Ringleader BOO staring at him. "Hello, Brian." "Hello, Charles." "How's everything in Paris?" "Not too good. There's some sort of plag..." "You mean plague?" "Whatever. Anyway, they want us to evacuate. Oh and by the way, I met up with Andy." "Andy? Who's Andy?" "He's the one you told me to meet up with." Charles stepped away from the videophone and whacked his head against his desk a few times. Then he walked back, pretending that he was just normal. "Put him on." (andy) "Howdy, you ever forgetful coach you." "Ok, Andy, you don't need to get all..." "My price is 1208 gp." "1208??? Surely you can't be serious!" "I am... and don't call me Shirley. Also, don't worry about getting the money out. I already took it. And as for my codename, I think OARSman WWC will work. You see, there's OARS for organizers, ATHLETES, reporters, and..." "Yeah, yeah, I figured it out. It's not that tough." "Boy, Charles, you sound like you lost a bet or something." "Be quiet." "Hey, don't forget who's out here working." "::sighs:: Just go out there and win." "See ya later!" Charles turned the videophone off. He forgot how annoying Andy was. 1208 was a rediculous price, but it does cost money to win. Then the phone rang once more... "Hey, Charles, did you know there's a Stan Stanley out here that wants you in jail??" ================================================================= Statistic.......Start of turn......End of turn Cities...........2.....................3 Gold.............2875...............1392 Income.........60...................80 Expenses.....29...................29 Hero 1 Level..1....................1 Hero 1 Exp....2....................2 Hero 2 Level..1.....................1 Hero 2 Exp...0.....................3 Hero OARSman WWC created in Paris. (1208) Devil found at Lair of Luther Olympia conquered, pillaged (175) Wolves purchased for Olympia (450) _______________________________________________________________________________ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tournament Game: "A17" Turn Number: 2 Gamefile Sent To: (Green) The Avenging Angel (lang@owt.com) Date Sent: Sunday October 19, 1997 at 09:49 PM EDT Date Gamefile Due: Tuesday October 21, 1997 at 9:49 PM EDT (In GMT-0500: Tuesday October 21, 1997 at 8:49 PM) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Tuesday October 21, 1997 at 02:14 AM EDT by Larry Lang to all players; Greetings Fellow Players, I would love to make alliances with anyone who wants to be friends, so if you're looking for a War Buddy, let me know. That includes you Professor Pat. I really couldn't tell from your last note what kind of mutually beneficial deal you wanted to make. But, if I'm supposed to give you something so you won't be a bully, the answer is no. And now, on with our story. REPORT FOR TOURNAMENT ROUND A, GAME 17, TURN 02, SIDE 03 (Green) You slowly arise from your long slumber, and admire the rising sun with all of it's fiery splendor. You contemplate many things -- the meaning of life, man's place in the universe, the paradox of quantum mechanics, and why people like to pick their nose. But it does not matter, for you are just a horny little devil. And all you need from life is to be left alone so you can play practical jokes, wag your tail, and whistle at the girls as they go by. Life doesn't get any better than this. But trouble is brewing. Alas, for you have heard through the BrimStone RapeVine that one of those damn Avenging Angels is coming to roust you out of your hidey hole. You hate those Goody Two Shoes reporters, along with their self-righteous exposes and monotonous muck raking. Why can't they just leave you alone? And then you hear it!! A knocking at the door!! What kind of do-good reporter have they sent to visit you? Clark Kent? Lois Lane? Clara Barton? You hope it's Jimmy Olson. You can just give him a wedgee, fork him in the butt, and then he'll run away. But sigh, there is no hope. He'll just send back his pal Superman. Jimmy Olson never loses. You're dead meat, and will probably be exorcized by sunrise. Ever so slowly and carefully the door is opened and as you sneak a glance around the door. The shock overwhelms you. This is beyond belief. Your pulse races, your tail lashes, you lear from ear to ear. "HOT DAMN! What a surprise!" "It's Barbie Bosom, star reporter for the Daily Grind!!!!" "Who were you expecting?" She asks. "Mother Theresa?" But then apprehension engulfs your pathetic little soul (which is already mortgaged to the hilt). As a matter of unprinciple, you do not abet Avenging Angels, neither Barbie Bosom nor her partner, Lana Lay. "No, I won't help", you cry out, "I'm judged by the crowd I hang out with, and I ain't no angel. I'll never stoop that high." Barbie merely smiles. "I'm really really good when I'm bad", she whispers. And the rest is history. Our horny little side kick joins Barbie, and they march off together towards the Mad Professor Pat -- or as he is sometimes called "Dr. Po". Rumor has it that the Mad Doctor from C.O.U.C.H. has secret plans for using the remote control on his TV set to dominate the world while he watches College Football and pets his cats. (to be continued) Start of Turn: Gold = 3840, Barbie Bosom Experience=2 Lana Lay Experience = 0 Heroine: Reporter Lana Lay joins the Angels for 1004 gold, and goes undercover as Marco Scheele. She brings a third angel (archon) as an ally and gains experience at Squaw Valley. Barbie finds a horny little devil at Scott's Secret. Battles: Neutral scouts are seduced away from their posts at Squaw Valley by Lana and her pure as driven snow archon. Our horny little devil gives a neutral scout a hot time at Innsbruck. Loot: Squaw Valley and Innsbruck are both pillaged for 175 gold (350 total). Builds: Pikemen are at boot camp in Innsbruck -- 500 gold Archers are practicing in Squaw Valley -- 1000 gold Final Results: Cities: 4 Gold: 1586 Income: 100 Expenses: 14. Final BB Experience: 5 Change from last turn: +3 Final LL Experience 2 Change from last turn +2 3840 +350 -1104? -1000 - 500 ------ 1586 _______________________________________________________________________________ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tournament Game: "A17" Turn Number: 2 Gamefile Sent To: (Blue) Professor Patrick (plang@vwc.edu) Date Sent: Tuesday October 21, 1997 at 02:16 AM EDT Date Gamefile Due: Thursday October 23, 1997 at 02:16 AM EDT (In GMT-0500: Thursday October 23, 1997 at 1:16 AM) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Thursday October 23, 1997 at 01:48 AM EDT by Pat Lang to all players; TURN REPORT FOR GAME A17, TURN 2, SIDE 4 (Professor Patrick, Blue) ============================================================================== The Spectators have at long last lost their minds. The long wait between turns has been filled with bizarre and hideous experiments in the cities of Calgary and Rio. Tadpoles with no heads? The Spectators have seen the arrival of a mishapen hero in an iron body suit and witnessed the creation of severely mutated batmen, not to mention the Giant Bat-Spiders that now reside in the halls of horror. Can Halloween be far off? Events Dr. Doom arrives in Calgary with a pet dragon for 1077 gold. Dr. Doom frees an Archon from the Vault of Saves. The Archon pillages Grenoble for 175 gold. Dr. Doom conquers and pillages Rio for 175 gold. Heavy Bat-Infantry-men are built in Calgary for 300 gold. Giant Bat Spider-men are built in Rio for 860 gold. Orcish mobs are built in Grenoble (and the sexist Avenging Angel wants some of them). They cost 300 gold. SUMMARY (form borrowed from another game) Starting gold = 2790. Gold Action Location Change ----------- -------- ------ Dr. Doom arrives Calgary - 1077 (with Dragon) pillaged Scout Rio + 175 pillaged Scout Grenoble + 175 built Spiders Rio - 700 built Orcish mobs Grenoble - 300 built Giant bats Rio - 160 built Heavy Infantry Calgary - 300 ------ -2187 Start Change End ----- ------ ----- Cities 2 + 2 4 Gold 2790 -2187 603 Income 60 + 40 100 Expenses 10 10 Pitty - Pat EXP 2 + 2 4 Dr. Doom EXP na + 3 3 Ending gold = 603. _______________________________________________________________________________ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tournament Game: "A17" Turn Number: 3 Gamefile Sent To: (White) L'ennemi du bien (dlp@armory.com) Date Sent: Thursday October 23, 1997 at 01:50 AM EDT Date Gamefile Due: Sunday October 26, 1997 at 01:50 AM EDT (In GMT-0500: Sunday October 26, 1997 at 12:50 AM) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Thursday October 23, 1997 at 05:36 AM EDT by Dirk Pellett to all players; cairn \~kaern\ n: a heap of stones serving as a memorial or landmark 'Ah, so that's it,' she thought, turning off her pocket computer and putting it away. 'Who'd have thought they'd have a separate word for a pile of rocks, like it was something uncommon. Well, there must be something of value here, or they wouldn't have marked the site and put all these cameras around it.' She climbed to the top of the cairn and began moving rocks. Piece by piece, as hour after hour passed, she lifted and rolled and carried rocks away from the pile. By noon she was sweating, and stripped to the waist to be more comfortable. 'I wonder if they'll show this part during prime time,' she wondered, wiping her brow. 'It isn't exactly exciting in any other way.' The afternon wore on as the pile spread out. She took a break, and sat on a smaller pile she had built. It was now taller than the remains of the original pile. 'If this place is just a hoax,' she thought, 'I'm either going to kill someone for it, or die laughing first. If I don't die of exhaustion, that is.' She returned to work, lifting and carrying the stones away from the cairn. She hadn't found anything yet to indicate there was more here than just a huge pile of rocks. She had taken to examining the rocks as she moved them, hoping one of them would turn out to be valuable, or have some clue about the cairn scratched into it, but they were all just plain worthless chunks of rock, every one of several thousand. As the sun began to dip behind the hills, the air cooled. Red stood and stretched her tired muscles, then dressed and resumed the task. Rock by rock. As the light began to wane, she saw a small glint through a chink between two rocks. She pried one loose and pulled it away. Underneath was a single gold coin. 'Oh, right, I'm supposed to believe this whole thing was put here to hide one coin, am I?' She put the coin in her pocket and calmly returned to work. Rock by rock. With only a few more small piles to spread out and examine, she had only one gold coin to show for the day's exertion. She lifted another rock. And another. And another. Done with that pile. Two more small piles left. The center rock in the first one grated against metal as she lifted it. She dropped it and brushed the grit from the top of a box. She moved two more stones and lifted the box out, with difficulty, as it weighed around 40 kg. She found another underneath of similar size and weight. She opened them up and found gold coins. 'Plenty of time to count them later,' she thought with a satisfied smile. She secured them in the Archon battle-jet, balancing the load. Just to make sure, she dismantled the last small pile of rocks, but found nothing more. She climbed into the battle-jet, launched into the air, and headed northeast. ----- He sat across the table, one hand in a fist, the other rubbing the gemstones on his golden rings. "I've heard better offers, Mr. Bond, but never any from such a man as you. I'm tempted to accept just for the privilege of working with you." He rubbed the burn on his thumb, took another sip of whiskey, and made another wary check of the dark smoky bar. "But my business sense tells me to wait, see what the other sides in the war have to say. They're also interested in hiring a saboteur, and they know where to find me." "In that case, the evening's still young, how about a game or two?" "Accepted. Perhaps I can give you a few pointers," he said with a smile as he picked up a pair of pool cues and handed one to James. He racked up the balls with his left hand, the one with six rings: two per finger. "Care to make a small wager on it? Say, a gold coin per ball?" "Let's make it ten," James said, chalking up his cue. The stocky turk turned, hesitating, considering. He rubbed his mustache, sizing up his chances. He knew his own skill, but James Bond was an unknown quantity. He glanced briefly over James' shoulder. Then he slowly smiled. "Done!" he answered. "You break." James noticed a reflection in the cue ball in his hand. A moving reflection of someone behind him, someone holding something shiny at waist level. He began to lean over the pool table as if he was lining up a shot. He heard a click behind him. Grabbing the edge of the table in both hands, he rolled onto it, lashing out with his foot as he leapt, knocking the gun aside as it fired. He landed beyond the table and spun around. A wiry figure in a black sash leapt onto the table and stared down at him, a gun in one hand, a knife in the other. The gun pointed at his chest. "This is your cue. Exit stage right." He swung the cue stick, knocking the assassin's legs aside, moments before the gun fired again. Neither combatant paid much attention to the shouts from the others in the bar. The figure in black fell off the table, rolled under it, and slashed at James' legs. James held a light fixture and lifted himself off the floor. As the shadow emerged from under the the table, he dropped, landing solidly on the assailant's arm. Everyone heard the snap. The figure rolled back under the table, out the other side, and ran toward the door of the bar, screaming in pain. The former secret agent snatched up the knife and threw it, missing by an inch as the dark figure ducked and weaved through the smoky haze. James pursued, and saw the black figure jump into the sidecar of a motorcycle piloted by another black-robed figure. The motorcycle threw gravel as it sped away down the rough road leading away from the bar. He retrieved the knife and examined it briefly, then wrapped it very gingerly in his handkerchief and tucked it into a pocket. He returned to the pool table to find his companion waiting. He took a moment to rechalk his cue, leaned over the table, and said, "You did agree to ten gold coins per ball, right, Djinn?" Djinn swallowed, and nodded. "Who was that, trying to kill you back there?" he whispered. "I couldn't tell. Someone who gets all the bad breaks in life, it seems." The stick clicked, the cue ball shot forward and struck, the balls scattered. "Nothing like that one." He proceeded to put away all the balls, one after another. Djinn just stood and gaped in awe, as he watched his past year's earnings drop into other pockets. "Game over," James declared. "Care for another, so you can give me some pointers?" Djinn gulped. "Sorry, I can't afford another game. In fact, I can't afford this one." He held up a single gold coin, and turned his pack upside-down to show it was empty. "I came to this island to make money, not to lose it." "Then we must have another game. Here are the stakes: double or nothing. You win, you owe me nothing. You don't play, you pay now. You lose, you accept the offer and work for us during this war, without charge. The offer just covers double what you owe now." The turk had never been put in such a position before. He had no choice. He played. His break was terrible. He sunk two before James Bond took over and proceeded to drop them expertly into the pockets as before. "Two. At least you have balls," James quipped, holding them up as proof. "It's a done deal, then, Djinn. Here are your orders for the next several days." He pulled out a sealed envelope and handed it over. "I have a couple of planes to catch tomorrow, so I'll be on my way." Djinn opened and read the orders. "I'd better get moving too, if I'm to finish all this tonight!" He gathered his posessions and headed for the door, looking around, but James was already gone. "Hey!! Who's going to pay for the bullet holes!?" the bartender yelled as he saw the turk sneaking out. "Change the name of the place to Derek's Bullet!" he laughed, and ran out the door. He screamed as he saw a dragon swooping down on him, breathing fire. He hit the ground and rolled, coming up just in time to see James Bond smile and wave at him on the way by. ----- The radio squelched and squinked with static. 'Ridiculous to live in a place where the atmosphere messes up something so basic as radio,' she thought. "Good evening, Red." It was the same voice she had heard the day before last, in Organizers Office 7. "And to you, sir or madam or god. I have the gold from the Cairn of Bazza." "I know. I called to tell you that you have passed another test. I am very impressed. Few people would have even begun, after seeing the size of that pile of rocks. Fewer still would have continued longer than an hour. Many would have gone away screaming in rage upon finding the single gold coin. But a true hero would have patience enough to complete the task and obtain the benefit from it. Persistence may not be the most glamorous virtue, but lack of persistence is the root cause for many a would-be hero's failure. Where others would have proven themselves to be useless failures, you, by moving a pile of rocks today, have proven you have one of the necessary qualities of a true heroine." "Thank you. But I do hope I'll be doing something more interesting than this very soon." "That's to be expected. You will, that's a promise." "Is there anything more?" "Nothing of importance happened, just the usual beginnings to every war, getting the locals 'organized' if you'll pardon the expression." "Then I think I need some rest, if you please. I'll set the jet to auto-pilot and let it take over from here." "You've earned it. The gold you found has already been spent, in credit, since they know we have it now. We'll speak again tomorrow." ----- Mysterious fires burned in Helsinki and Melbourne that night, and the next morning found a different set of faces in charge. One had a dark mustache. ==================================================================== REPORT FOR TOURNAMENT ROUND A, GAME 17, TURN 3, SIDE 1. ==================================================================== Starting gold = 1815. St. Louis taken by dwarves; pillaged scouts for +175. Los Angeles taken by dwarves; pillaged scouts for +175. Red Harris searches Cairn of Bazza, finds gold: +2495. James Bond searches Derek's Button, finds 1 demon ("Djinn"). Helsinki taken by Djinn; pillaged scouts for +175. Melbourne taken by Djinn; pillaged scouts for +175. Gold subtotal = 5010. New Build of Griffins purchased in Helsinki for -1700. New Build of Griffins purchased in Los Angeles for -1700. New Build of Spiders purchased in Melbourne for -700. New Build of Wolves purchased in St. Louis for -450. Final gold = 460. "Red" "JB" Cities Gold Last turn 7 5 4 1705 Gains +124 (income) Losses -14 (expense) Begin = 7 = 5 = 4 = 1815 Change +3 +3 +4 -1355 (see above for details) Final = 10 = 8 = 8 = 460 Income/Expense: +228, -32 -- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Dirk Pellett, http://www.armory.com/~dlp, dlp@armory.com =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Selected quote number 756 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= He is a barbarian, and thinks that the customs of his tribe and island are the laws of nature. -- George Bernard Shaw _______________________________________________________________________________ __________ __________/ \__________ <__________ Turn 3 __________> \__________/ _______________________________________________________________________________ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tournament Game: "A17" Turn Number: 3 Gamefile Sent To: (Orange) Sir Boo (Braves1854@aol.com) Date Sent: Thursday October 23, 1997 at 05:37 AM EDT Date Gamefile Due: Sunday October 26, 1997 at 05:37 AM EDT -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- _______________________________________________________________________________ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tournament Game: "A17" Turn Number: 3 Gamefile Sent To: (Green) The Avenging Angel (lang@owt.com) Date Sent: Saturday October 25, 1997 at 11:57 AM EDT Date Gamefile Due: Tuesday October 28, 1997 at 11:57 AM EDT (In GMT-0500: Tuesday October 28, 1997 at 10:57 AM) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Saturday October 25, 1997 at 05:15 PM EDT by Braves1854@aol.com to all players; SIR BOO'S TURN 3 Statistic.....StartOfTurn Cities.........3 Gold..........1443 Income.......80 Expenses...29 HeroA Level.1 HeroB Level.1 HeroA exp...2 HeroB exp...3 The sun shone through Charles's circular window (as usual, right at 8:20) and stopped immediately at the curtains that hung directly below it. Charles had needed much sleep after a long day yesterday. Not only did he have to go through the accidental recruiting process of another hero, but he also had to deal with hundreds of "citizens" acusing him of a rules violation. It took his secretary 3 hours to get the people off their lawn (and an extra 2 to scare the reporters off). But now Charles lay on his cot, dreaming of the future... Meanwhile... Andy, or OARSman WWC, sat by the videophone patiently waiting for Charles to get up and answer his now ringing telephone. Brian sat nearby, obviously wondering why an apple had fallen on his head. And a guerilla (dressed up to be a devil) sat sharpening his prongs. "Listen, Andy," the guerilla said sharply, "If this guy don't pick up his phone in 20 seconds, then I'm smashing that stupid phone to bits!!!" "Now, sir, if you destroy that 'stupid phone' , how will you harass the little citizens of other various cities?" "Your right. Ah, the little ones. So cute when they run screaming for their lives. I'll give you 15 minutes." Then he continued sharpening. The phone picked up 3 minutes later. "WHY ARE YOU CALLING SO EARLY, ANDY??!? CAN'T YOU SEE I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!?!?" "Boy, you look so tired. But you sound like you're wide awake." "SHUT UP!" "Please, there are kids watching. Like Brian. Anyway, I called to get my work." "And if you don't give it to us, we'll come looking for you!" joined in the devil. "Oh, no, not TWO of them! ::sigh:: I'll fax them right away. Now LEAVE ME ALONE!" Charles slammed his phone shut. "I think he could use a bit more sleep, don't you?" *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_ *_* Hercules's Spear found at Hulseman's Keep (+2 bat) Amsterdam taken over, pillaged for 175 gp. Sparta taken over, pillaged for 175 gp. London taken over, pillaged for 175 gp. Wolves purchased for 450. Berlin taken over, pillaged for 175 gp. Wolves purchased for 450 Statistic.....EndOfTurn Cities.........7 Gold..........1243 Income.......160 Expenses...48 HeroA Level.1 HeroB Level.1 HeroA exp...2 HeroB exp...6 P.S. First of all, sorry for the delay on the turn report. Second, Would anyone mind if I sent the "simple" report out first, and the "storyline" part out the next chance I had? _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Monday October 27, 1997 at 05:22 PM EST by Larry Lang to all players; REPORT FOR TOURNAMENT ROUND A, GAME 17, TURN 03, SIDE 03 (Green) A diplomatic message, Professor Pat, you have significantly damaged the playing position of the Avenging Angel and yourself, in your mad lust for confrontation. The goal in this game is to win -- not to ensure the mutual destruction of yourself and your brother. If you carefully examine the goings on in the Northern Hemisphere, you will see that Sir Boo is getting into trouble, and we will soon both be up to our ass in white Secret Agents before long. Please concentrate on maximizing your own position, and stop pestering my hero with your sneaky archons, giant bats, and other horse manure creatures that should be else where or never should have been produced in the first place. THE PRECDING MESSAGE WILL BE REPEATED IN THE SUMMARY, FOR PROPER EMPHASIS. NOW -- ON WITH OUR STORY. You slowly awaken from your long slumber, and as you arise, you ponder -- about very little. For you are a blow-hard Elemental, part of the famous Elemental team, Dr. WhatsOn and Surelike Homes. And like all blow-hard Elementals, you like to talk, but not necessarily to ponder or listen. "Good Doctor, WhatsOn the telly today?" asks Homes. "I hope its not those bloody Olympics again. I am getting tired of seeing those muscle bound dikes running all over the place. Most of them with more moustache than you old chum." "My God, Homes." replied WhatsOn, "Do you think that's politically correct? Aren't you afraid someone might be reading this stuff? This is archived material you know." "It's Elemental dear Watson. We're rooting for the fabulous reporting team, the Avenging Angels. If their opponents are stupid enough to read this drivel they certainly aren't intelligent enough to win the tournament. And if they don't read, how will they know what's going on? Either way the Avenging Angels win. In order to win, we must be as vile and sexist as possible." Suddenly, a knock. The door is quickly opened by the overly eager Homes. A stunning Red-Head appears in the door way. She has an almost angelic aura surrounding her, a tall powerful body, combined with the soft sensual demeanor of Ann Margret. "You must be Lana Lay" insists Homes. "I can tell by the Burmese threads on your jacket, and the cow pie particles on your right heel." "And we saw you on the telly last night", says WhatsOn, "reporting for the Daily Grind", Moving WhatsOn aside, Homes gently inquires, "Madame, we are at your service, how may we help." Lana is unusually grim. "It's the mad Dr. Po", she mutters. "He is intent on destroying everything in the Southern hemisphere, perhaps even before 007 arrives. Barbie is doing her best to handle the situation, but the man is truly deranged -- making bat creatures at every city -- I think he's read one comic book too many. I hear he was once a promising Bridge player, but now he's only playing with half a deck. It's very sad. But while Barbie does her best, you my friends must go up North, to find out what's going on, so we can warn the world of the coming peril and of the possibly bigger threat that is coming. And so, like Heckle and Jeckle, Dr WhatsOn and SureLike Homes head North, visiting Barcelona and Montreal along the way -- talking incessantly the entire time. "I say WhatsOn, I did think that Lana character was rather fetching." "No shit, SureLike." says WhatsOn. Who knows what they'll encounter during their further adventures. (to be continued) Start of Turn: Gold = 1672, Barbie Experience=5 Lana Experience = 2 Heroine: Barbie gains flight. (+3) Lana teams with a dragon and two elementals (+6) . Battles: A Wolfy friend of Lana's takes St. Moritz from scout. Neutral scout is blown away in Barcelona by Elementals. The same fate befalls a neutral scout in Montreal. Neutral scout in Chamonix is loved to death by Barney the dragon. Loot: St. Moritz, Barcelona,Montreal, and Chamonix are all pillaged for 175 apiece (700 total) Builds: Pikemen are training in Montreal -- 500 gold Spiders are nesting in Barcelona -- 700 gold Wolves are breeding in St. Moritz -- 450 gold Wolves were added to Sarajevo -- 450 gold Light Calvary are training in Chamonix -- 200 gold Final Results: Cities: 8 Gold: 72 Income: 180 Expenses: 33. Final BB Experience: 8 Change from last turn: +3 Final LL Experience 8 Change from last turn +6 A diplomatic message (THIS IS A REPEAT) Professor Pat, you have significantly damaged the playing position of the Avenging Angel and yourself, in your mad lust for confrontation. The goal in this game is to win -- not to ensure the mutual destruction of yourself and your brother. If you carefully examine the goings on in the Northern Hemisphere, you will see that Sir Boo is getting into trouble, and we will soon both be up to our ass in white Secret Agents before long. Please concentrate on maximizing your own position, and stop pestering my hero with your sneaky archons, giant bats, and other horse manure creatures that should be else where or never should have been produced in the first place. 1672 +700 -500 -700 -450 -450 -200 ------ 72 _______________________________________________________________________________ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tournament Game: "A17" Turn Number: 3 Gamefile Sent To: (Blue) Professor Patrick (plang@vwc.edu) Date Sent: Monday October 27, 1997 at 05:24 PM EST Date Gamefile Due: Wednesday October 29, 1997 at 5:24 PM EST -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Monday October 27, 1997 at 09:31 PM EST by Dirk Pellett to all players; To Professor Patrick, Avenging Angel, and Sir BOO, from L'ennemi du bien: I've heard a little talk about "If you carefully examine the goings on in the Northern Hemisphere, you will see that Sir Boo is getting into trouble, and we will soon both be up to our ass in white Secret Agents before long." I think a more careful examination will reveal that I can just barely defend my lands from encroachment by two speedy elementals that threaten three major cities of mine (ALREADY!), and THAT defense requires the Avenging Angel to make intelligent moves rather than making a kamikaze maneuver with so much of the war left to go. Even if Sir BOO is not making the moves that you or I would in the same position, still so far he is in no trouble that I can see. Quite to the contrary, I can just barely defend my lands against his speedy strong devil, and that defense once again depends on him making intelligent moves rather than playing kamikaze. I'm forced to SIT HERE barely holding what little I have, and you folks don't even have your powerful worms and wizards yet. I don't think white is much threat, nor ever will be, in this war. I intend to survive by forming an honorable alliance with another side with a better distribution of allies. There's little hope of being able to expand from here without some relief from an ally. And, if I live through the war, I expect the story to be worth something. That truly is my only hope in this war. L'ennemi du bien --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- To Pat, Larry, and Andy, from Dirk: I've made an analysis to find the best meta-strategy of alliances under the Warlords tournament rules. It's an especially interesting puzzle, considering the fact that despite the surface appearance to the contrary, WE are not competing against each other! If the sole object of this war was to make the best showing against the direct opponents, obviously the best strategy would require ganging up on the leader at any point, and ganging up on the new leader once that leader was taken down out of the top place. BUT, that's NOT the rule. I'm playing against all the other White players, Andy is playing against all the other Orange players, Larry's goal should be to beat the other Green players, and Pat should have his eye on the other Blue players. I think it's indisputable that different players have different skill levels, though it may be hard to determine what the ranking is until several turns have passed. Suppose, Larry, that all of the other Green players decide to attack the best player in their game, the one in the lead. They all fight against the worst enemy they can find. What would your best strategy be, in order to beat those other Green players? I suggest that if you formed a solid alliance with the best player in your game, so that you didn't have to fight against your worst enemy, your chances of coming out ahead of the rest of the Green players would be much improved. On the other hand, if you decide to fight against the best player in your game, and all the other Green players are allies with the best players in their games, how well do you think you'll do, in comparison to your real opponents by the Warlords tournament rules? My analysis shows you'd get your butt royally kicked by your real opponents, the other Greens. Strangely enough, by my analysis, regardless of the player's skill, and regardless of turn order, regardless of the skills of the other players in the same game or the player skills of the other players of the same color, the best strategy is ALWAYS to ally yourself with the best player (not necessarily the one with the strongest position at the moment) in your own game other than yourself. That is the strategy I intend to follow. As soon as I decide which of my opponents is the best player, that is the one I will make an alliance with, and I will honor that alliance until the other two opponents are entirely wiped out. (If that ever happens, the remaining two players will have a huge lead on their competition.) It would never be smart to break that alliance, and begin to fight my worst possible enemy. I also believe that is the best strategy for Pat to follow, the best strategy for Larry, and the best for Andy, but feel free to do as you please. Dirk _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Tuesday October 28, 1997 at 11:07 PM EST by Pat Lang to all players; TURN REPORT FOR GAME A17, TURN 3, SIDE 4 (Professor Patrick, Blue) ============================================================================== The Spectators feel great sorrow in light of the difficulties of their poor foes. Both the Avenging Angel and L'ennemi du bien have more cities than anyone else and have the power of flight for one of their stacks. They are brewing Griffins and all sorts of other powerful armies that will shortly enter the fray (I think they may help poor L'ennemi du bien in his efforts to defend himself), and yet all they can do is moan about how bad off they are. The Avenging Angel, by right of prior birth has all of the gray hair in the family, as well as the power to fly. Professor Patrick COULD have sent his Archon over to join Piddly - Pat and his pet dragon, and, in so doing wipe out the Angel's troops in the region and claim the magic belt for himself. But no, he sent his Archon and other troops to the Northwest to seek cities and gold -- and was accused of being confrontational! This is almost as absurd as L'ennemi du bien's claim that he is unable to defend himself against Sir Boo's mighty devil, scout, and Hero stack strolling through the woods. Give me a break, guys. Here's what's happening in Patrick's humble habitat. Events Dr. Doom and Robin, his pet bat, conquer Sapporo without incident and pillage it for 175 gold. They then free The Demon from McCuller's Fort and head toward another ruin. The Demon conquers Garmissch - P and Lake Placid and pillages each for 175 gold. The Archon joins Piddly - Pat, his bat, and his dragon in the exploration of Goransson Ruin, which yields 2439 gold. Professor Patrick builds Minotaurs in Sapporo for 1300 gold, Orcish mobs in Garmisch - P for 300 gold, and Spiders in Lake Placid for 700 gold. He then peaceably wanders off into the sunset, feeling no ill will towards any of his pitiful bleating counterparts. SUMMARY Starting gold = 693. Gold Action Location Change ----------- -------- ------ Piddly - Pat explores + 2439 Goransson ruin pillaged Scout Sapporo + 175 pillaged Scout Garmisch - P + 175 pillaged Scout Lake Placid + 175 built Spiders Lake Placid - 700 built Orcish mobs Garmisch - P - 300 built Minotaurs Sapporo -1300 ------ +664 Start Change End ----- ------ ----- Cities 4 + 3 7 Gold 693 + 664 1357 Income 100 + 60 160 Expenses 41 41 Pitty - Pat EXP 4 + 3 7 Dr. Doom EXP 3 + 5 8 Ending gold = 1357. _______________________________________________________________________________ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tournament Game: "A17" Turn Number: 4 Gamefile Sent To: (White) L'ennemi du bien (dlp@armory.com) Date Sent: Tuesday October 28, 1997 at 11:09 PM EST Date Gamefile Due: Thursday October 30, 1997 at 11:09 PM EST -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Wednesday October 29, 1997 at 02:23 AM EST by Larry Lang to all players; Hey Frenchy (and other game members), I read your message with some skepticism, however it did trigger an interesting (although perhaps unwelcome) idea. I'm skeptical of White's remarks, because being number two doesn't help, if there is only one player left at the end of the game. However, if we all just stake out our basic territory, and not attack each other, it is very possible that 3 out of 4 of us will be winners in our category. I'm very willing to consider such an agreement, even though green may be the usual winner in the other games, and if so, such an agreement would be to my disadvantage. Luckily for you guys, I'm not smart enough to figure such things out. I'm also willing to be White's ally if we share gains equally. Perhaps if we agree to be nice to Sir Boo, and stay within our own domain, we can all be friends. Unfortuantely I cannot accept a scenario where Frency devours poor Boo, (even if it is Halloween) while Professor Pat and I tear each other apart. To avoid that scenario, I would be compelled to go after the leader (Mr Bien). Clearly Professor Pat is not the leader -- he is insane and self-destructive. Professor Piddly Pat, You could not take my hero, because I carefully moved him one square out of range away from your archon. I didn't want to move there, but I thought you just might be crazy enough to exchange a hero and dragon just to kill me off. You also forced me to waste devil movement, and to move another piece to protect my hero. I didn't want to do that either. I am not in the position I wanted to be, and I am holding you responsible. You are in poor position now, because you made some crazy moves in hopes that I would act like a moron, even after you warned me of your sinister schemes. Now, I will have to make some choices I don't want to make. Should I take advantage of your silly moves, and risk Lang War III, just to pick up a few extra cities? Certainly if you are going to continue to be so contentious I have no choice. Or should I ignore your weak position, and try to pin down our white French Friend, while you get back up to speed? I can't say you deserve such a favor. Anyway, if the four of us want to make a mutual peace pack, I think we would dramatically increase our chances of going on to the next stage, however the committee might not smile at such shenanigans. The Angel _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Wednesday October 29, 1997 at 06:21 AM EST by Dirk Pellett to all players; Bond pushed the rusty door open and stepped into the hangar. Paint flaked off the corrugated metal where his fingers touched. He brushed the flakes off his hand and entered, his footsteps echoing slightly in the musty air inside. He saw two old crusty aircraft, biplanes from a long gone era, a far cry from his trusty Dragon-painted jet parked just outside the door. They didn't appear to have flown in decades, he guessed. They were probably dragged here, to be pawns in this year's Olympic War, and put in this old dusty hangar when nobody claimed them. Well, they might still be useful. He circled around, examining their wings, tires, control surfaces. No holes, anyway, and no major damage that he could see. Perhaps a good mechanic could make them airworthy. He heard footsteps entering the hangar. Being more cautious after his encounter in Derek's bar, he crouched behind a wheel and drew a long knife from his leg sheath. There were obviously two sets of footsteps. One faded away to the far end of the hangar, where the back door opened, letting in a draft of fresh air and a little more light. The other set of footsteps sounded much lighter, and approached the aircraft. He leapt out, prepared to grab and twist and put a knife to a neck. In his astonishment he nearly dropped his knife. Before him, quite as surprised as he, stood a girl about nine years of age. He tucked the knife away, half-apologetically. Before he could speak, she extended a hand and introduced herself. "The name's Pott. Jemima Pott. You must be the person we're supposed to meet. My Dad and I are here to fix your planes for you, then, if they fly, we'll fly them. They look pretty bad now, but that's just the outside. I bet we can get them purring in no time. Come on, my Dad's over there. I'll introduce you. What did you say your name was?" "Bond. James Bond." It was all he could say, still flustered at the initial surprise and only getting more confused by her words. "Wow! Are you really James Bond? The James Bond? This is great! Wait 'til Dad meets you!" She led him, still open-mouthed, across the hangar, to a man in blue coveralls and mechanic apron, arranging a wide variety of tools on a rolling bench. There were also many odd-looking devices and, strangely enough, some musical instruments. "Dad!" the girl called out. "You'll never guess who we're working with! JAMES BOND!" She stood between the two men, beaming. "And this is my Dad," she added, as if that was sufficient introduction. "Bond? James Bond?" the mechanic stammered. "Well dash my wig and whiskers, it IS you! James, you old son of a barn owl, how long has it been?" James Bond was thoroughly confused by now, and he stared at the man awhile. Finally the voice, the face, though both greatly changed with age, fit his old memories, and it dawned on him. "Pott! Of course!! Caractacus Pott, you old --" He glanced down at the girl. "You old crackpot! You never could cuss, could you? What are you doing here?" Now it was the girl's turn to stand open-mouthed in astonishment. "You two know each other? Dad! You never told me you knew James Bond! Or that he knew you!" Her voice was filled with terrible accusation. "Yes, we were in the Royal Navy together. We both made Commander before moving on to other things. We even had the same instructor. Hey James, remember Old Hothead, and what he sounded like whenever he was mad at one of his students?" "Ha!" Bond laughed. He put his arm around Pott and they spoke as one, in a deep grouchy monotone, "I Am Not flAming you! not Exactly!" They burst into laughter that finally died down minutes later. "James! I lost track of you for so long, I just assumed you were dead. And then, I heard of your funeral, and I knew you were dead. It wasn't until years later that I found out you weren't really dead, but by then you were too far away to look up." Jemima just stood looking back and forth, listening. "And what about you, Crackpott?" James asked, grinning. "Obviously you're, um, on your fourth life also. But is this your daughter? Sometimes I've wished I had children of my own, felt I was missing out on something very important. But don't I recall you having a daughter named Jemima a very long long time ago? Surely this adorable little girl is your great-great-grand-daughter." Caractacus took no offense at the nickname. He put his arm around Jemima and gave her a hug. "No, it's the same one. She's, um, on her third life by now. Well over a hu--" "Dad! Shut up!" she interrupted. "It's none of his business how old I am. Even if he is James Bond." "I won't ask your age, madam," Bond bowed. "If you would take my advice on something, I think you should respect everyone equally, regardless of their age, real or perceived." This was obviously a sore point with her. Bond considered her point. "Well said. But I think a little bit of explanation is in order, don't you? After all, you do appear to be... You give every outward appearance, of .. What I mean is, you don't look a day over ninety." She giggled. Commander Pott gave the explanation. "You know I'm an inventor, right? Well, who do you think invented the longevity drug to begin with? Yes, I did. Unfortunately, I didn't know what it was at the time. I was trying out flavorings on new kinds of candy, and I had Jemima try some. These days, there are laws against giving the drug to children, and Jemima is an example of why. She hasn't grown up, as you can see. It has to do with the drug inhibiting the development of the body's natural RNA viroxic sequences, which is also how it works to stop the aging process." "But my mind is perfectly normal," she stated, "and I've had years to learn inventing and tinkering, as well as piloting and numerous other skills. Which reminds me, we don't have years, we only have today to get these planes running and in the air. You two can talk while you work." ----- The bar was packed. Not doing much drinking, the barkeep noted with dismay, but at least making up for it with their tips whenever anyone won a bet. Actually, he didn't blame them much for not drinking, since his bar had run out of the good stuff soon after the war started and the crowds came. Most of the crowd gathered around two competitors, Bob "The Heater" Jetta, and Jordan "Flash" Horstmann. Bob was telling tall tales and rather off-handedly tossing darts. Flash was trying his level best to beat him, and was barely holding an even score. The crowd was betting, first favoring one, then the other. Wagers were going down on the next throw, the final winner, even on the outcome of Bob's tale. Bob avoided lip-reading those bettors trying to pass him hints, as he spun the yarn. After all, he tried to stamp out cheating anywhere he saw even a hint of the possibility. Suddenly the bar grew quiet. Bob appreciated the respect, thinking people were listening with rapt attention, until he saw everyone looking way beyond him, focusing their rapt attention at the open door, ignoring him. He turned too, but the crowd was too thick for him to see anything unusual. He followed the heads turning, and deduced someone was walking up to the bar. The barkeep, for his part, also noticed the silence, and turned around with a mug half full. (Or half empty, as the patron would be more likely to say, if he served it that way.) Then the crowd parted, and Red Harris stepped up to the bar. "I'll have a Bollinger on the rocks," she ordered. "Sorry, we're out of that. And anyway, honey, I'd only serve that to adults." "So sorry, I'll have a milk instead. Make it a warm milk." She sounded almost serious. "Terratics," she muttered under her breath, so as not to offend anyone unnecessarily. He turned to fill her order, but before he could finish with the mug he already had, he heard a snap, a swish, and a heavy thunk. The roar of the crowd in the bar covered the range from surprise, praise, astonishment, and sheer disbelief. People stood on tables to see over those who had leapt to their feet and stood yelling. The barkeep turned to follow the stares. There was a dagger embedded in the target, to the hilt, dead center. From twice the distance, and through a crowd. "I believe I have some Bollinger in the back room, m'lady," the barkeep stammered, and ran off to fetch it. Several of the bar patrons protested loudy that he hadn't had any Bollinger when THEY asked, but he was gone already. "A contest! A contest!" the crowd roared, already making bets on whether she'd agree to a contest, and who would win if she did. "Is Jordan here?" she called out. "He has something I want." "Oh yeah? And what might that be?" the big burly man answered with a smirk, coming through the crowd. They made way for him with a fear they showed few others. "And how do you want it?" He stood grinning down at her, emphasizing his size. Others in the crowd snickered. "I want your 'Dunk' and I want it delivered out front within an hour," she stated calmly. That wiped the smirk off his face. The crowd went wild. Most of the regulars knew what the 'Dunk' was: an experimental hovercraft large enough to hold several platoons of troops, allowing them to cross rivers and rough terrain with ease. He'd been under contract to develop it for Lockheed, and had brought it to the island to test it out in the Olympic Wars. But he wasn't about to turn it over to some kid, and a girl at that. "Get serious, kid." But she was obviously no kid, making a demand like that. 'How did she know about the Dunk?' he wondered. "I am serious. I have 2495 gold coins out in my battle-jet that says I'm serious. Let's toss a few darts. My gold against your Dunk, winner take all. If you're man enough." She made sure to speak loud enough for everyone in the bar to hear the challenge. After that there was no way he could refuse and show his face in the bar again. She retrieved her dagger. "As close to the center as possible, but outside the hole left by the dagger. Any shot in there scores a miss." She overheard jokes in the crowd about wanting to score a certain miss, but she ignored them and threw the first shot. Bullseye, just off the dagger wound. Bets were paid, new bets were made, and the ex-Royal Air Force pilot tossed his dart. Same score, other side. More money changed hands, and the crowd hushed as Red raised her dart for another throw. Half the crowd gasped in dismay when it scored a hit way low and off center. "See? She was just lucky with that dagger. This'll be a piece of cake, and I'll buy you all drinks with the gold!" Flash crowed. He tossed the dart. It was another perfect hit. New bets were made at different odds, considerably less favorable to Red than before. She took the opportunity to make a few herself. Her next throw was a perfect score, but barely inside the line. His was perfect, in solid. Her throw was low, just outside the center. The odds changed again, and she made some more bets. Only three more darts to throw, only one of those hers. His dart struck high, just outside the bullseye, matching hers. Her last toss met solid bullseye, but her bad second throw meant he had to miss the target entirely to lose. He grinned widely, put a hand over his eyes, and let fly. The crowd gasped. Half the crowd roared in rage as they paid up. Red turned to collect her private bets. He removed his hand from his eyes and saw his last shot, dead center, where the dagger had struck. "Now remember, out front, one hour. And no, I won't need a pilot." Red Harris strolled over to the counter, whistling and casually juggling gold coins. Few in the room took their eyes off of her as she sipped her Bollinger. She didn't notice the figure in black sitting in a booth eyeing her with an unwavering stare. ----- Work continued on the old dusty biplanes in the old musty hangar. Late that afternoon, the planes were ready to go, as best the two master mechanics could tell. They hopped into the cockpits and set the controls. One plane gave a rattle, almost like a little sneeze. The other plane imitated in a near-perfect echo. The first plane backfired in a loud report, and the second plane did the same. The two old planes repeated those noises several times before they finally started up in a continuous rumble. James Bond opened the hangar bay doors wide, and the planes rolled out of the hangar under their own power, down the runway, and took off. They circled around the hangar, wailing and moaning and crying, sounding eerily like a funeral, or a dungeon. They landed and rolled back to the hangar. The Potts jumped out. "Well, how do they look?" Caractacus asked. "They look fine, but they sound absolutely terrible. If they're running alright, they should be fast enough, but I don't see any weapons on them at all. And what is that horrible noise?" The inventor pointed under the wings. "Speakers. These old things are useless in a battle. Their only purpose is to scare people, so I added a few extras to help out." He pointed behind the pilot's seat. "The wind blows in through these holes during flight, and across the strings of this aeolian harp here. That's a trick I learned way back, from so-called haunted houses and castles. They make a very haunting noise, which I'm picking up with that microphone and amplifying and broadcasting from the speakers under the wings. Should be pretty good at scaring people, if not much else. Hence the names. Go see." James ducked under to the other side, and saw a name dripped in red on the grey-and-white swirls of the plane's new paint. "Phobos." He walked to the other plane. "And Deimos. Fear and Terror, appropriate. Let's hope they never have to actually fight." "Oh, I built a few surprises into these old crates, too, while you weren't looking. No match for that jet of yours, of course, but enough to handle the stray mob of infantry here and there." Commander James Bond, R.N. [that's ROYAL NAVY!] and Commander Caractacus Pott, R.N. pushed the doors of the hangar closed and stood before it. James noticed a name in peeling paint above them, 'Dirk's Cavern.' "Who's this Dirk person the place is named after?" he asked. "Oh, just some local windbag," Caractacus shrugged. "You know the type: nothing to say and doesn't know when to shut up." ----- Red jumped from the Dunk and left it floating, attaching its tether to the sign. 'Irwin's Vault. To the Fastest.' she read. 'Well, I seem to be the first one here,' she mused. 'I hope that's all it means.' She pulled a keyring from her pack, and slowly stepped up to the doorway. Tropical rains in the month preceding the War had already had an effect: moss and lichens grew from the wooden door in several places. The effect was a scene of tranquility, of simple abandonment. She noted the shape of the keyhole and selected a skeleton key. 'Most likely this one, given the theme of the War,' she thought. She inserted it into the lock and turned. The sign had been a warning. The click only halfway through the turn was another, and the two clues were enough. Red Harris leapt aside and flattened herself against the brick wall, looking away as the door splintered. When she looked back, the door itself was in pieces on the ground, and the head of a battle-axe gleamed, half-buried in the path where she had been standing. She stepped through the door, glancing left and right for signs of additional traps. Turning back, she pulled loose a plank from the side of the doorway and carried it with her as she followed the path to the left, between two brick walls. She came to a dip in the path, where it ducked underneath a wall. 'A great place for another trap,' she observed. 'I wonder what it is.' The wall above her stood high and smooth, unscalable with the equipment she had brought. The only alternative was the tunnel underneath the wall. She crouched and followed the path. In the dim light she saw flowing water ahead. She tested it with the plank, and found it to be quite shallow. At the edge of the water, she could see across to the slope upward out of the tunnel. She also saw a metal bar in the center of the stream, that she could step on to keep her feet dry, crossing the creek in two jumps. Red considered using the metal bar, but she remembered something she had read years ago. Instead she stepped into the stream with bare feet, carefully stepped over the metal bar, and emerged without incident on the far bank. When she was ready to continue, she felt a sense of curiosity about the trap. She reached back with the plank and touched it to the metal bar. The bar sank under the meager weight of the board and immediately the roof overhead gave way, spilling a flood of water into the channel. Red dashed for safety, up the slope and out of the tunnel, which was now completely filled with swirling currents of muddy water. 'If the world is beating a path to your door, build a better mousetrap.' The thought remained with her. She continued down the path, now circling closer to the building's center. She evaded the usual dropping blocks, triggered darts, deep pits, and so on, with well-practiced ease, and finally came to the very center of the building. She stood gazing upon a featureless metal door. She saw no clues around it or on it, no holes, handles, or marks. She tested the bricks in the wall around it, but none moved. She carefully reached out to touch the door. Before her finger made contact, she felt the energy of the electric field. Knowing her body made a good conductor, but wire made a better one, she pulled a roll of wire from her pack and unrolled a length. She returned to the most recent pit, and lowered one end of the wire until it touched the water at the bottom. Back at the metal door, she slowly reached out the other end of the wire. Dazzling arcs of electricity flew between the door and the wire as she counted the seconds. Finally the arcing stopped. She reached out to the door and pushed. It easily opened inward on silent hinges. Red Harris gazed upon mounds of gold coins. At the center of the vault a trap door waited, but this one was no trap. It merely led via a tunnel upward to an opening in the hills. She loaded the Dunk with gold and departed with a wave, and "Thanks for the experience, Irwin!" ==================================================================== Boring diplomacy stuff: "We will soon both be up to our ass in white Secret Agents before long" said the Avenging Angel. Now, there are two ways to prevent this from happening. The first is to make an alliance with Blue, and maneuver so skillfully that you wipe out White so no white armies make it that far. That's obvious, but not necessarily possible. The second way, which I believe is equally obvious, and far easier to do, is to make an alliance with White, so the "WE will soon BOTH be up to OUR" part of the message no longer applies. There's no reason at all why BOTH of you have to worry about white armies attacking you. One possibility is that Blue can ally with me, and take the numerous neutral cities to the north while I keep Green occupied. Another path open to us is a truce line leaving Montreal with Green, so he and I can both move east without worry on our common border. I haven't decided which option is best for me. On my next move, however, I'm hemmed in between orange and green, with only nine cities. Everybody else has plenty of neutral cities left to take, but I have to attack somebody just in order to get my equal share of the cities. Now, Sir BOO, if you wish, you can take my empty city. But if you do, you'll lose your devil immediately, no matter where you leave it, and fight the rest of the war without that important ally. I recommend staying out of Antwerp. Avenging Angel, you surely saw the possibility of attack with your fast elementals on any of three of my cities (make that four now that I took Mexico City). I cannot defend them all, to make them impervious to all threats. However, I don't think it will be worth it to you to lose BOTH of your speedy help-armies-through-terrain allies in order to kill just one crappy ghost. I've arranged it that if you take a city, you lose an elemental in the attack and the other for certain the next turn. Then you fight the war another 15 more turns, without those elementals. Professor Patrick, you made a couple of serious mistakes last turn, as you undoubtedly saw, which leaves your side a little weaker than it had been, but you recovered nicely with your triple-threat hero stack. I'm still deciding on my best alliance choice. Green was leading, but you are even with him now, in my estimation. The next moves by both of you will probably be decisive. (If Avenging Angel plays kamikaze tactics, he's off my list, that's for sure.) I'm eager to see your moves and hear your thoughts on the alliance situation. [Just received Avenging Angel's latest message.] AA, you seem to be declaring your alliance with Orange, essentially saying that if anyone attacks Orange, you will attack him. Is this what you really mean? Or does it only apply to me, for some reason? Because of the moves of Orange and Green, I am forced to attack one or the other of you, or else sit here with nine cities. Guess what my choice is going to be. ==================================================================== REPORT FOR TOURNAMENT ROUND A, GAME 17, TURN 4, SIDE 1. ==================================================================== Starting gold = 656. Red Harris searches Bob Heeter's Bar, finds flight item. James Bond searches Dirk's Cavern, finds 2 ghosts. Red Harris searches Irwin's Vault, finds gold: +2492. Mexico City taken by James Bond; pillaged scouts for +175. Gold subtotal = 3323. New Build of Elephants purchased in Athens for -1500. New Build of Wolfriders purchased in Mexico City for -450. Final gold = 1373. "Red" "JB" Cities Gold Last turn 10 8 8 460 Gains +228 (income) Losses -32 (expense) Begin = 10 = 8 = 8 = 656 Change +6 +5 +1 +467 (see above for details) Final = 16 = 13 = 9 = 1123 Income/Expense: +254, -71 _______________________________________________________________________________ __________ __________/ \__________ <__________ Turn 4 __________> \__________/ _______________________________________________________________________________ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tournament Game: "A17" Turn Number: 4 Gamefile Sent To: (Orange) Sir Boo (Braves1854@aol.com) Date Sent: Wednesday October 29, 1997 at 06:21 AM EST Date Gamefile Due: Friday October 31, 1997 at 06:21 AM EST (In GMT-0400: Friday October 31, 1997 at 7:21 AM) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Wednesday October 29, 1997 at 09:48 AM EST by Pat Lang to all players; Here is my between turns diplomatic message for this turn -- which is primarily in response to some of the points brought up by the Avenging Angel (Green). Yes, I, Professor Patrick (Blue) am in a somewhat weak position at the moment. This is not due to a mistake I made or because I was being confrontational. I simply judged that no one is likely to start seriously invading my cities at this early stage of the game when they should be exploring ruins and staking out other neutral cities for themselves. The Angel and all others are in similarly weak positions and can barely defend themselves from a serious attack at this point in the game. I am not about to risk self destructive war with my nearest neighbor, and I assume that he is not stupid enough to commit suicide either. My Hero stack with dragon and Archon could decimate his cities just as easily as he could grab mine. Even worse, we might get into an early hero swap, which would turn the game in favor of the others. The Angel's comments about my being unable to keep him from the flying ruin are in error. If my Archon was one step away from him, this is a coincidence. In fact, the Archon was sent north to conquer and then join Piddly - Pat, which she did. Had I wanted to confront the Angel, I would simply have sent the Archon south to join the dragon and Hero. As Warbot so aptly points out, a devil and a Hero, even bolstered by a bat and a Pikeman, stand no chance at all against a Hero, an Archon, and a Dragon, with either a bat (for flight) or a spider for strength. I could have killed him and taken the flight item for myself, with little loss. I did not do so because I felt that it would be poor to have such a weakened foe between me and White, and because I did not want to start an all-out war so early in the game with my closest neighbor. I will be very disappointed with my Green foe if he rewards my neighborly actions with instant treachery, conflict, and ultimately suicide. As far as pacts with others, I too am open to suggestions. I will not sit around and let poor White carve up the Orange territory, however. If this sort of things appears imminent, I will have to seriously consider a strong mutual pact with Green to prevent White from becoming so powerful that he can take us all out before the end of the 20th turn. The Good Professor _______________________________________________________________________________ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tournament Game: "A17" Turn Number: 4 Gamefile Sent To: (Green) The Avenging Angel (lang@owt.com) Date Sent: Friday October 31, 1997 at 05:28 PM EST Date Gamefile Due: Monday November 3, 1997 at 5:28 PM EST -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Saturday November 01, 1997 at 05:42 PM EST by Braves1854@aol.com to all players; SIR BOO'S TURN 4 Andy aroused from his spot in the ground 3 hours before snrise. He knew it was too early to get up, but he was so excited about killing people, he just couldn't sleep. So he decided that if he had to suffer, so would everyone else. "Hey, Mr. Devil person?" he called, loud enough to surely wake him. But there was no responce. he had taken over a nearby town earlier, Andy assumed, and must've stayed there for the night. So, Andy had to go take it out on someone else. He got out his percussion set. CLASH!!! Went the symbols. But Brian barely moved an inch. He must be a sound sleeper, Andy thought. There was one last hope. Andy wondered if Charles liked loud music... Charles sat on his cot. His videophone had been ringing ever since 4:00 AM, and every time he picked it up there was loud percusion music playing. He was willing to send commands to Andy, but not at 4:00 in the morning! Oh well, it looked as though he wasn't getting any more sleep, so he sat down by his computer and started to create orders... SOME TIME LATER... Andy traveled the distances that were required by Charles (and Yippee! he finally got to split away from that foolish Brian), and reached his main destination: Kay's Crypt. It looked more like a child's website (completely empty), but that didn't matter. He was searching for a Dragon. Growing desperate, he yelled, "Here, Fido! Uh, Spot? Rover? Scruffy? Charles?" but to no avil. He ran around in circles shouting every name he could think of. "Albert? Brian? Charles? Andy? Bob? Pat? Bill?" Then it came to him. "Kay?" and a giant, green-footed dragon came stoming towards him. "Good boy. Or girl. Whichever. Anyway, let's go!" *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_ *_* TURN REPORT *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_ *_* Statistic.....Startofturn Cities.........7 Gold...........1355 Income.......160 Expenses...48 Hero A level.1 Hero B lebel.1 Hero A exp...2 Hero B exp...6 Kay's Crypt Searched. 1x Dragon found. Tokyo taken, pillaged for 175. Dwarves bought for 450. Mt. Everest taken, pillaged for 175. Dwarves bought for 450. Statistic.....Endofturn Cities.........9 Gold...........805 Income.......206 Expenses...56 Hero A level.1 Hero B lebel.1 Hero A exp...2 Hero B exp...9 *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_ *_* Hey, I heard all that diplomatic talk and decided I'd join in on the action. I could partner up with White, but everyone else would want me dead then. Green is too far a distance away to make that much a difference to me. So Blue looks to be my best associate. So, whaddya say, Blue? Care to sign a peace treaty? _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Monday November 03, 1997 at 02:32 AM EST by Larry Lang to all players; REPORT FOR TOURNAMENT ROUND A, GAME 17, TURN 04, SIDE 03 (Green) DIPLOMATIC MESSAGE IS AT THE END OF THIS REPORT: AND NOW, ON WITH OUR STORY: Excitement literally crawls over your body as you peer at the map. It is such an honor to work with Barbie Bosom, Star Reporter of the Daily Grind. Together you, and the rest of the reporters, will reunite the Olympics once more, and disenfranchise the Mad Professor Pat, the Secret Service Organizers up North, and the enigmatic Sir Boo in the far North East. Your mission, should you decide to accept it, is to bop all foes with your fearsome Piker Pole. For you are Peter Parker the Pikeman. And nobody better mess with you. You watch, with baited breath, as Barbie Bosom studies her maps and plans her next moves. And boy oh boy, she has some nice moves. Everyone is gathered round. Barbie studies the maps while everyone else is studying Barbie, her contours, and all the good things that go with them. A hush falls over the group as Barbie announces her strategy. "Boys, Lana Lay will be investigating a story over at Zak's Zone, so she'll be occupied for a while. We're very low on funds, so I'm going to visit Max's Manor and see if Max is worth a few bucks right now". The boys chuckle lecherously. Max might have a good time if he plays his gold pieces right. "Horny Little Devil, I need you to solidify our support in Nagano." "Nagano?" mutters the Horny Little Devil, "What in the Hell is Nagano? Its not in the dictionary. Its not in the Atlas. I've never heard of it. How am I supposed to take over a town that doesn't exist? Christ!" he shouts as he slowly wanders off, "Barbie gets to have fun with Max. Where do I go? Nagano! Why not Dayton Ohio? Walla Walla Washington? Fargo North Dakota? Noooo, me gotta go to Nagano." Barbie resumes. "And Peter, this is the most important mission of all. You must go and distract the Mad Professor Pat in Rio. The absent minded professor has left the city defended only by an Orc. (He is so bizarre sometimes). Once you distract him in the South, we'll give him the final punch up North. You quickly run off to Rio. This is your big chance to show your stuff. You're not just any old punk ya know. You are Peter Parker, the penultimate Piker Pole person! You quickly locate the abode of the orc in charge of Rio. You sneak up to the door. How can you get into the house? Ah ha, an idea forms. "Mailman. I have a mail delivery", you say. An orcish mob answers the door, and you quickly bop it on the head with your piker pole. Bop. Bop. "Cut that out", it says -- and slams the door in your face. "Milk man. I have a milk delivery." The orc answers the door again, and you quickly deliver two more blows for the reporters. Bop. Bop. "You little punk! Leave me alone. Halloween was yesterday." The door is slammed in your face again. "Candygram." The orc answers the door again (they aren't terribly bright). Bop. Bop. -- Bop. Bop. Bop. Perhaps you should replace your nerf pole with something more substantial. The orc leans over, grabs you by the collar, and lifts you into the air. "Listen kid. If you don't get out of here, the sinister Dr. Po (Professor Pat's secret identity) will send a dragon back here, and you'll be toasted inside out. You understand? I think your little nerf bat is kind of cute, but dragons aren't so easily entertained. They eat little boys like you for Breakfast!" The door is slammed in your face. And so, Rio is left in the hands of evil Dr Po. You slowly walk back to join the reporters. Poor little piker boy. Other warriors get to use swords and spears and neat stuff like that, but you only get a piker pole -- and a nerf one at that. Jiminey Christmas, life isn't fair. Then it comes to you. You're gonna show them. You're gonna get one of those secret spy piker poles. It'll have a rocket launcher, laser beam, and nose hair clipper all wrapped into one. It'll be atomic powered and everything. And so the Piker Persons all across the reporting realm turn in their nerf poles for more exotic models. They will soon become a force to be reckoned with. The reporters and their piker pals are on the move. (to be continued) Start of Turn: Gold = 219, Barbie Experience=8 Lana Experience = 8 Heroine: Barbie visits Max's Manor. He gives her 2498 spending money. Battles: Light calvary charges into Bejing and takes from neutral scout. Nagano is taken from neutral scout by horny little devil. Loot: Bejing is pillaged for 175 gold. Nagano is pillaged for 175 gold. Builds: Pegasis in Beijing for 2000 Catapult in Nagano for 1000 Final Results: Cities: 10 Gold: 67 Income: 220 Expenses: 74. Final BB Experience: 11 Change from last turn: +3 Final LL Experience 8 Change from last turn 0 DIPLOMATIC MESSAGE: I'm happy to make an alliance with anyone, including the French Spy Master, as long as we agree to keep rough equivalence in strength between the two of us. At this point, such an arrangement would seem easier to work out because Sir Boo is doing better, and the Mad Professor seems to be minding his own business (although he is leaving cities open, and they make a tempting target). Although it might appear that I am amassing all my forces to take on the white menace, I am actually preparing to take a city away from those formidable griffins in the center (but I must also be careful not to tempt the Organizers into making a tactical mistake). So if Ms. Harris feels like taking out an Orange devil or two, okay by me. Just use good judgement, and don't become All-Powerful. Yours truly, The Avenging Angel _______________________________________________________________________________ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tournament Game: "A17" Turn Number: 4 Gamefile Sent To: (Blue) Professor Patrick (plang@vwc.edu) Date Sent: Monday November 03, 1997 at 02:38 AM EST Date Gamefile Due: Wednesday November 5, 1997 at 02:38 AM EST -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Monday November 03, 1997 at 12:03 PM EST by "Gary S. Best" to all players; >Timeouts only last for 1 day; there's no special rule for Saturdays. >So yes, Sir Boo, your first timeout would have expired before you >got your turn report in, and technically your turn isn't over until >the report is sent, so I suspect Gary will deduct another timeout >from you when he gets back online (today, I think). I'll let Gary >deal with the enforcement. Enforced. _/_/_/ CompuPick - "Knowing the TRUE Line" _/_/_/ _/ http://www.CompuPick.com/ _/ _/ / _/ _ _ _ _ Gary S. Best _/_/_/ . _ /_- _/_/_/ /_/ / / / /_/ /_/ gsb@CompuPick.com _/ / /_ / \ / _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Thursday November 06, 1997 at 12:06 AM EST by Pat Lang to all players; TURN REPORT FOR GAME A17, TURN 4, SIDE 4 (Professor Patrick, Blue) ============================================================================== The Spectators feel that the wimpy nature of this game is about to change. First blood can't be far away! In preparation for the beginning of glorious battle, Dr. Doom uncovers four Giant worms under Yuri's Cenotaph, feeds two to his pet bat, and sends the other two off to pillage Sydney and C. d'Ampezzo. A herd of elephant stumbles off in the direction of the Avenging Angel's eight!! unoccupied and and undefended cities. Piddly - Pat and crew take and pillage Oslo as they and The Demon steel themselves for battle with unholy winged creatures of legend. Modest armies are summoned in the conquered cities: spiders in Oslo (for the usual 700 gold), Orcish Mobs in C. d' Ampezzo (300 gold), and dwarves in Sydney (450 gold). The Spectators are wondering why the Lang brothers are charging recklessly into battle with Griffins in the middle of the world while their wary opponents sit back and observe in amusement. What is wrong with this picture?? SUMMARY Starting gold = 1476. Gold Action Location Change ----------- -------- ------ pillaged Scout Sydney + 175 pillaged Scout Oslo + 175 pillaged Scout C. d' Ampezzo + 175 built Spiders Oslo - 700 built Orcish mobs C. d' Ampezzo - 300 built dwarves Sydney - 450 ------ -925 Start Change End ----- ------ ----- Cities 7 + 3 10 Gold 1476 - 925 551 Income 160 + 60 220 Expenses 64 64 Pitty - Pat EXP 7 + 2 9 Dr. Doom EXP 8 + 3 11 Ending gold = 551. Diplomacy While Professor Patrick is warmed by Sir Boo's offer of friendship, he feels that he must warn all Players that the Spectators do not actively seek combat or kinship until it is absolutely necessary and hence currently plan to eschew offers of formal alliance until the world situation becomes clearer. _______________________________________________________________________________ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tournament Game: "A17" Turn Number: 5 Gamefile Sent To: (White) L'ennemi du bien (dlp@armory.com) Date Sent: Thursday November 06, 1997 at 12:08 AM EST Date Gamefile Due: Sunday November 9, 1997 at 12:08 AM EST -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- _______________________________________________________________________________ The following message was sent on Thursday November 06, 1997 at 05:02 AM EST by Dirk Pellett to all players; The valet looked a little flustered, but he proceeded to park the Dragon jet-ski miniplane with dual flamethrowers and a rock(et) launcher without too much difficulty. One of the other restaurant patrons later found the paint on his Learjet blistered and burned, but no matter. It was insured against war damage. James Bond adjusted his black tie and entered through the wide double golden doors, cautiously glanced around at the crowd, and approached the stately figure at the entrance to the main court. "Ah yes, we've been told to expect you, Mr. Bond. Welcome to Vaillancourthold. This way please." The headwaiter led the way to the table, front row to the stage. He adjusted the roses in the center of the table and lit the candle. "Your waiter tonight will be Alfred. Do you wish a .. ah, never mind, that would be one martini, shaken, not stirred. Thank you sir." The headwaiter pocketed the one-ounce gold coins given as tip and disappeared in the busy restaurant. Bond sat and admired the view from the rotating restaurant's windows. It was positioned at the peak of the tallest hill in this area, with a view of the lake to the far north, the ocean off in the distant west and the inactive volcano to the southeast. At another table he recognized Bill Gates III, grandson of the fool who held back progress in the computer industry for several decades in the previous century until he retired and more sensible minds took over his company. He also saw Ted Turner III, chatting amiably with Michael Jordan III over drinks of coffee and Gatorade. He waved to the current Prime Minister of India, who frowned, and the Duchess of York, who smiled, waved back, and blew him a kiss. The President of the United Democracy of China sat at a booth with his bodyguards filling three nearby tables. Bond nodded to him, receiving a slight nod in return. He turned his attention to the stage, where an elegantly-dressed woman sang of love and mango trees. Moments later, another stately figure appeared. "I am Alfred, your waiter for this evening. The lead chef on duty is Harry." "That's fine, as long as he doesn't get any in the soup." "Of course not, Mr. Bond. Let me present le menu. The specialty of the house is broccoli. Broccoli au fromage, broccoli d'argent, of course broccoli du jour and broccoli la creme de la creme, and a very special creation broccoli avec sel." "Broccoli with Salts, man, that's a clever combination, I'd say. You do have steak, right?" "Mais oui, Mr. Bond. Will there be anything else?" "Yes, the room number of the lady on stage. I'll get her name later." ----- "Who the devil are you?" Two eyes peered out of the slot in the gateway to Berlin, the 'city' of a dozen buildings blocking the roadway between the hills and the forests on either side. Reddened eyes, as if the owner hadn't had much sleep lately. "More appropriately, I could ask you the same question. I'm Red Harris, and I'm here to take this city. And if you've been listening to your radio, you know I can do it. Over your dead body if need be." "You don't scare me. I'm not afraid of any so-called heroes. They are all cowards inside, afraid of dying like anyone else. You're going to turn tail and run from me, just like all the others." The slot in the gateway slammed shut, and further knocking brought no response. Red restarted the Dunk and flew it around to the other side of the city, where she had been told she could get help if necessary. There she found waiting two platoons of dwarves, equipped with war axes and chainmail. They bowed low when they saw the flag she carried, and vowed to fight to the death for her. "I hope that won't be necessary. The fool inside these walls is alone, and he's no hero. There's no reason he should no