darrell
29th January 2003, 05:02 PM
From the Mouth of Sauron
========================
Date: 03-05-95
Issue: E-28
Note: all authors retain exclusive rights to their
material. Reprinting is allowed for non-commercial
game use only.
The Mouth is edited by Brian Mason and Tom Walton. All
correspondence can be sent to them at:
Brian Mason - mason@chara.gsu.edu
Tom Walton - kazandar@aol.com, kazandar@delphi.com
First Word
==========
Well, gang it's another issue. There seems to be a continuing problem
getting submissions. While I like writing, it'd be nice to read somebody
else's work so submit something.
In the first incarnation of "From the Mouth of Sauron" we tried to
publish on a weekly basis. When we brought it out of hiatus the plan was
to stay current with the turns of game 22 (i.e. Mouth issue # = game 22
turn + 25), however, to that end, we also wanted a big enough issue to
send out and fell behind.
We're going to (over the next couple of issues) get caught back up
again, but the issues are going to be pretty thin unless we hear from
you. We'd like to hear more about encounters and other strategies for
the 1650 game, and we've already been getting submissions for the 2950
game (which we will hold until issue 35). We'd also like to see some
more fiction. While we've heard a little bit from one side in game 22,
there are quite a few other players in that game and other games where
other people can vent their creative spleen in an environment with an
absolute guarantee of no rejection slips.
Well, that's enough begging for now. Will see you in a week.
Brian
News from the Net
=================
A Noldor of the first
A fate uncertain had this Elf-Lord
One son tortured by blade and thirst
One confined in dakest pit by evil horde
I first tried Finarfin then Fingolfin. Both wrong. Maybe it is an ICE
based encounter. Any opinions?
Try Feanor. Maedhros fits the last line, Not really sure. Or it could be
Maedhros himself bt I don't know if he had a son.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm running a web site that has MEPBM data on it, but I'm not going to
put up any data for 2950 until I feel that the playing field needs
leveling again, and until there is enough data worthy of serving up
collected in one place [like the Mouth of Sauron].
Right now, there is nothing to put up but the startups really, and I
don't want to look at those, having just taken a place in the Mouth
email game [22] of the 2950 scenario, where the agreement [I think] is
to hold off on looking at such data until Turn 10.
Currently I have the startup data for the nations in the old game. I've
been working on putting the Mouth of Sauron on the Web, but that's not
really ready for production yet [I'll be putting a link up to that soon
though]. Once the Mouth is done, I'll be putting up data for artifacts,
encounters and riddles for the 1650 scenario. By then, the Mouth might
be up and running again.
If you want to check out my web site, here's a link to it:
<a href="http://pubweb.acns.nwu.edu/~phredd/MEPBM.html">MEPBM Page</A>
If you don't have news software that can deal with links, just copy the
part in quotes and give it to your web browser.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Could someone out there please tell me who the NPC Lomelinde is. THe
name isn't on any list that I have, but then again my lists are fairly
old. If anyone can help me out it would be much appreciated. Thanks in
advance.
In the 1650 game at least, Lomelinde is not an NPC but a Dark Servant
Agent, and one of the better ones at that.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I have a riddle in the Middle Earth Play by Mail game that I have no
clue on...and some of you might see why...I am hoping there is somebody
out there with both knowledge and kindness to help me out.
The riddle is:
d r o u k n n a l t a o h n i
That is it. There is an ' accent above the first o and a ^ accent above
the u. If anybody out there has any idea about what the answer might
be, please let me know. It will be a one or two word answer.
Hell, this one is hard. I can see the last seven letters forming
the word "Thalion" - the title of Hurin meaning the Steadfast, and
"Narn" - Lay - in the beginning - but damn my eyes if it helps at all...
Maybe we take away "thalion" and play with the rest, and come up with
some "Korudnan" or "Rudonnak", whatever this might mean. By the way, why
two words? Certainly not one, but maybe three or four ?
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Rogues Gallery
==================
Wes Fortin
==========
I've played in numerous games so far, but usually play a support nation
so I've never placed.
1) 60: My first game - a team game. I was the Arthedain. Without
going into great detail, the Free team consisted of superior players but
a lack of cooperation/coordination and general lone wolf tendencies of
some of the players caused the Free to loose to a well coordinated but
inferior team after about a zillion agonizing turns.
2) 96: Standard game. I had a blast in this game as the Witch King. I
owned half of Cardolan, Arthedain, and the Woodmen before the entire
Free team ganged up and eliminated me. As a result, the Mordor nations
had breathing room to rebuild and are currently stomping the Free. I
was almost saved, but four successful InfOther on a MT with a loyalty
under 15 (on each of the four turns) refused to fall to my emissary.
So, a bit of bad luck did me in. Thanks for a great game Adam!
2) 104: Team Game. I played the Blind Sorcerer and, like 60, bad
teamwork killed this game, but quickly. I found out, much to my
chagrin, just as the game was getting interesting for me, the vast bulk
of my team mates had dropped. I soon followed.
3) 133. Team Game. I played the Woodmen on this team and, for the
first time, had a pleasant team experience. The Free were organized and
unified. We crushed the DS very quickly.
4) 160. Team Game. I was so giddy at the success in 133, I got
involved in another team game as the Long Rider. Again, had a blast!
Good teamwork and a positive attitude on the team's part resulted in a
rapid collapse of the Free.
5) 185. Standard Game - ongoing. Again, I'm the Blind Sorcerer. It's
still early in the game but the Dark seem to be kicking butt. Almost
all the Free positions have been dropped and picked up by standbys. I
will probably place in this game because, for the first time, I'm trying
to. I've always felt the Blind Sorcerer was an underated nation - and
I'm trying to prove it!
6) 2950/22. Team Game - ongoing. This game started off bad. Divisive
elements in key Dark Servant positions brought back ghosts of 60 and
104. I dropped as the Witch King rather than endure numerous turns of
flaming and a slow death at the hands of the enemy. This snowballed
into others on the team dropping. But, all the divisive elements
dropped also. Dave Holt held the team together, and I rejoined as the
Dragon Lord. The team picked up some other good players to fill the
holes, and a team is starting to form. Kudos to Dave! We'll give the
freeps a good fight now!
7) 2950/??. Team Game - yet to start. Will play the Silvan Elves with
some of my favorite team mates. Should be a great game!
My Strengths:
I play/build well-rounded nations but am more known for my economic and
character game. I like to hit enemies with agents/emmies/ and military
might, all at the same time if possible - and use mages for intelligence
gathering and additional troops (Conjure Hordes) if appropriate.
My Weaknesses:
I tend to work best when I'm paired with at least one good leader type
so I can play "vizier", the guy that does the sanity check for the
leader and the team.
However, I will take on a leadership mantle if needed - but my lack of
patience can make me a less than optimal leader. My direct style of
problem solving can put off some players that prefer sugar coatings on
thier pills, as opposed to a chain-mail gauntlet ramming it down thier
throats (my typical style). <grin> That's why I work better as #2!
Nation Preferences:
None. I'll play anything! The "weak" nations are fun because I like to
build them up. The "strong" nations are fun because I can pound the
enemy faster.
Top Ten Reasons to Join the Free Peoples
========================================
10. Exemplary health plan & retirement benefits
9. Surfin' on the Anduin
8. Free cookbook - "1001 ways to prepare Lembas"
7. Galadriel - major babe
6. Orcs' annoying tendency to dig up yard
5. Beorn isn't just the President - he's also a client!
4. Coming soon: 900 number for Imladris
3. Otherwise Dwarves will come to your house and sing
2. Bungee jumping off Mt. Mindolluin
1. Two words: Sauron bites
Top Ten Reasons to Join the Dark Servants
=========================================
10. Blind Sorcerer will let you wear his pointy hat
9. Orcish booze kicks ass
8. Excellent skiing in Morgul Vale
7. Get to meet Smokey the Bear (sorry, that's a reason
to join the Park Service)
6. Get to put "Servant of Sauron" on all business cards
5. Free video - "Assassination for Fun and Profit"
4. Market for rotted, barren wasteland poised to skyrocket
in '95
3. Dark Lord is really a nice guy, once you get to know him
2. Shelob connecting Mordor to World Wide Web
1. Galadriel? Closet Democrat
Untitled Fiction
================
>From Dave and Rochelle
Dirty orange lamplight washed over the map, muddying mountains and
valleys into a mass of shadow that seemed to seep from the gates of
Mordor.
Not an inaccurate metaphor, thought Erkenbrand as he stared at the map.
We triumphed the last time, but they keep *coming*. How are we going
to stop them . . .
A gust of rain-wet wind blew into the tent as Elfhelm swept inside,
water dripping from his helm and his long, drooping moustache.
"You look like you just swam the Anduin," Erkenbrand said, looking up.
"Are the pickets set until morning?"
"Yes sir," Elfhelm said. He shrugged out of his oilskin, hanging it on
the centerpost to dry. "I hate this damn sea air. I can't wait 'til
we're back on the plains." Dropping his helmet on a camp stool, he ran
his fingers though his hair with a sigh and walked over to the table.
"Hmm. This doesn't look any better than when I left."
Erkenbrand looked up and sighed. "No. We destroyed two armies last
week, so they send us three armies to destroy this week." He rubbed
his eyes as though trying to wipe away the dark circles of exhaustion
beneath them. "Sooner or later they have to run out of orcs."
"Yeah, and when they run out of orcs, they'll send trolls. And when we
kill all the trolls, they'll send goblins. And by the time the Anduin
runs red with goblin blood, they will have grown more orcs to send."
He looked at his commander. "You really should get some rest, sir."
"After we finish planning the attack. Regent Adrahil is supposed to
stop by in the morning to coordinate any last-minute changes, and I
want to be ready."
Erkenbrand turned his attention to the red, green and black pins stuck
into the map. Hmm. If we could do *that*, then they'd have to . . .
"Have the ents decided if they will be able to help us when the attack
comes?"
"They are debating that now, sir," Elfhelm said with a sigh. "It might
take a while. They consider all this maneuver and engagement somewhat,
ah, 'hasty' I think Fladrif said."
Erkenbrand snorted. "Well, we'll take whatever allies we can g-"
"Ware! Assassins!" came the cry from outside. Two dark-cloaked figures
dashed into the tent, throwing daggers as they lunged forward. Elfhelm
whirled, drawing his sword. As he turned, a dagger glanced off his
mailed chest. He slashed out with a wild, one-handed swipe that bit
into the agent's shoulder. The assassin grunted, but kept moving and
rolled under the tent flap before Elfhelm could strike again.
Erkenbrand turned a hair more slowly--getting old, he thought as he felt
the dagger bounce off his back. But his hand closed not on a sword
hilt, but on the lantern handle. He smashed it against his assailant's
head, shattering the lamp globe, dousing the agent in burning oil. The
agent let out an inhuman hissing sound then quelled the flames with some
harsh, guttural word.
"Nazgul," breathed Erkenbrand, temporarily stunned by the display of
magic. He shook his head to clear it as the wraith seemed to melt into
the shadows.
"Eorlingas, to me!" he bellowed and launched himself at the fleeing
shadow. But too late. The wraith was gone.
It was all over in just a few heartbeats. A split second later, Hama
staggered into the tent, one hand holding a torch, the other pressed
against a bleeding wound in his side. "My lords, are you all right?"
"Better than you are, brave Hama, although we might not have been if not
for your warning," said Erkenbrand as he and Elfhelm eased their
lieutennant onto a cot. Pounding footsteps outside heralded the arrival
of other troops. They burst into the tent, swords drawn, the surgeon
not far behind.
"Don't just stand there, you fools!" growled Erkenbrand. "Raise the
camp! 50 gold pieces to the man who brings me those agents!" The
troopers sprinted off to spread the alarm and begin scouring the
underbrush.
Erkenbrand turned his attention back to Hama, now under the care of the
surgeon. Hama looked up. "Sorry I failed you sir. Just didn't see
them coming." He was about to say more but the surgeon's work on the
wound made him gasp and blanch.
"Ah but you did not fail me," said Erkenbrand, looking down kindly on
the young commander. "Your warning saved our lives and foiled their
plans. Rest now, you have done well."
"Ah, good," said Old Cateleb, the surgeon. "You'll be back in the thick
of things in no time, my lad. It's bloody, but it's a relatively minor
wound. No sign of poison. I'll stitch it up and it'll be fine."
Looking at Elfhelm, "M'lord, do you have wine or mead I could use to
disinfect the wound?"
"Yes, of course. I'll get it right now." Elfhelm strode out of the
tent, calling to his page.
Erkenbrand prodded one of the daggers with the toe of his boot. Black
ichor gleamed on the blade in the shaky torchlight. So. What they
cannot do by honorable combat they would do by poison, eh? He shook
his head. How many more would die before the evil was driven from the
land? He took the torch and carefully burned the poison off both the
daggers as his page arrived with a new lamp and began to clean up the
shattered one. Hama lay gasping, pale and drawn under the surgoen's
gnarled hands.
The new lamp lit, Erkenbrand extinguished the torch and parted the tent
flap. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He
toyed absently with the cuff of his tunic sleeve, now frayed and
scorched by his desperate attack on the nazgul. I wish I were back on
the grasslands, he thought.
Behind him he could hear Old Cateleb fussing and muttering over his
wounded charge, and he smiled with grim satisfaction. "Well, there, at
least, is one you did not claim," he wispered to the vanished nazgul as
he stood in the soft Gondorian rainfall, dreaming of home.
Grudge Games, II
================
by Brian Mason
Part Four: The Team Dynamic
In my consideration of the most appropriate way to start a game composed
of twenty-five different subscribers of "From the Mouth of Sauron" only
one factor was sufficient to warrant being a player, that they were an
email subscriber to the ezine (with apologies to Jeff Holzhauer and
other postal mail subscribers).
The exact method for determining who would play which position was
outlined in the last issue. In developing a "team game" in this manner a
characteristic was ignored which is possibly the single most important
issue in a game, that of the dynamics of the various players.
The issue of player types has been addressed by David Foreman (Free
People Press, May 1993) and Tom Walton (Personalities to Play By,
Whispers of the Wood, November 1993). This article does not attempt to
extend or extrapolate upon this earlier work but simply to point out
that all people play the game in a different manner and interact with
each other in different ways not all of which can be predicted.
Let me stress here that the following a suggestions for how to get a
team together. As a result of the unique method for assigning positions
in game 22 this was not possible. How well individuals could get along
in this game is simply the luck of the draw.
An axiom: Ten superior players do not a superior team make.
Those of you with some following of sports may remember when my dear
Atlanta Hawks were on the verge of becoming a great team they went free
agent shopping for what were considered there two weakest positions
drafting all-star talent. After securing Reggie Theus and Moses Malone
the Hawks were picked by many if not most of the "experts" to win it all
the next year.
It didn't happen.
Not even close.
The five people on the court did not have a team mentality, and as a
result the second unit was usually more productive having played
together for many years despite weaker skills.
The point is this. Picking out players for a game you should consider
not only the skill level of people (and remember all players get better)
but also their interpersonal skills.
But even with this their is a hidden problem. Until you get people
playing together you never will know how they play together. Every game,
even if you could somehow have the same group of ten will have a new set
of situations and obstacles to deal with, all of which will make each
game unique.
There are certain "player types" (as described in the articles cited
above) which are good to avoid, but characterizing a person as a player
type is often difficult: "Hi my name is Brian, I'm a role-player sage
diplomat with warrior tendencies." Characterizing a player type is often
difficult, subject to the biases of the person doing the
characterization, and can be offensive to people.
The best suggestions I think I can give for this game are to make up
teams of people who do not play selfishly and who you enjoy playing
with.
Part Five: Comments from Wes Fortin
I solicited opinions about the problems in Game 22 from the players. In
addition to some insights into that game a truly exceptional player
shared some general comments about team play in general. The following
comments are from Wes Fortin, a fabulous player with far more gaming
experience than your truly.
"First and foremost... TALK TO EACH OTHER! Plan out your nations goals,
strengths, and weaknesses and work with others in such a way that the
teams goals are the same/similar, strengths are utilized and weaknesses
covered. Suggest plans for your attacks and how others could help
enhance the success. If you disagree with a plan, state your position
neutrally and suggest alternatives. Be prepared to compromise and
sometimes bow to the will of the team."
"It is critical that battle plans are detailed. Plot out army movement,
character allocation, and ensure that those nations involved get
funds/supplies to accomplish their mission. Most mature players will not
feel as though someone is trying to `run their nation' or `write their
orders' if a plan is agreed on."
"Help the newbees - try to avoid team mistakes that derail more plans
than luck. How often have you seen critical characters move to the wrong
hex, or armies take a really bad route - thus failing to be where they
needed to be for the plans timing? I've seen more than one gold transfer
fail because a newbee (or even an experienced player) didn't know or
miswrote the syntax for one of the screwiest orders in the game (948)."
"Well, I'm rambling on but hopefully have provided some material you
would find useful in your article [ahem, yes I think so - Brian]. To
close, I would say the most critical element in a good Grudge Game is
the selection of players for the teams. A close second is constructive
and respectful communication between team members."
Part Six: On Game 22
In game 22 there are many people with whom I am playing for the first
time, but there are also many people (on all three sides) whom I have
played with (or against) many times.
However, the way the positions were assigned led to an unfortunate and
almost disastrous grouping among the Dark Servants. I've spoken with the
principles about this incident and have gotten conflicting stories, but
the bottom line here is not really who is at fault but that the lack of
polite communication and inactivity by some of the more important player
positions almost destroyed a team consisting of some of the better
players in me-pbm.
After the Dark Servant team almost collapsed and then climbed back into
the saddle I asked the various parties on the Dark Servant side to share
their thoughts about team games with me. Several of the players who are
now no longer in the game made some comments which they asked me to not
publish openly. This request I will keep. Others who are in the game
made comments but with no such request. As a player in this game, I have
personal feelings about who was at fault here. However, as the person
writing this article and an editor of this ezine I think I owe some
measure of responsibility to unbiased presentation of data. Not being
able to present a side may lead to an unbiased slant for this article.
While I could at this point either report what I have leave to say or to
request submissions for all interested parties, I think this may not
serve the greater good. The bad events, having passed, are best left in
history. A quick summary will suffice.
In all of this there was some acrimonious name calling which went so far
as to sometimes suggest that the assignment of positions were not done
in an equitable manner. I tried to take this with a grain of salt, and
hoped it was the product of people looking for blame in the face of
great adversity, rather than serious acusations which were being leveled
directly at me. However, I must confess that it was these events which
led me to write this multi-part article, to clarify once more exactly
how fairly things were done.
Some of the players (those who, according to several reports, were
primarily responsible for the bad blood) decided to quit the game. At
one point there were even discussions of requesting all the neutrals to
join the Dark Servants to preserve play balance. Now, thanks to some
heroic efforts, both the Dark Servants team and the game itself have
been saved. Many thanks to Harold at GSI for communicating to us so
quickly, to Phredd Groves for stepping into a difficult position at a
difficult time, and to Dave Holt for keeping the whole ball of wax
together.
Outside of Imladris
===================
By Tom Walton
Er-Murazor, King of the Nazgul and dreaded Right Hand of the Dark Lord
himself, watched the Great Road with keen intensity, impressing his
reluctant companion, the Mouth of Sauron, with his perseverance. They'd
been perched among the rocks overlooking the highway for well nigh three
days now, spying for unusual activity among the Free Folk coming from
Imladris.
At least, that's what the Mouth thought. In fact, Murazor was bored
silly and had spent most of the time daydreaming of becoming mortal
again. 'Tis a hard thing, being a wraith and so unable to attract the
interest of a woman. An especially hard thing when one considered that
the last time one enjoyed the company of a woman was millenia in the
past.
'Never should've taken that ring', Murazor thought with some bitterness,
probably for the ten thousandth time. 'Father used to say "if it's too
good to be true, then it is". But did I listen? Noooosiree.'
Rumor had it that Eomer, nephew of Theoden, had come to Elrond's home
some weeks before to ask the elf for aid. And, as Elrond's magic made
Imladris difficult to find, the best the Nazgul could come up with was
to wait for Eomer to reemerge and take the same path home that he used
to get to Rivendell. Mayhap then they could capture the poor barbarian
fool and torture useful information from him.
But this waiting...it always depressed the Witch-King. What good was
immortality if you couldn't enjoy the pleasures of being mortal? And
that Sauron, talk about a looney-toon of the first order; painting ugly
red eyes all over the palace of Barad-dur, pining over his stupid Ring
day and night. The Maia had really lost it when the Elves had kicked
his ass during the last Age. Murazor wished he was still lord of Angmar
and as far away from his crazy overlord as he could get.
Wasn't as if Murazor had a choice, though. Sauron would crush him like
an ant under his bootheel if he so much as uttered a rebellious word.
No way out of this contract.
Murazor glanced at the still-mortal Mouth, who by reputation had a most
expansive and perverse sexual appetite, something the Witch-King was
bitterly jealous of. How did the Mouth get the better bargain? Why
didn't Sauron force him to take a ring? But Murazor already knew the
answer - the man kissed ass like there was no tomorrow. If Murazor
still ate, he'd puke at the fawning adulation this creature showered
upon the Dark Lord.
Briefly, Murazor pondered the ramifications of inserting his Morgul-
Knife between the third and fourth rib of the Mouth's chest. But only
briefly; Sauron would have a fit if anything happened to his golden boy.
Then a thought struck him.
"Why are you called 'The Mouth'? I speak for Sauron as much as you do,
and no one's ever insisted on naming me after an orifice."
The Mouth's face flushed. "If you want to know how I got the name, just
ask my harem." He leered evilly at the Witch-King. "As for you being
an orifice, there's no doubt of that. One in particular comes to
mind..."
The Witch-King hissed in anger, his hand dropping to his knife. The
Mouth squawked and jumped back, landing hard on his ass.
"You wouldn't dare! Our Great Master would throw you to the Abyss if
you harmed me!"
"Master, shmaster," Murazor growled, creeping forward. The Mouth's lip
started to quiver, and Murazor grinned. Being invisible had some
advantages. He continued in his most threatening voice. "Insult me and
I shall tear your liver out with my bare hands, little man. No, worse,
I shall gouge out thine eyes and leave thee for the vultures and wolves
to feast on, I shall cut off thy manhood and toss it to the crows, I
shall-"
Murazor was just starting to get into the swing of things, thinking that
perhaps the day wasn't entirely lost after all with the Mouth cowering
before him, knees shaking, when the distant sound of a galloping horse
reached his ears. He swung around and ducked down behind a rock,
scanning the road.
"What is it?" The Mouth asked, cautiously creeping forward and keeping
well out of reach of Murazor. The Mouth's ears weren't quite as sharp
as the ringwraith's. "Is someone coming?"
"Stuff thy tongue back in thy mouth, Mouth." He glanced in his
companion's direction. "Or I'll cut that out first thing." The Mouth
shut up.
It was indeed a single horse and rider, coming down the road from
Imladris at high speed. As the rider approached, Murazor could pick out
the Rohirric dress and knew that it had to be Eomer returning; but why
was he pressing his horse so hard? What was he running from? At that
rate the animal would be dead before dusk.
"It's him! It's him!" the Mouth cried, jumping up. "Let's get the
little rat!" The Mouth started waving his hands before his face,
incanting a spell, but before he could finish he found himself laying on
the ground, his head ringing from a back-handed blow, the Lord of the
Nazgul's face inches from his own.
"Shut up, fool!" Murazor breathed. "The mortal is running from
something, mayhap for good reason. Could be a dragon or balrog. You
want to go down there and face off with one of those creatures?"
The Mouth shook his head violently. His knees were shaking again.
Murazor turned away from the Mouth and watched Eomer approach. Yes, he
was pressing his horse hard, and he kept glancing back up the road as if
Sauron himself were on his heels. The man was running for his life, and
Murazor knew that Eomer was no coward. This could be bad, very bad;
Eomer might be eaten or something before Murazor could take him.
Still, the Witch-King wasn't about to go and save him if the opposition
actually proved to be on the order of a dragon or balrog. Murazor had
managed to command these creatures before, but at great cost and risk;
no sense in looking for trouble. Besides, the Mouth would probably
screw something up and get them both toasted for his troubles. A world-
class sorcerer his companion was not.
He watched Eomer pass by at full gallop and continue down the road, then
looked up the path again to see what all the fuss was about. At first
he couldn't make anything out through the rising dust, but seconds later
he began to see elven figures running all out in an attempt to catch up
with Eomer. About a dozen in all, he thought.
The Mouth squinted at the approaching elves. "Too many to take on if
they're Lords," he said. "Wonder what Eomer did to piss off Elrond?
And how did he escape from Imladris in the first place?"
"No matter to us," the Witch-King replied. "If his mission failed so
spectacularly, all the better. We can count on the Elves sitting this
one out."
The elves, being elves, were moving almost as fast as Eomer's horse. As
they swiftly approached the hiding pair, the details of their dress - or
lack of it - became clear; as did the fact that all twelve were female.
Their clothing was strange, very revealing even for elves. In fact,
Murazor's eyes were bugging out of his head at the sight of the luscious
babes bouncing down the path in their tiny skirts and tight halters, the
clothes so form fitting that what little they were wearing might as well
not be there at all. Amazing.
"Ummm, ah...", the Mouth licked his lips. "Those aren't any elven lords
I've ever seen before. Perhaps we should take them captive and
interrogate them?" The Mouth's eyes were glazed and his breath was
rasping quickly through his open lips. It was clear to Murazor that the
Mouth had more than simple 'interrogation' in mind.
Murazor considered it. The elves were obviously young, mere teenagers.
The Mouth couldn't possibly mess this up. He looked at his companion.
"You think with the wrong head," Murazor commented. He glanced back at
the elven foxes, almost even with his position now, and the bitterness
of being a ringwraith washed over him again. "Go ahead, capture them if
you wish. Let's see the mighty Mouth in action."
The Mouth leered at him. "So you shall. Eat your heart out, wraith."
With that, the Mouth jumped out on the path directly before the young
elven women. They came to a halt before him, giving Murazor an eye-ful
from his hiding place. No wonder bloody elven men were always so
cheerful.
"Halt!" he cried. "In the name of Sauron submit yourselves to me or
face eternal doom!" He was waving his hands again, preparing a spell.
"Show-off," Murazor muttered from behind his rock.
The ladies were silent for a moment before one stepped forward. "A
mortal man," she observed. A mutter passed through the group, one which
sounded suspiciously like appreciation...or anticipation. "Did you say
you wanted us to submit?" The girl leaned forward, pushing her exposed
cleavage right under the Mouth's nose.
"Uh, yes, submit, right," the Mouth stammered. His spell fizzled as his
concentration wavered. "You're my prisoners, yes, that's it."
"Does that mean you're going to tie us up?" another maiden chimed in.
"Can we tie you up?" yet another asked.
"Yes, oh yes!" the others cried.
The elves closed up around the Mouth, completely surrounding him. 'Not
good', thought Murazor, green with envy. 'Any one of them could stick a
dagger in his back right now'. He found that he was actually hoping one
of them would.
For perhaps the second or third time in his life, the Mouth seemed
speechless, his countenance as close to bliss as was humanly possible.
He fumbled around in his belt-pouch, never taking his eyes of the bosoms
that pressed in from all sides.
"Handcuffs," he croaked, raising the strange metal objects he'd taken
from his pouch high for all to see.
"Oooooh!" the elves crowed. "Me first!" one yelled. "No, me!" another
cried. "Wait, him first!" a third chimed in. All of the ladies cheered
their approval at the last, and for a moment the Mouth disappeared from
Murazor's view, swarmed by the elves. The Witch-King was just about to
go down and extract his companion from the danger when the Mouth
reappeared, his hands secured firmly behind his back by the odd metal
devices.
"Fool!" Murazor muttered. "Captured so easily, and by teenage elven
maidens no less!"
The Mouth, however, didn't seem at all upset with the situation.
"What...what...are these uniforms that you wear? Never have I seen
their like." He groaned as the maidens giggled and began untying his
jerkin.
"We are cheerleaders," one replied. "We were sent to accompany the Lord
Eomer to Rohan, but alas, he has a fondness for horse-racing and so we
fell behind." She smiled up at the Mouth. "No matter, we can always
catch up with him later." She paused. "Perhaps much later."
"Urp," the Mouth said. His face had gone white at the word
'cheerleaders'.
Murazor was struck dumb by the revelation. Cheerleaders? By all the
dark gods, he'd heard about these sorceresses, some of the mightiest in
the land. It was said that they took pleasure in killing mortals
slowly, so sure they were of their powers; they used fell magic to snare
the minds of men. And the Mouth was their captive.
It appeared that Elrond had lent aid to the Free after all, much more
than Sauron had expected. This development could have dire
ramifications for the upcoming invasion; it was almost disastrous to
think of what these cheerleaders could do, driving Free troopers to a
frenzy in battle. 'The Dark Lord must be warned!', Murazor thought.
He looked back at the Mouth, now pinned to the ground and fully
disrobed. The maidens were also in various states of undress, giggling
with glee at the sight of their victim. Leaving the Mouth to his fate
would no doubt enrage Sauron, but there was no way that Murazor could
fight twelve of these cheerleaders. He had to get away before they
discovered him.
Although, really, he didn't want to get away. Not at all. He couldn't
for the life of him figure out what magical ritual required the ladies
to shed their clothing, but the sight was something not to be missed.
Even if all he could do now was watch.
Forcing down his rebellious thoughts, he crept away through the brush,
trying to ignore the Mouth as he began to moan from the tortures.
Strangely enough, it sounded like he was enjoying himself.
Murazor shuddered and broke into a run for his horse. There were some
things too evil for even him to mess with.
Last Word
=========
>From Tom Walton
Well, I originally included two articles in this issue of the Mouth to
act as 'filler'. Both were long-winded and terribly dull, good stuff if
you suffer from insomnia. My thinking was that if I put you, the
faithful reader, through that kind of torture, you'd feel obligated to
write something just to keep me from doing it again.
Our lack of submissions is kind of surprising. The readership of the
Mouth is larger than ever; we have something like 200 or so direct
subscribers, with a guesstimated ten times that many pulling it from
sites or web pages that feature it. You'd think with that many people
we'd be deluged with submissions.
Brian's already done the begging part, so I'll just point out that
without submissions we can't publish. The revival of the Mouth will be
one of the shortest in net history if we don't get stuff from you.
Because believe me, we aren't about to do all the work ourselves.
Aside from that, I'd like to hear what you think of the 2950 game over
the 1650 game. My initial thoughts were that it would be great to be in
a new scenario with a different balance, but now I'm starting to miss
the flexibility of the 1650 game. In the new scenario it's proving
extremely difficult to mount even a modest invasion of enemy territory,
and minor losses (by 1650 standards) can put a player out. There's no
room for mistakes, and because it's terribly hard for a single player to
take any nation out teamwork is a much bigger factor (not good, since
unless you join as a team it's pretty hard to create and sustain this
kind of chemistry).
So tell me what you think. You find the 2950 game refreshing?
Frustrating? A marketing ploy or an honest effort? You don't have to
write an article, just drop me some email with a line in it somewhere
telling me I can print it. I'd definitely like to see what you all have
to say.
Until next time (assuming we get some submissions!),
Tom
========================
Date: 03-05-95
Issue: E-28
Note: all authors retain exclusive rights to their
material. Reprinting is allowed for non-commercial
game use only.
The Mouth is edited by Brian Mason and Tom Walton. All
correspondence can be sent to them at:
Brian Mason - mason@chara.gsu.edu
Tom Walton - kazandar@aol.com, kazandar@delphi.com
First Word
==========
Well, gang it's another issue. There seems to be a continuing problem
getting submissions. While I like writing, it'd be nice to read somebody
else's work so submit something.
In the first incarnation of "From the Mouth of Sauron" we tried to
publish on a weekly basis. When we brought it out of hiatus the plan was
to stay current with the turns of game 22 (i.e. Mouth issue # = game 22
turn + 25), however, to that end, we also wanted a big enough issue to
send out and fell behind.
We're going to (over the next couple of issues) get caught back up
again, but the issues are going to be pretty thin unless we hear from
you. We'd like to hear more about encounters and other strategies for
the 1650 game, and we've already been getting submissions for the 2950
game (which we will hold until issue 35). We'd also like to see some
more fiction. While we've heard a little bit from one side in game 22,
there are quite a few other players in that game and other games where
other people can vent their creative spleen in an environment with an
absolute guarantee of no rejection slips.
Well, that's enough begging for now. Will see you in a week.
Brian
News from the Net
=================
A Noldor of the first
A fate uncertain had this Elf-Lord
One son tortured by blade and thirst
One confined in dakest pit by evil horde
I first tried Finarfin then Fingolfin. Both wrong. Maybe it is an ICE
based encounter. Any opinions?
Try Feanor. Maedhros fits the last line, Not really sure. Or it could be
Maedhros himself bt I don't know if he had a son.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm running a web site that has MEPBM data on it, but I'm not going to
put up any data for 2950 until I feel that the playing field needs
leveling again, and until there is enough data worthy of serving up
collected in one place [like the Mouth of Sauron].
Right now, there is nothing to put up but the startups really, and I
don't want to look at those, having just taken a place in the Mouth
email game [22] of the 2950 scenario, where the agreement [I think] is
to hold off on looking at such data until Turn 10.
Currently I have the startup data for the nations in the old game. I've
been working on putting the Mouth of Sauron on the Web, but that's not
really ready for production yet [I'll be putting a link up to that soon
though]. Once the Mouth is done, I'll be putting up data for artifacts,
encounters and riddles for the 1650 scenario. By then, the Mouth might
be up and running again.
If you want to check out my web site, here's a link to it:
<a href="http://pubweb.acns.nwu.edu/~phredd/MEPBM.html">MEPBM Page</A>
If you don't have news software that can deal with links, just copy the
part in quotes and give it to your web browser.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Could someone out there please tell me who the NPC Lomelinde is. THe
name isn't on any list that I have, but then again my lists are fairly
old. If anyone can help me out it would be much appreciated. Thanks in
advance.
In the 1650 game at least, Lomelinde is not an NPC but a Dark Servant
Agent, and one of the better ones at that.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I have a riddle in the Middle Earth Play by Mail game that I have no
clue on...and some of you might see why...I am hoping there is somebody
out there with both knowledge and kindness to help me out.
The riddle is:
d r o u k n n a l t a o h n i
That is it. There is an ' accent above the first o and a ^ accent above
the u. If anybody out there has any idea about what the answer might
be, please let me know. It will be a one or two word answer.
Hell, this one is hard. I can see the last seven letters forming
the word "Thalion" - the title of Hurin meaning the Steadfast, and
"Narn" - Lay - in the beginning - but damn my eyes if it helps at all...
Maybe we take away "thalion" and play with the rest, and come up with
some "Korudnan" or "Rudonnak", whatever this might mean. By the way, why
two words? Certainly not one, but maybe three or four ?
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Rogues Gallery
==================
Wes Fortin
==========
I've played in numerous games so far, but usually play a support nation
so I've never placed.
1) 60: My first game - a team game. I was the Arthedain. Without
going into great detail, the Free team consisted of superior players but
a lack of cooperation/coordination and general lone wolf tendencies of
some of the players caused the Free to loose to a well coordinated but
inferior team after about a zillion agonizing turns.
2) 96: Standard game. I had a blast in this game as the Witch King. I
owned half of Cardolan, Arthedain, and the Woodmen before the entire
Free team ganged up and eliminated me. As a result, the Mordor nations
had breathing room to rebuild and are currently stomping the Free. I
was almost saved, but four successful InfOther on a MT with a loyalty
under 15 (on each of the four turns) refused to fall to my emissary.
So, a bit of bad luck did me in. Thanks for a great game Adam!
2) 104: Team Game. I played the Blind Sorcerer and, like 60, bad
teamwork killed this game, but quickly. I found out, much to my
chagrin, just as the game was getting interesting for me, the vast bulk
of my team mates had dropped. I soon followed.
3) 133. Team Game. I played the Woodmen on this team and, for the
first time, had a pleasant team experience. The Free were organized and
unified. We crushed the DS very quickly.
4) 160. Team Game. I was so giddy at the success in 133, I got
involved in another team game as the Long Rider. Again, had a blast!
Good teamwork and a positive attitude on the team's part resulted in a
rapid collapse of the Free.
5) 185. Standard Game - ongoing. Again, I'm the Blind Sorcerer. It's
still early in the game but the Dark seem to be kicking butt. Almost
all the Free positions have been dropped and picked up by standbys. I
will probably place in this game because, for the first time, I'm trying
to. I've always felt the Blind Sorcerer was an underated nation - and
I'm trying to prove it!
6) 2950/22. Team Game - ongoing. This game started off bad. Divisive
elements in key Dark Servant positions brought back ghosts of 60 and
104. I dropped as the Witch King rather than endure numerous turns of
flaming and a slow death at the hands of the enemy. This snowballed
into others on the team dropping. But, all the divisive elements
dropped also. Dave Holt held the team together, and I rejoined as the
Dragon Lord. The team picked up some other good players to fill the
holes, and a team is starting to form. Kudos to Dave! We'll give the
freeps a good fight now!
7) 2950/??. Team Game - yet to start. Will play the Silvan Elves with
some of my favorite team mates. Should be a great game!
My Strengths:
I play/build well-rounded nations but am more known for my economic and
character game. I like to hit enemies with agents/emmies/ and military
might, all at the same time if possible - and use mages for intelligence
gathering and additional troops (Conjure Hordes) if appropriate.
My Weaknesses:
I tend to work best when I'm paired with at least one good leader type
so I can play "vizier", the guy that does the sanity check for the
leader and the team.
However, I will take on a leadership mantle if needed - but my lack of
patience can make me a less than optimal leader. My direct style of
problem solving can put off some players that prefer sugar coatings on
thier pills, as opposed to a chain-mail gauntlet ramming it down thier
throats (my typical style). <grin> That's why I work better as #2!
Nation Preferences:
None. I'll play anything! The "weak" nations are fun because I like to
build them up. The "strong" nations are fun because I can pound the
enemy faster.
Top Ten Reasons to Join the Free Peoples
========================================
10. Exemplary health plan & retirement benefits
9. Surfin' on the Anduin
8. Free cookbook - "1001 ways to prepare Lembas"
7. Galadriel - major babe
6. Orcs' annoying tendency to dig up yard
5. Beorn isn't just the President - he's also a client!
4. Coming soon: 900 number for Imladris
3. Otherwise Dwarves will come to your house and sing
2. Bungee jumping off Mt. Mindolluin
1. Two words: Sauron bites
Top Ten Reasons to Join the Dark Servants
=========================================
10. Blind Sorcerer will let you wear his pointy hat
9. Orcish booze kicks ass
8. Excellent skiing in Morgul Vale
7. Get to meet Smokey the Bear (sorry, that's a reason
to join the Park Service)
6. Get to put "Servant of Sauron" on all business cards
5. Free video - "Assassination for Fun and Profit"
4. Market for rotted, barren wasteland poised to skyrocket
in '95
3. Dark Lord is really a nice guy, once you get to know him
2. Shelob connecting Mordor to World Wide Web
1. Galadriel? Closet Democrat
Untitled Fiction
================
>From Dave and Rochelle
Dirty orange lamplight washed over the map, muddying mountains and
valleys into a mass of shadow that seemed to seep from the gates of
Mordor.
Not an inaccurate metaphor, thought Erkenbrand as he stared at the map.
We triumphed the last time, but they keep *coming*. How are we going
to stop them . . .
A gust of rain-wet wind blew into the tent as Elfhelm swept inside,
water dripping from his helm and his long, drooping moustache.
"You look like you just swam the Anduin," Erkenbrand said, looking up.
"Are the pickets set until morning?"
"Yes sir," Elfhelm said. He shrugged out of his oilskin, hanging it on
the centerpost to dry. "I hate this damn sea air. I can't wait 'til
we're back on the plains." Dropping his helmet on a camp stool, he ran
his fingers though his hair with a sigh and walked over to the table.
"Hmm. This doesn't look any better than when I left."
Erkenbrand looked up and sighed. "No. We destroyed two armies last
week, so they send us three armies to destroy this week." He rubbed
his eyes as though trying to wipe away the dark circles of exhaustion
beneath them. "Sooner or later they have to run out of orcs."
"Yeah, and when they run out of orcs, they'll send trolls. And when we
kill all the trolls, they'll send goblins. And by the time the Anduin
runs red with goblin blood, they will have grown more orcs to send."
He looked at his commander. "You really should get some rest, sir."
"After we finish planning the attack. Regent Adrahil is supposed to
stop by in the morning to coordinate any last-minute changes, and I
want to be ready."
Erkenbrand turned his attention to the red, green and black pins stuck
into the map. Hmm. If we could do *that*, then they'd have to . . .
"Have the ents decided if they will be able to help us when the attack
comes?"
"They are debating that now, sir," Elfhelm said with a sigh. "It might
take a while. They consider all this maneuver and engagement somewhat,
ah, 'hasty' I think Fladrif said."
Erkenbrand snorted. "Well, we'll take whatever allies we can g-"
"Ware! Assassins!" came the cry from outside. Two dark-cloaked figures
dashed into the tent, throwing daggers as they lunged forward. Elfhelm
whirled, drawing his sword. As he turned, a dagger glanced off his
mailed chest. He slashed out with a wild, one-handed swipe that bit
into the agent's shoulder. The assassin grunted, but kept moving and
rolled under the tent flap before Elfhelm could strike again.
Erkenbrand turned a hair more slowly--getting old, he thought as he felt
the dagger bounce off his back. But his hand closed not on a sword
hilt, but on the lantern handle. He smashed it against his assailant's
head, shattering the lamp globe, dousing the agent in burning oil. The
agent let out an inhuman hissing sound then quelled the flames with some
harsh, guttural word.
"Nazgul," breathed Erkenbrand, temporarily stunned by the display of
magic. He shook his head to clear it as the wraith seemed to melt into
the shadows.
"Eorlingas, to me!" he bellowed and launched himself at the fleeing
shadow. But too late. The wraith was gone.
It was all over in just a few heartbeats. A split second later, Hama
staggered into the tent, one hand holding a torch, the other pressed
against a bleeding wound in his side. "My lords, are you all right?"
"Better than you are, brave Hama, although we might not have been if not
for your warning," said Erkenbrand as he and Elfhelm eased their
lieutennant onto a cot. Pounding footsteps outside heralded the arrival
of other troops. They burst into the tent, swords drawn, the surgeon
not far behind.
"Don't just stand there, you fools!" growled Erkenbrand. "Raise the
camp! 50 gold pieces to the man who brings me those agents!" The
troopers sprinted off to spread the alarm and begin scouring the
underbrush.
Erkenbrand turned his attention back to Hama, now under the care of the
surgeon. Hama looked up. "Sorry I failed you sir. Just didn't see
them coming." He was about to say more but the surgeon's work on the
wound made him gasp and blanch.
"Ah but you did not fail me," said Erkenbrand, looking down kindly on
the young commander. "Your warning saved our lives and foiled their
plans. Rest now, you have done well."
"Ah, good," said Old Cateleb, the surgeon. "You'll be back in the thick
of things in no time, my lad. It's bloody, but it's a relatively minor
wound. No sign of poison. I'll stitch it up and it'll be fine."
Looking at Elfhelm, "M'lord, do you have wine or mead I could use to
disinfect the wound?"
"Yes, of course. I'll get it right now." Elfhelm strode out of the
tent, calling to his page.
Erkenbrand prodded one of the daggers with the toe of his boot. Black
ichor gleamed on the blade in the shaky torchlight. So. What they
cannot do by honorable combat they would do by poison, eh? He shook
his head. How many more would die before the evil was driven from the
land? He took the torch and carefully burned the poison off both the
daggers as his page arrived with a new lamp and began to clean up the
shattered one. Hama lay gasping, pale and drawn under the surgoen's
gnarled hands.
The new lamp lit, Erkenbrand extinguished the torch and parted the tent
flap. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He
toyed absently with the cuff of his tunic sleeve, now frayed and
scorched by his desperate attack on the nazgul. I wish I were back on
the grasslands, he thought.
Behind him he could hear Old Cateleb fussing and muttering over his
wounded charge, and he smiled with grim satisfaction. "Well, there, at
least, is one you did not claim," he wispered to the vanished nazgul as
he stood in the soft Gondorian rainfall, dreaming of home.
Grudge Games, II
================
by Brian Mason
Part Four: The Team Dynamic
In my consideration of the most appropriate way to start a game composed
of twenty-five different subscribers of "From the Mouth of Sauron" only
one factor was sufficient to warrant being a player, that they were an
email subscriber to the ezine (with apologies to Jeff Holzhauer and
other postal mail subscribers).
The exact method for determining who would play which position was
outlined in the last issue. In developing a "team game" in this manner a
characteristic was ignored which is possibly the single most important
issue in a game, that of the dynamics of the various players.
The issue of player types has been addressed by David Foreman (Free
People Press, May 1993) and Tom Walton (Personalities to Play By,
Whispers of the Wood, November 1993). This article does not attempt to
extend or extrapolate upon this earlier work but simply to point out
that all people play the game in a different manner and interact with
each other in different ways not all of which can be predicted.
Let me stress here that the following a suggestions for how to get a
team together. As a result of the unique method for assigning positions
in game 22 this was not possible. How well individuals could get along
in this game is simply the luck of the draw.
An axiom: Ten superior players do not a superior team make.
Those of you with some following of sports may remember when my dear
Atlanta Hawks were on the verge of becoming a great team they went free
agent shopping for what were considered there two weakest positions
drafting all-star talent. After securing Reggie Theus and Moses Malone
the Hawks were picked by many if not most of the "experts" to win it all
the next year.
It didn't happen.
Not even close.
The five people on the court did not have a team mentality, and as a
result the second unit was usually more productive having played
together for many years despite weaker skills.
The point is this. Picking out players for a game you should consider
not only the skill level of people (and remember all players get better)
but also their interpersonal skills.
But even with this their is a hidden problem. Until you get people
playing together you never will know how they play together. Every game,
even if you could somehow have the same group of ten will have a new set
of situations and obstacles to deal with, all of which will make each
game unique.
There are certain "player types" (as described in the articles cited
above) which are good to avoid, but characterizing a person as a player
type is often difficult: "Hi my name is Brian, I'm a role-player sage
diplomat with warrior tendencies." Characterizing a player type is often
difficult, subject to the biases of the person doing the
characterization, and can be offensive to people.
The best suggestions I think I can give for this game are to make up
teams of people who do not play selfishly and who you enjoy playing
with.
Part Five: Comments from Wes Fortin
I solicited opinions about the problems in Game 22 from the players. In
addition to some insights into that game a truly exceptional player
shared some general comments about team play in general. The following
comments are from Wes Fortin, a fabulous player with far more gaming
experience than your truly.
"First and foremost... TALK TO EACH OTHER! Plan out your nations goals,
strengths, and weaknesses and work with others in such a way that the
teams goals are the same/similar, strengths are utilized and weaknesses
covered. Suggest plans for your attacks and how others could help
enhance the success. If you disagree with a plan, state your position
neutrally and suggest alternatives. Be prepared to compromise and
sometimes bow to the will of the team."
"It is critical that battle plans are detailed. Plot out army movement,
character allocation, and ensure that those nations involved get
funds/supplies to accomplish their mission. Most mature players will not
feel as though someone is trying to `run their nation' or `write their
orders' if a plan is agreed on."
"Help the newbees - try to avoid team mistakes that derail more plans
than luck. How often have you seen critical characters move to the wrong
hex, or armies take a really bad route - thus failing to be where they
needed to be for the plans timing? I've seen more than one gold transfer
fail because a newbee (or even an experienced player) didn't know or
miswrote the syntax for one of the screwiest orders in the game (948)."
"Well, I'm rambling on but hopefully have provided some material you
would find useful in your article [ahem, yes I think so - Brian]. To
close, I would say the most critical element in a good Grudge Game is
the selection of players for the teams. A close second is constructive
and respectful communication between team members."
Part Six: On Game 22
In game 22 there are many people with whom I am playing for the first
time, but there are also many people (on all three sides) whom I have
played with (or against) many times.
However, the way the positions were assigned led to an unfortunate and
almost disastrous grouping among the Dark Servants. I've spoken with the
principles about this incident and have gotten conflicting stories, but
the bottom line here is not really who is at fault but that the lack of
polite communication and inactivity by some of the more important player
positions almost destroyed a team consisting of some of the better
players in me-pbm.
After the Dark Servant team almost collapsed and then climbed back into
the saddle I asked the various parties on the Dark Servant side to share
their thoughts about team games with me. Several of the players who are
now no longer in the game made some comments which they asked me to not
publish openly. This request I will keep. Others who are in the game
made comments but with no such request. As a player in this game, I have
personal feelings about who was at fault here. However, as the person
writing this article and an editor of this ezine I think I owe some
measure of responsibility to unbiased presentation of data. Not being
able to present a side may lead to an unbiased slant for this article.
While I could at this point either report what I have leave to say or to
request submissions for all interested parties, I think this may not
serve the greater good. The bad events, having passed, are best left in
history. A quick summary will suffice.
In all of this there was some acrimonious name calling which went so far
as to sometimes suggest that the assignment of positions were not done
in an equitable manner. I tried to take this with a grain of salt, and
hoped it was the product of people looking for blame in the face of
great adversity, rather than serious acusations which were being leveled
directly at me. However, I must confess that it was these events which
led me to write this multi-part article, to clarify once more exactly
how fairly things were done.
Some of the players (those who, according to several reports, were
primarily responsible for the bad blood) decided to quit the game. At
one point there were even discussions of requesting all the neutrals to
join the Dark Servants to preserve play balance. Now, thanks to some
heroic efforts, both the Dark Servants team and the game itself have
been saved. Many thanks to Harold at GSI for communicating to us so
quickly, to Phredd Groves for stepping into a difficult position at a
difficult time, and to Dave Holt for keeping the whole ball of wax
together.
Outside of Imladris
===================
By Tom Walton
Er-Murazor, King of the Nazgul and dreaded Right Hand of the Dark Lord
himself, watched the Great Road with keen intensity, impressing his
reluctant companion, the Mouth of Sauron, with his perseverance. They'd
been perched among the rocks overlooking the highway for well nigh three
days now, spying for unusual activity among the Free Folk coming from
Imladris.
At least, that's what the Mouth thought. In fact, Murazor was bored
silly and had spent most of the time daydreaming of becoming mortal
again. 'Tis a hard thing, being a wraith and so unable to attract the
interest of a woman. An especially hard thing when one considered that
the last time one enjoyed the company of a woman was millenia in the
past.
'Never should've taken that ring', Murazor thought with some bitterness,
probably for the ten thousandth time. 'Father used to say "if it's too
good to be true, then it is". But did I listen? Noooosiree.'
Rumor had it that Eomer, nephew of Theoden, had come to Elrond's home
some weeks before to ask the elf for aid. And, as Elrond's magic made
Imladris difficult to find, the best the Nazgul could come up with was
to wait for Eomer to reemerge and take the same path home that he used
to get to Rivendell. Mayhap then they could capture the poor barbarian
fool and torture useful information from him.
But this waiting...it always depressed the Witch-King. What good was
immortality if you couldn't enjoy the pleasures of being mortal? And
that Sauron, talk about a looney-toon of the first order; painting ugly
red eyes all over the palace of Barad-dur, pining over his stupid Ring
day and night. The Maia had really lost it when the Elves had kicked
his ass during the last Age. Murazor wished he was still lord of Angmar
and as far away from his crazy overlord as he could get.
Wasn't as if Murazor had a choice, though. Sauron would crush him like
an ant under his bootheel if he so much as uttered a rebellious word.
No way out of this contract.
Murazor glanced at the still-mortal Mouth, who by reputation had a most
expansive and perverse sexual appetite, something the Witch-King was
bitterly jealous of. How did the Mouth get the better bargain? Why
didn't Sauron force him to take a ring? But Murazor already knew the
answer - the man kissed ass like there was no tomorrow. If Murazor
still ate, he'd puke at the fawning adulation this creature showered
upon the Dark Lord.
Briefly, Murazor pondered the ramifications of inserting his Morgul-
Knife between the third and fourth rib of the Mouth's chest. But only
briefly; Sauron would have a fit if anything happened to his golden boy.
Then a thought struck him.
"Why are you called 'The Mouth'? I speak for Sauron as much as you do,
and no one's ever insisted on naming me after an orifice."
The Mouth's face flushed. "If you want to know how I got the name, just
ask my harem." He leered evilly at the Witch-King. "As for you being
an orifice, there's no doubt of that. One in particular comes to
mind..."
The Witch-King hissed in anger, his hand dropping to his knife. The
Mouth squawked and jumped back, landing hard on his ass.
"You wouldn't dare! Our Great Master would throw you to the Abyss if
you harmed me!"
"Master, shmaster," Murazor growled, creeping forward. The Mouth's lip
started to quiver, and Murazor grinned. Being invisible had some
advantages. He continued in his most threatening voice. "Insult me and
I shall tear your liver out with my bare hands, little man. No, worse,
I shall gouge out thine eyes and leave thee for the vultures and wolves
to feast on, I shall cut off thy manhood and toss it to the crows, I
shall-"
Murazor was just starting to get into the swing of things, thinking that
perhaps the day wasn't entirely lost after all with the Mouth cowering
before him, knees shaking, when the distant sound of a galloping horse
reached his ears. He swung around and ducked down behind a rock,
scanning the road.
"What is it?" The Mouth asked, cautiously creeping forward and keeping
well out of reach of Murazor. The Mouth's ears weren't quite as sharp
as the ringwraith's. "Is someone coming?"
"Stuff thy tongue back in thy mouth, Mouth." He glanced in his
companion's direction. "Or I'll cut that out first thing." The Mouth
shut up.
It was indeed a single horse and rider, coming down the road from
Imladris at high speed. As the rider approached, Murazor could pick out
the Rohirric dress and knew that it had to be Eomer returning; but why
was he pressing his horse so hard? What was he running from? At that
rate the animal would be dead before dusk.
"It's him! It's him!" the Mouth cried, jumping up. "Let's get the
little rat!" The Mouth started waving his hands before his face,
incanting a spell, but before he could finish he found himself laying on
the ground, his head ringing from a back-handed blow, the Lord of the
Nazgul's face inches from his own.
"Shut up, fool!" Murazor breathed. "The mortal is running from
something, mayhap for good reason. Could be a dragon or balrog. You
want to go down there and face off with one of those creatures?"
The Mouth shook his head violently. His knees were shaking again.
Murazor turned away from the Mouth and watched Eomer approach. Yes, he
was pressing his horse hard, and he kept glancing back up the road as if
Sauron himself were on his heels. The man was running for his life, and
Murazor knew that Eomer was no coward. This could be bad, very bad;
Eomer might be eaten or something before Murazor could take him.
Still, the Witch-King wasn't about to go and save him if the opposition
actually proved to be on the order of a dragon or balrog. Murazor had
managed to command these creatures before, but at great cost and risk;
no sense in looking for trouble. Besides, the Mouth would probably
screw something up and get them both toasted for his troubles. A world-
class sorcerer his companion was not.
He watched Eomer pass by at full gallop and continue down the road, then
looked up the path again to see what all the fuss was about. At first
he couldn't make anything out through the rising dust, but seconds later
he began to see elven figures running all out in an attempt to catch up
with Eomer. About a dozen in all, he thought.
The Mouth squinted at the approaching elves. "Too many to take on if
they're Lords," he said. "Wonder what Eomer did to piss off Elrond?
And how did he escape from Imladris in the first place?"
"No matter to us," the Witch-King replied. "If his mission failed so
spectacularly, all the better. We can count on the Elves sitting this
one out."
The elves, being elves, were moving almost as fast as Eomer's horse. As
they swiftly approached the hiding pair, the details of their dress - or
lack of it - became clear; as did the fact that all twelve were female.
Their clothing was strange, very revealing even for elves. In fact,
Murazor's eyes were bugging out of his head at the sight of the luscious
babes bouncing down the path in their tiny skirts and tight halters, the
clothes so form fitting that what little they were wearing might as well
not be there at all. Amazing.
"Ummm, ah...", the Mouth licked his lips. "Those aren't any elven lords
I've ever seen before. Perhaps we should take them captive and
interrogate them?" The Mouth's eyes were glazed and his breath was
rasping quickly through his open lips. It was clear to Murazor that the
Mouth had more than simple 'interrogation' in mind.
Murazor considered it. The elves were obviously young, mere teenagers.
The Mouth couldn't possibly mess this up. He looked at his companion.
"You think with the wrong head," Murazor commented. He glanced back at
the elven foxes, almost even with his position now, and the bitterness
of being a ringwraith washed over him again. "Go ahead, capture them if
you wish. Let's see the mighty Mouth in action."
The Mouth leered at him. "So you shall. Eat your heart out, wraith."
With that, the Mouth jumped out on the path directly before the young
elven women. They came to a halt before him, giving Murazor an eye-ful
from his hiding place. No wonder bloody elven men were always so
cheerful.
"Halt!" he cried. "In the name of Sauron submit yourselves to me or
face eternal doom!" He was waving his hands again, preparing a spell.
"Show-off," Murazor muttered from behind his rock.
The ladies were silent for a moment before one stepped forward. "A
mortal man," she observed. A mutter passed through the group, one which
sounded suspiciously like appreciation...or anticipation. "Did you say
you wanted us to submit?" The girl leaned forward, pushing her exposed
cleavage right under the Mouth's nose.
"Uh, yes, submit, right," the Mouth stammered. His spell fizzled as his
concentration wavered. "You're my prisoners, yes, that's it."
"Does that mean you're going to tie us up?" another maiden chimed in.
"Can we tie you up?" yet another asked.
"Yes, oh yes!" the others cried.
The elves closed up around the Mouth, completely surrounding him. 'Not
good', thought Murazor, green with envy. 'Any one of them could stick a
dagger in his back right now'. He found that he was actually hoping one
of them would.
For perhaps the second or third time in his life, the Mouth seemed
speechless, his countenance as close to bliss as was humanly possible.
He fumbled around in his belt-pouch, never taking his eyes of the bosoms
that pressed in from all sides.
"Handcuffs," he croaked, raising the strange metal objects he'd taken
from his pouch high for all to see.
"Oooooh!" the elves crowed. "Me first!" one yelled. "No, me!" another
cried. "Wait, him first!" a third chimed in. All of the ladies cheered
their approval at the last, and for a moment the Mouth disappeared from
Murazor's view, swarmed by the elves. The Witch-King was just about to
go down and extract his companion from the danger when the Mouth
reappeared, his hands secured firmly behind his back by the odd metal
devices.
"Fool!" Murazor muttered. "Captured so easily, and by teenage elven
maidens no less!"
The Mouth, however, didn't seem at all upset with the situation.
"What...what...are these uniforms that you wear? Never have I seen
their like." He groaned as the maidens giggled and began untying his
jerkin.
"We are cheerleaders," one replied. "We were sent to accompany the Lord
Eomer to Rohan, but alas, he has a fondness for horse-racing and so we
fell behind." She smiled up at the Mouth. "No matter, we can always
catch up with him later." She paused. "Perhaps much later."
"Urp," the Mouth said. His face had gone white at the word
'cheerleaders'.
Murazor was struck dumb by the revelation. Cheerleaders? By all the
dark gods, he'd heard about these sorceresses, some of the mightiest in
the land. It was said that they took pleasure in killing mortals
slowly, so sure they were of their powers; they used fell magic to snare
the minds of men. And the Mouth was their captive.
It appeared that Elrond had lent aid to the Free after all, much more
than Sauron had expected. This development could have dire
ramifications for the upcoming invasion; it was almost disastrous to
think of what these cheerleaders could do, driving Free troopers to a
frenzy in battle. 'The Dark Lord must be warned!', Murazor thought.
He looked back at the Mouth, now pinned to the ground and fully
disrobed. The maidens were also in various states of undress, giggling
with glee at the sight of their victim. Leaving the Mouth to his fate
would no doubt enrage Sauron, but there was no way that Murazor could
fight twelve of these cheerleaders. He had to get away before they
discovered him.
Although, really, he didn't want to get away. Not at all. He couldn't
for the life of him figure out what magical ritual required the ladies
to shed their clothing, but the sight was something not to be missed.
Even if all he could do now was watch.
Forcing down his rebellious thoughts, he crept away through the brush,
trying to ignore the Mouth as he began to moan from the tortures.
Strangely enough, it sounded like he was enjoying himself.
Murazor shuddered and broke into a run for his horse. There were some
things too evil for even him to mess with.
Last Word
=========
>From Tom Walton
Well, I originally included two articles in this issue of the Mouth to
act as 'filler'. Both were long-winded and terribly dull, good stuff if
you suffer from insomnia. My thinking was that if I put you, the
faithful reader, through that kind of torture, you'd feel obligated to
write something just to keep me from doing it again.
Our lack of submissions is kind of surprising. The readership of the
Mouth is larger than ever; we have something like 200 or so direct
subscribers, with a guesstimated ten times that many pulling it from
sites or web pages that feature it. You'd think with that many people
we'd be deluged with submissions.
Brian's already done the begging part, so I'll just point out that
without submissions we can't publish. The revival of the Mouth will be
one of the shortest in net history if we don't get stuff from you.
Because believe me, we aren't about to do all the work ourselves.
Aside from that, I'd like to hear what you think of the 2950 game over
the 1650 game. My initial thoughts were that it would be great to be in
a new scenario with a different balance, but now I'm starting to miss
the flexibility of the 1650 game. In the new scenario it's proving
extremely difficult to mount even a modest invasion of enemy territory,
and minor losses (by 1650 standards) can put a player out. There's no
room for mistakes, and because it's terribly hard for a single player to
take any nation out teamwork is a much bigger factor (not good, since
unless you join as a team it's pretty hard to create and sustain this
kind of chemistry).
So tell me what you think. You find the 2950 game refreshing?
Frustrating? A marketing ploy or an honest effort? You don't have to
write an article, just drop me some email with a line in it somewhere
telling me I can print it. I'd definitely like to see what you all have
to say.
Until next time (assuming we get some submissions!),
Tom