Temujin's Cold Fury

[Sullla]

I recently wrote up a story to go along with the report for my last competition game, Epic 21, and I thought I would share it with the others who have been writing stories in this forum. Since I have a large number of pictures to go along with this tale - and it would be considerably over the character limit if I reproduced the full thing here - I'm going to provide a link to my website where the full story is hosted. You can find the whole thing at Sullla's Civ3 Page at this provided link.

I've also put up the story here on this forum; just scroll down in this thread to read it.

[Jeremy 2.0]

I would have liked more on the blizzard but that's probably because an idea I'm working on sorta kinda involves snowy weather.

But any story with the word "leer" gets my

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Great excerpt Sullla and I did use the link and read some more on the site, but please could you post the rest here. I understand if you are tight for time but I would and Im sure others would too really appreciate it if you could see your way to posting us the rest.

[History Guy]

Very good stuff. It (re)inspired me to start another epic...this is the one about China I've been planning forever...with Temujin, Tokugawa, Wang Kon, and friends involved.

[Sullla]

Alright, the commentators have spoken and I will move the entire story here to these forums. Just understand that it's pretty long (about 30-35 pages of text) and it won't make quite as much sense without the accompanying report. I will add in a few pictures from the report so it makes sense though. Let's see how this turns out...

[Sullla]

Temujin's Cold Fury

This story details an Emperor PTW game that I played as the Mongols. It was part of a larger competition, the Realms Beyond Civ Epic #21; the curious can find out more information and how others did in the same game at this address. You can also read the full story of the game at my Civ3 Page by clicking on that link. But since I've been requested to present the story here, you can also read the somewhat abridged version here by just scrolling down the page.



* * * * *

Introduction
Temujin gazed out across the desolate tundra to which he had lead his people. Snow covered everything in a blanket of hazy white, hinting at but not quite revealing rocky outcroppings and low rolling hills. A large river to the south was still flowing beneath a thin layer of ice as if to mock the bitter cold, slowly working its way to the coast that was little more than a blur on the horizon. Temujin knew that that ice was not strong enough to support the weight of a man. Several of his followers had found that out the hard way.

It was a hard land, one that would kill off all but the most determined and resourceful of tribes. But there was food to be found here, for those who were willing to take the time to look for it: the woods to the east were teaming with fine game, filled with majestic elk and ****gy reindeer that could be brought down with a bow and a skilled hand. The rough grasslands to the west were fertile enough to support the hardy grain and barley that the Mongols used as the staple of their diet. And even the sea itself produced silver-scaled fish to spice their meals, for those with the skill to catch the elusive creatures.

A harsh land to shape a harsh people, echoed through Temujin's thoughts. A broken-toothed grin spread across the face of the great khan as he called out orders to his assorted clansmen and hangers-on. Puzzlement little short of open confusion played across their faces as they were told that the Mongols would be ending their nomadic ways to found a great city here, but no one questioned his orders. No one would dare. The wind whistling across the barren tundra cut the small band of settlers like a fine dagger, but Temujin's spirits remained as crisp and clean as the air around him. There was a great deal of work to be done. A very great deal.

[Sullla]

I can't believe that the forum here censored out the word "sha-ggy" in describing a reindeer in the above post. That is political correctness gone WAY too far; I wonder what this forum would do to Shakespeare's plays? Sigh.

I start on a continent with the Russians. I expand out, found a number of cities, and eventually upgrade a number of warriors to swords as seen in the following pictures. The scene in the story takes place at that time.

Starting continent (note that this game uses the PTW winter tileset):


Upgrade time:


* * * * *

Chapter 1
The sun was little more than a pale disk appearing on the eastern horizon when the small party slipped into the empty morning streets of Tabriz. Temujin stared at the rising ball of flame for a few seconds, adjusting his eyes to the brilliant glare of light reflecting off the waves of the city's harbor, before turning the small group towards their destination. The streets rose on a series of hills shaped to the natural geography of the land as it rose from the coast, creating a disorganized series of intersections and cul de sacks that no one but a local could navigate without quickly losing direction. Tabriz was not a particularly large town - certainly nothing to compare to the capital, or even Kazan - but it was no ramshackle fishing village either. It would take a few minutes to get where they were going through the twisting and turning streets.

"Do we have to do this today, at this hour, great khan?" whined a voice from behind Temujin. That would be Fyodor, the Russian emissary that Catherine had sent when she founded an embassy a few years ago. Fyodor was a short and stout man who seemed enormously out of place surrounded by the tough and lean Mongols that made up the rest of Temujin's party. He had the habit of complaining incessently at the slightest hardship and sniffed at a scented hankerchief whenever he thought Temujin wasn't paying attention.

Temujin had detested him on the spot when he had arrived, and the feeling had not diminished since.

"I don't see what purpose this trip serves anyway," continued the little Russian. "Why would you need to inspect the barracks in such a primitive town? That's the military advisor's job; I certainly wouldn't sully my hands by consorting with filthy soliders if I were in charge. If I may say so, that is, great khan. And all this walking! My legs feel as though they are about to come off! We should have brought horses - but I guess I couldn't expect anything like that in this primitive hovel." Fyodor concluded by sniffing at his perfumed hankerchief pointedly.

Temujin didn't mind the walk in the least; he made a point of jogging several miles every day and running over a dozen miles once a week with the young Mongol warriors. He could still manage to beat many of the boys that were half his age. Rather than telling the Russian emissary that he could stand to benefit from the exercise, Temujin replied in a friendly voice. "Don't worry comrade, we've almost reached our first stop. And I think that Catherine will be most interested to hear about what I have to show you today."

"She had better," Fyodor muttered sullenly.

True to his word, they had already come to the first destination that Temujin had planned for the morning. It was not the barracks that Fyodor had alluded to, but instead a mighty forge sitting on the western edge of the town. Only one street led up to the large stone building that sat by itself; no one wanted too live to close to the incessant sound of the blacksmith's trade. Motioning all but two of his guards to wait outside, Temujin entered the forge with his unhappy Russian companion in tow.

The view inside looked like something straight out of hell itself. Though the sun was just barely over the horizon, dozens of men were already crowded inside the building working at a variety of tasks. Apprentices who were little more than boys manned the great bellows that heated the furnaces while older apprentices did more skilled tasks; here pouring out molten iron, there quenching finished blades in barrels of water or oil. Above the din of men hard at work rose the incessant pounding of the master smiths, hard at work turning liquid metal into fine blades. There were more than a score of them in all, though fewer than half were at work at the moment. You wouldn't have known that from the sound though, or the fiery glow that filled the entire building.

Temujin wandered through the building in haphazard fashion, stopping to see and be seen by the workers. He shook hands with a several of the smiths, exchanged a few words with others, and generally politicized for all that he was worth. Grins appeared on the faces of the men who spotted their leader, but work never stopped for more than a few minutes before they reapplied themselves to the task at hand. After he had made a complete circuit of the forge, Temujin returned to the entryway to rejoin the other members of the little group.

"So, Fyodor, what do you think of the ironworks we have set up here?" asked the khan, his face splitting into a smile to reveal broken and uneven teeth.

"I...impressive," the Russian stuttered back. "On par with those in Moscow itself. But why did you build something like it here?"

Temujin waved his question away with a laugh. "You will know why before the day is done, my friend," he replied. Without saying another word, he signaled again to his two bodyguards and walked out of the building into the chilly morning air. Fyodor had no choice but to follow in his wake or be left behind.

On the route to their next destination, Fyodor tried to glean more information out of Temujin, but the khan fended him off with uninformative short responses such as "we will see" and "wait and find out". He could have laughed at the confusion and frustration on the fat little man's face, though of course Temujin's face revealed nothing he did not want it to. Fyodor was a fool, but he was not stupid. He had to be wondering why Temujin would have led him to see what was clearly a closely guarded secret of the Mongols, and why it had been built in Tabriz, of all places. He also had to be wondering how Temujin had come across the money needed to finance such an undertaking. Little did he know that the entire treasuryhad been sacrificed to purchase the iron and equipment needed for the massive upgrade that Temujin was carrying out. That was one thing that the Russian was not going to find out on this trip. As for what he would discover...

"We're here," annouced Temujin as they reached the barracks that sat in the center of the city. This time the entire bodyguard followed their leader inside, though Fyodor was not paying attention to the guards. The barracks was a simple building, one long hall of wooden walls and a dirt floor that stretched for close to 50 paces. Three large fires burned at intervals down its length to provide both light and heat. But the building itself was unremarkable except for exuding a certain rustic charm. It was the scores of people packed inside it that compelled any visitor's attention. In one corner, men worked through a series of exercises with iron blades under the command of a man on a wooden platform who demonstrated for them. In another corner, dozens more practiced against one another in pairs with padden wooden swords under the eyes of experienced veterans. Elsewhere men with real blades and iron breastplates drilled fighting together in formation against imaginary enemies. Racks of fine swords of all weights and lengths filled the walls, and there was no shortage of metal armor for the head and body. The room was full of the shouts of the instructors and grunts of exertion from the men under training. It also stank badly of sweat and worse. Fyodor buried his face in his hankerchief immediately.

Temujin once again passed through the crowd as he had at the forge, watching the reaction of the Russian emissary out of the corner of his eyes all the while. He had to know what this show meant: the Mongols were building an army of swordsmen, by training their warriors in the use of the new iron technology. But he also had to be wondering why he was being shown all of this, as the only possible target of Mongol aggression could be Russia. When he had made a full circuit of the barracks, Temujin barked out an order for all of the soldiers to gather around him to hear a short speech. While they were assembling, he jumped up onto the wooden platform to stand where he could be seen by all. When it grew quiet, the khan began.

"My people, I come here to you today to bring great news," he began. "A mighty struggle lies ahead of us, with our enemy a foe who seeks to stifle and diminish the greatness of the Mongol nation." Fyodor was sweating openly now, surrounded by the towering Mongols of Temujin's personal guard. He had to be guessing at what was coming next. "Though the sacrifices in the days ahead will be great, I know that with your help we will win through to a great victory!" Temujin drew the sword provided to him by an aide - just as he had planned it days ago - and raised the naked blade over his head. "Today I lead the Mongols to war against Russia!"

A roar filled the hall, one that echoed back and forth only to multiply and resound back again with twice the fury. It was the sound of hundreds of voices shouting together in wordless unison, determined to crush all who opposed them in bloody combat. Dozens of arms brandished weapons overhead. Fyodor had turned a sickly pale shade and appeared to be looking for a way out. Things were only going to get worse for him. Temujin signaled for quiet, and within a few seconds he had it. The Mongols were strict when it came to discipline.

"I see one of our Russian friends is here in this very room," Temujin went on, signaling to his guards. They grabbed the diminuative Russian by both arms and propelled him up onto the platform next to the khan, the little man's stubby legs flailing wildly in the air the whole time. The scented hankerchief slowly drifted to the dirt floor, suddenly forgotten by its owner. "You have a special job my friend," he said with an evil-looking smile.

Fyodor swallowed hard. He could see nothing good would come of this. "A.. a.. and w.. what would th.. that be?" he managed to get out.

"Nothing so bad. I just want you to carry a message back to Catherine for me," said Temujin. Relief flooded Fyodor's eyes to such an extent that he could have laughed. Did he think he was getting out of this so easily? At a gesture from Temujin, the guards bent Fyodor over backwards and stretched out his left arm. Before the man could even cry out in fear or surprise, Temujin swung the sword he still carried down with all of the strength that his muscular body could summon, cleanly severing the Russian's left hand. Then the little man did scream, a horrible sound that sent the assembled Mongols into a gleeful frenzy as blood fountained from the stump of his arm. Within seconds a guard was pressing a burning torch onto the terrible wound to cauterize it and prevent the man's dying from loss of blood. While the crowd around him continued to celebrate, Temujin bent down to the floor so he could stare directly into the Russian's eyes.

"Tell Catherine what you have seen here today," he all but shouted right into Fyodor's face. "I'm sparing your life so that you can carry this message back to Moscow. Now get out of my sight, you disgusting piece of crap." With that, Temujin rose to his feet and descended into the roaring crowd, leaving the poor Russian emissary in the hands of his guards. They had their orders on what to do next.

Within an hour, a heavily bandaged Fyodor tied across his horse was heading westward towards Sevastopol. There was much to tell Catherine about what had happened.

[Sullla]

I rip through Russia with my swords, razing a number of cities in a rapid conquest. The next scene takes place at the end of that war.

* * * * *

Chapter 2
"Which would you prefer my lady: the white or the brown?"

Catherine sighed heavily and glanced at her maid, who was holding out two different gowns of the finest wool for her to select. It was a silly question to ask, as either one would be concealed by the heavy fur coat that she would be wearing outdoors in the beastly weather, but then again her maid was a rather silly woman to begin with. She carried out her duties very well though, and for that Catherine was willing to put up with the woman's continuing fascination with the latest styles of dress.

"The brown will do just fine," she replied. White would make her seem like a supplicant at today's meeting, an appearance that Catherine could not afford. Far too much was at stake for that. She absently let her maid fuss over dressing her while letting her thoughts range ahead to the conference that was approaching all too quickly. Catherine's thoughts darkened momentarily. This was not something that she was looking forward to in the least.

Shooing out the other woman as soon as she was finished, Catherine paused to consider her surroundings. The tent in which she was standing was as fine as a portable home could be, with bright-colored carpets covering the dirt floor and an elaborately carved, four-post wooden bed in one corner. That required its own horse-drawn wagon to be carried from place to place each day, but Catherine was not about to sleep on the ground no matter how many blankets were piled on top of it. Three iron-bound chests rested in another corner, carrying her extensive wardrobe and collection of jewels. Each one was heavy enough to require two men to lift, and required their own transporation just as problematic as the bed. She opened one of those now and carefully selected out which stones to wear to create the right impression for today. There was no shortage of fine gems to choose from, mined with great care from the mountains to the west of St. Petersburg. Or what had been St. Petersburg she thought with a surge of momentary rage that was quickly dissipated. She had to be calm today, of all days. In the end, Catherine selected out one strand of diamonds to set in her hair and a simple band of gold offset with rubies for her wrist. It was important to demonstrate that Russia was a wealthy and powerful nation - but not to be too ostentatious in showing it. That could lead to its own problems. Pausing for a moment to soak in as much heat as possible from the warm coals placed in another part of the tent, Catherine wrapped her warmest fur coat around her and ducked out into the chilly morning air.

A light snow was falling outside, filling the air with a thousand flakes of soft powder. Dark clouds over the mountains to the west promised a blizzard before much longer; hopefully the day's business could be concluded before the storm hit. The camp around Catherine teemed with several thousand men, soldiers crowded around small camp fires in groups of twos and threes preparing their morning meal. They were a sorry sight for the most part, wearing tattered and worn uniforms that had clearly seen better days and wielding mismatched weapons of all sorts. The sight was certainly nothing like those men who had paraded through the streets of Moscow a few months earlier with gleaming arms and polished armor. These men had seen real combat, and it had not treated them well. Most troubling of all was the feeling of despondancy that permeated the camp; morale was extremely low after the string of massive defeats suffered one after the other in rapid succession. There were whispers of desertion beginning to circulate among the men, and Catherine didn't have the faintest idea of what she would do if they became more than mere whispers. She hurried past the campfires without paying the slightest attention to the soldiers fighting in her name. They were just commoners after all, and held no interest for the tsarina.

On the eastern edge of the camp she met up with her small bodyguard for the day's parley. A dozen of the finest Russian warriors - no more than twelve had been the agreement - as well as a number of her advisors from the capital. Although her military advisor was not overly bothered from being out on campaign, the rest of her council looked decidedly out of place here in the countryside. Her science advisor in particular was barely recognizable, his face buried underneath the hood of no fewer than three different warm coats. In all honesty Catherine herself had no desire to be here, but the demands of ruling seldom allowed one to do as one wished. At least one person present had even less desire than her for this trip, a certain one-handed former emissary to Mongolia who seemed to be trying to hide from view as much as possible. She remembered when he had appeared at the frontier town of Sevastopol, feverish and half-dead, with a message of imminent Mongol attack. If only she had paid attention to him then rather than laughing him out of her court! In any case though, they were wasting valuable time. Catherine quietly gave out a series of orders to her guards, and within moments everyone was mounted upon their horses and riding to the east.

Their path took them through slowly rolling grasslands broken occasionally by small stretches of forest. Catherine paid no attention to the beautiful snow-covered trees or the picturesque small frozen lakes that dotted the region. As the sun slowly rose in the eastern sky, she tried to figure out how best to approach the upcoming meeting. Her advisors were of little help, offering their opinions when pressed but yielding little information of any value. They were in a serious pickle, and no one there could see any easy way out of it. But it was a ruler's duty to provide for her people when no one else could, so Catherine rode deep in thought about how to handle her nation's problems. Surely there must be some solution there if only she could see it! But the sun continued to rise, the miles went by one after another, and still the answers eluded her.

It was almost midday when the small band reached the designated meeting place, an unremarkable meadow at the top of a small rise in the land where anyone trying to approach could be seen from miles away. Catherine noted sourly that the group she was there to meet was already present; they must have left before dawn to get there, as their camp was even further away. As their horses crested the rise, Catherine took the opportunity to study the other group that faced them with fixed expressions. One man sat his horse a few paces in front of the others - like all of the other savages he rode barebacked, of course - in dress no different from the others but seeming to possess an air of command all the same. Temujin was wearing an iron breastplate over a shirt of boiled leather tough enough to turn away a blow from a weak hand, along with loose trousers of the same material. Unlike the elaborately jeweled tsarina's crown atop Catherine's head that she had donned just before coming into view of the rise, Temujin wore only a simple helmet of beaten iron. It was the outfit of an ordinary solider, completed by the sword - not a ceremonial one - that hung at his waist. As she got closer, Catherine saw that the other man's face was covered with a mass of scars, some old and some new, and dominated by a nose that had been broken at least once. A fiery red line traced down the right side of his face from brow to chin - but surely those rumors that had placed Temujin in the hottest fighting inside St. Petersburg were false. They couldn't actually be true, could they? As she reined in her horse a few paces away and dismounted with the help of a guard, Temujin lept light down to the ground without assistance and approached her. His mouth opened into a horrible broken-toothed grin as he began to speak.

"Ah, Cathy, so good to see you! And I see you've brought my old friend Fyodor as well!" he began with a not-so kind wave to the little one-handed Russian. Fyodor, who had looked none so good to begin with, began trembling uncontrollably in fear. Catherine realized that it had been a mistake to bring him, as she had given Temujin control of the conversation from the start. Although it wasn't as if he couldn't have taken control in some other way, given the situation. Trying to rectify her error, Catherine returned her own greetings.

"It is a pleasure to see you once again, great khan. Truly it had been too long since we last spoke." If she could keep this meeting civil, there would be a better chance to emerge with more of her nation intact.

But Temujin would have none of it. "A pleasure? Maybe for me, but not so much for you I think," he answered. He was still grinning as if the whole thing was enormously entertaining. Well, maybe it was for him. "You're the one who called this conference Cathy, so why don't you tell me what you want, hmmm? I think the snow's going to pick up soon, and we wouldn't want your dainty little advisors to get frostbitten, would we?"

This was not going well. Catherine wanted to snap back at him for his lack of civility - he was treating her like one of the women he used to entertain himself! - but she was in no position to do so. Patience, she once again reminded herself. "The current conflict between our nations serves only to waste lives and precious resources that could be better spent elsewhere," she responded. "I come here to ask that we work together to forge a just and lasting peace between our two nations." There, the hardest part was out now, as much as she had not wanted to say it.

"You want peace, do you? Well we'd be more than happy to give you that - in return for certain concessions, of course. You are prepared to offer concessions, aren't you Cathy?" His infernal grin never slipped even the slightest fraction.

"We are prepared to offer concessions," she replied woodenly. The words were like ashes in her mouth.

"Well good then, because here are the demands of the Mongolian people," he said cheerfully. "First of all, we freely acknowledge that the Russians possess a great deal of knowledge that we lack. Therefore you will send a number of your finest wise men to Karakorum to instruct us in your secrets that we lack. Secondly, I'll freely tell you that this war has been rather expensive for us, just as I'm sure it has been for you as well. So we want the full contents of the Russian treasury; gold, gems, whatever you have, it now belongs to us. Finally, in burning so many of your cities to the ground, we've failed to provide adequate housing of all of our people. Therefore you will cede the cities of Smolensk and Odessa to Mongolia as well. Those are our terms, and they are not negotiable. You have five minutes to tell me of your decision." With that he turned and started back towards his attendants.

Catherine was stunned. As each term of his peace treaty was read, she felt an invisible fist pummel her body. How could she possibly agree to such a deal? It meant political suicide for Russia! This was turning into a nightmare. "Wait," she called desperately to the departing Temujin. "There has to be something we can discuss here. I'm prepared to offer gems and gold to you for peace, but what you've asked of me is impossible!"

"Is that so?" the khan turned to face her, his grin gone and his eyes now flashing murderously. "Then I suggest you make it possible in a hurry. The way I see it, you've lost half of your empire already and you're about to lose the other half. That 'army' to the west is ready to fall apart at any minute; if you try to send them into combat again you'll find that the only ones who rally to your banner are those ten fools behind you. You country is soft and weak; agree to my terms or I will break you like an egg. There will be no negotiating. You have four more minutes." And with that, he wheeled about again and rejoined his men.

Catherine's advisors were beside themselves with agitation when she turned to consult with them. No one wanted to speak up in favor of the treaty, knowing that they could be used as a scapegoat if they did so, but no one was willing to advocate continued war either. Worst of all, Fyodor's mood seem to have spread among the group, which had taken on a profoundly pessimistic air. The little man himself flinched every time one of the Mongols looked at him and appeared to be trying to hide in the mane of his horse, from the way he had his face tightly pressed against it. Every time he lifted his head he would spot one of the foreigners and huddle down lower than before; he would fall off the beast if this kept up any longer. Desperately Catherine looked for a way out of this, but only the cruel wind and swirling flurries of snow were there to meet her gaze. Thunder rumbled in the distance; it was clear that storm was approaching rapidly.

When Temujin approached again a few moments later, Catherine had made her decision. She only prayed that her people could forgive her.

[Sullla]

Well, after another war I finish off the Russians and finally meet the rest of the world. After building up and trading for a while, I finally get to Keshiks and go after my closest neighbor, Korea.

My continent after the turn of the millenium:


Beginning the war against Korea:


* * * * *

Chapter 3
"He told you what?" exclaimed Wang Kon, leaping to his feet in surprise.

"The esteemed Mongol ambassador told me to pass on a message to you stating that his nation has just declared war on Korea," replied his aide in a small voice, eyes downcast to the tiled floor.

"Get Ogodei in here immediately!" Wang Kon all but snarled at his aide, who bowed his way out of the chamber. Declaring war now, of all times! This had to be some kind of a mistake. With a sudden thought, Wang Kon called to the departing man. "No wait; don't bring him to my study. I'll receive him in the imperial hall instead."

As the other man bowed again and continued on his way down the hall, Wang Kon hurried to his desk to lock away the reports that he had been working on when the unpleasant news reached him. With his mind focused on the Mongol ambassador, he paid no attention to the desk itself, made of the finest cedar and decorated with gold leaf made of real gold, or the fine wall tapestries depicting the great triumphs of the Korean nation. The tall marble fireplace large enough for a man to walk into held no warm for the Korean ruler at the moment, despite the rosy blaze merrily dancing in it.

Locking his personal safebox with a small golden key that he always kept discreetly about his person, Wang Kon rushed out of his small study and headed for the great reception hall near the entrance to his palace. The two guards outside the door snapped to attention in surprise as he passed and had to hurry to keep up with the man they were pledged to protect. Wang sent one of them away with orders to bring his formal robes and the elaborate crown that signified rulership of Korea. The man bounded away down the hall as fast his legs could carry him, heading for the royal appartments where the trappings of state were kept. Wang continued on at his steady pace, with the remaining guard trailing a step or two behind him. As he passed through the halls of polished limestone and colorfully tiled floors occasionally embellished with fanciful ceiling paintings, Wang let his thoughts range back to his past dealings with the unpredictable Mongols.

A number of years ago they had simply appeared out of nowhere in the storm-tossed seas to the north of Ulsan. The crew of a galley out to sea that snowy night had reported seeing a ghostly figure cutting through the wind and fog in the distance, but had thought it some trick of the mist and moonlight. Nevertheless, the next morning the battered ship had docked at the port's harbor and within a few days their captain was sitting in Seoul chatting with Wang himself. It had not been long before Temujin had founded a formal embassy in Korea and sent Ogodei as his ambassador. Ogodei was of course one of the khan's sons, but Wang was not supposed to know that and they both pretended he did not.

The Mongols had quite a story to tell, about how they had worked together peacefully with the Russians for ages only to be the victims of a brutal sneak attack when they least expected it. Fortunately for them, Temujin had been able to rally his people and defeat the Russians soundly in battle. He had then gone on the offensive to make sure that the Russians could never threaten his people again, reducing the Russians to the status of a tiny dependancy of Mongolia. Wang Kon didn't believe the full story, as it had too much of a feel of a legendary tale, but it seemed likely that there was at least a grain of truth to it. Since meeting Wang Kon the Mongols had been nothing but the finest of neighbors, trading extensively (and paying handsomely) for the fine furs of Korea. Why, Wang had even introduced them to the three eastern civs of England, France, and Scandanavia. In return, Temujin had sent to him emissaries from the Germans and Iroquois upon finding their primitive civilizations. The relations between their civilizations had never been anything but friendly, at least on the surface. And yet...

Yet there was clearly a dark side of sorts to the Mongols as well. The Russian ruler had sent her own emissary to the Korean court with a completely different story. The little one-handed man had told a frightening tale of losing his hand to a sword wielded by Temujin himself - surely a ridiculous story, as no ruler would actually do anything of the sort. The Russians claimed that the Mongols had attacked them without warning and driven them across their continent, razing and slaughtering everything in their path. Ogodei had simply laughed when confronted with the Russian view of history and suggested that those who were defeated in battle would come up with anything to justify their failed aggression. Since the Russian emissary refused even to be in the same room as Ogodei, Wang was inclined to believe the Mongols, who had done nothing to suggest that they were the horrible monsters the Russians claimed. But then a few years ago Temujin had suddenly ordered the destruction of the Russians, and they were defeated in the blink of an eye. That had raised eyebrows in every capital around the world, and relations in Seoul had distinctly cooled towards their neighbor to the north. Now with this announcement out of the blue, Wang didn't know what to believe anymore. Maybe he should have listened to that sniveling little Russian after all.

With a sudden start, Wang realized that he had already reached the imperial hall. It was an imposing room, stretching for almost thirty paces from end to end and possessing a ceiling almost half that height. The hall was built on a gradual incline, sloping up to a raised floor at one end on which sat the massive throne of the Korean nation. Two rows of imposing marble columns ran down the hall, supporting the roof that lay so high above it was lost in shadows. The imperial hall was designed to showcase the power of Korea to foreign dignitaries, and no one could leave its presence without being suitably impressed. Usually he met with Ogodei informally in his private study, but today Wang wanted the Mongol to feel as intimidated as possible. He noticed that the guard he had sent away was standing next to the throne with a robe outstretched in his hands; the royal crown sat on the chair's velvet cushion. The guard was breathing heavily; to make it here so fast he must have run the whole way. Wang allowed one of the servants present to help him into his formal robes and placed the golden circlet on his brow. It was time to meet with his visitor.

Ogodei was already waiting outside, and he sauntered into the hall as soon as the heralds announced his presence. As always, the Mongol was wearing a uniform made from tough leathers and had a sword belted at his hip. He lacked only formal armor to go charging into battle at any moment. Ogodei looked quite a bit like his father, except that he had let his facial hair grow out into an unruly beard. It made him look even more like the savage that he was, Wang thought absently. Several guards planted themselves firmly in his path as he approached the throne; Ogodei stopped in front of them but affected not to notice their existance, keeping his eyes locked firmly on Wang's face. They stared at each other in silence for a long moment, each unwilling to make the first move, as tension filled the hall to an even greater extent. Finally, Wang opened his mouth and spoke.

"Why?" he said simply. "That's the reason why I called you here today. I want an answer to that question, and I want it now. Why attack us? What have we ever done to you?"

Ogodei smiled back in return, as he had obviously expected some kind of question along those lines. At least he had better teeth than Temujin. "It's not anything that you have done, my lord, but rather a question of trade. You see, Korea possesses a great number of furs that we in Mongolia would like to enjoy in the cold months of the year. We have gone to war with your nation to secure a supply of those furs for ourselves." He concluded with a brief, respectful nod of his head.

Wang was stunned. This was a preposterous claim! "Furs?" he said angrily, his face tightening into a glare. "We are already supplying you with furs! And we would be more than happy to continue doing so for as long as you could want them, so long as we receieve something back in return. What you have just stated is absolutely ridiculous! Now tell me Temujin's real reason for declaring war."

"You don't understand the way that we Mongols trade," shot back Ogodei hotly. "We are not interested in exchanging one good for another of like value. No, we are not interested in 'trade' at all; we simply see what we want and take it! And Temujin has informed me that he wants your furs, so we will be taking them for ourselves." He continued to meet Wang stare for stare, completely unaware or uncaring of the spears leveled at him by the Korean guards.

"No, I think it is you who does not understand the situation," said Wang, rising to his feet in anger. "Korea is a large and powerful nation. Do you actually think that you can invade this land and simply carry off anything you want? It will not be that easy for you, I'm afraid. If you want war, we are more than prepared to defend ourselves against aggression. I suspect you will find crossing the seas and invading another nation's homeland will not be as easy as threatening and bullying in negotiations." Wang Kon was absolutely furious; he had just seen what must be their true intent. The Mongols weren't serious at all about war; they were just trying to bluff concessions out of him! Well, he would call their bluff right here and now. "If you have anything else to say, speak up now or get out of my sight."

"I do have one more thing to say," replied the Mongol emissary calmly. He appeared to have regained control over his temper. "You should not have settled on our continent. That was a serious mistake."

"Settle on your continent?" said Wang confusedly. He must mean the town of Kaesong, a small village they had founded across the sea some time ago. Where was Ogodei going with this? "That town was founded in neutral territory that was unclaimed at the time. We had every right to settle there, and we will fight to maintain what is rightfully ours."

"Oh, I hope that you do," he replied. Why did he seem to find that so amusing? "But I thought you should know that Temujin saw that as the other main reason for warfare. He explicitly instructed me to tell you that no foreigners are ever to set foot on the soil of Mongolia, understand? I guess I'll be seeing you in a few months during the peace negotiations. Until then, take care Wang." With that, Ogodei turned and headed out of the chamber.

Wang was besides himself with rage. Had he just been dismissed in his own hall? He could call back the arrogant ambassador, but that would only concede the point to Ogodei. For that matter, he could have the foreigner killed and no one would object, but unlike the Mongols Wang Kon was not a savage. "Make sure that he leaves the palace and is on the first ship back to Mongolia," were his instructions to one of his aides, who nodded and departed from the room. Now what should he do? The Mongols had to be bluffing about an invasion of mainland Korea - that was impossible, given the problems of organizing a fleet to transport entire armies overseas in nothing more than galleys - but some of Korea's colonies could be in danger. He would have to organize relief forces for any that came under siege, and for that matter it probably wouldn't hurt to find some more recruits for the home forces as well. They had been focusing a lot on building cultural monuments lately and had perhaps been neglecting their military a bit. Before he could begin to draft preliminary orders for his armed forces, a young messenger dashed into the great hall, excited and out of breath. Wang studied him for a second - he was little more than a boy and clearly overwhelmed at being in the presence of his king - before asking the messenger to speak up with whatever news he brought.

"My Lord, word has just come from the north! It's... it's about Kaesong. Rumor has it that the city," he swallowed and was clearly hesitant to go on, "the city has fallen to Mongol attackers. And a new type of Mongol forces, riding on horses and striking from afar with bows and arrows. Everyone says that they," he swallowed again and lowered his voice, "they say that all of the people in the city were killed."

"Damn it!" The words were out of Wang's mouth before he even realized he had said them. Whether true or not, if this boy knew the story it meant that everyone in Seoul would be talking about it before the day was done. Once a story about the Mongols got loose, rumor would turn into into ten thousand fierce warriors about to attack the city at any moment, and that would do nothing to improve morale. If the story was true then things were even worse; it also would mean that the Mongols had attacked before officially declaring war, knowing that it would take time for word to spread across the sea. For that matter, Wang realized with an icy chill, the Mongols could be on their way here in ships already. But there was no way that they could invade the Korean mainland he reassured himself, ignoring the trickle of sweat that rolled down his back. No way that they could pull off something like that.

"Don't worry my boy," he said reassuringly to the messenger. "They can't hurt us here in Seoul. We'll be just fine; they're just primitive savages after all." No way that they could pull off something like that. Please let it be so, prayed Wang Kon.

[Sullla]

I cut through Korea like I knife through butter; they have nowhere near the forces needed to stand against my keshiks. Korea loses all of the cities in its homeland and is reduced to a few scattered offshore islands. En route to go attack another foe, the Germans solve the matter for me by trying to sneak attack the city of Dalandzadgad. Ha! You deserve whatever's coming to you Bismarck.

German Attack:


* * * * *

Chapter 4
Hermann smiled and took a long drink of the offered aleskin. The raw stuff went down like fire in his belly, causing him to cough and gasp reflexively. It was a pleasant luxury to enjoy on a night like this.

"Good stuff, huh?" said his friend Franz with a grin. Hermann nodded and passed the skin on to the next man around the fire, who immediately kicked it back himself. They were seated around a small campfire, swathed in warm layers of fur against the bitter cold of a winter night. Their small company had chosen to make camp in a copse of evergreens, whose thick branches wove together overhead to make a canopy of sorts from the storm raging around them. A first class blizzard was doing its best at the moment to bury the world under a blanket of white, but here under the protection of the trees they were relatively sheltered, at least as much as anyone could be outside on a night like this. Hermann doubted they could have gotten a fire started at all out on the grasslands that surrounded their camp.

"How do you think things are going to go tomorrow?" he asked his companion as he fingered his spear absently.

"I don't any way that the plan can fail, Captain," replied Franz with a smile. Then again he was a new soldier and had never seen what combat could do the best-laid schemes. "They have no idea that we're here, right? We'll walk down into the city at first light tomorrow morning and carry off anything that we want. Just imagine: gold, jewels, fine women," he added with a leer, "whatever we want to take! And there's no one there to stop us. That's the best part of all, a city with no defenders in it." He punctuated his argument by gesturing towards the city that lay little more than a mile to the south. If it weren't for the storm, they would be able to see its lights at this very moment.

"I suppose that you're right. After all, the Mongols don't know we're here." Franz grinned again and slapped him on the back in agreement. Hermann wondered though, and unlike his excitable younger friend was not quite so optimistic. Unlike most of the other men in his detachment, Hermann was more than just a boy recently called into military service by the chancellor. He had been a soldier for almost a decade now and was still alive to talk about it, a track record that proved he was either very good or very lucky - or, perhaps more accurately, that he was both. The others jokingly refered to him as "Captain" due to his age; it was not a formal military title but the sort of nickname that grew out of spending prolonged periods of time with a small group of people. He wasn't even the commander of this band; that distinction belonged to Friederich, the son of a minor German nobleman. Watching the man on the other side of the fire drink himself into a stupor, Hermann could only sigh and wonder why he had been saddled with such an idiot for an officer. As he scatched at his facial hair, cut in the German fashion that left the chin bare, he thought for a moment about their purpose here in Mongolia in the first place.

The Germans had learned through their embassy that the town of Dalandzadgad was unoccupied by any military forces, and Bismarck, never one famous for restraint, had decided to take it by force in a sneak attack. It was a bold plan, one that was likely to result in either spectacular victory or utter failure. Hermann was betting his life on the former. So he and the rest of Friederich's company of horsemen had landed here under the cover of darkness the night before and made their way towards the city. Bad weather had slowed them more than expected and forced them to make camp here tonight, short of the city's glowing lights. Hermann hoped that the snow would let up soon; horses couldn't travel at anything faster than a walk in these kind of conditions, taking away the element of mobility.

He shook off his thoughts and relaxed, idly watching the conversation between the others around the fire. Franz was on his feet making a series of grand gestures in telling one of the bawdy stories of his fabled past conquests. Everyone knew that he was lying through the skin of his teeth, but no one wanted to miss one of his tall tales either. Franz could spin a tale with the best of them, and he was at it in full form now; his voice changing pitch and inflection to highlight each character, arms flapping from one shape to the next in rapid succession. Hermann had no idea what he was talking about now, but it was certainly something amusing from the smiles he saw painted on the faces of everyone else around the fire.

"So then I told her that I didn't have enough money to buy another silk dress," Franz said in his best storytelling voice, "and I that I had no idea where her beloved pink one had gone. And do you know what she said to me? She said," his voice rising to the high pitch of a woman, "My silk dress? But you're wearing it right now!" With the delivery of that line, the campsite exploded into raucous laughter. Hermann hadn't heard the full story and didn't know what was so funny, but he couldn't help chuckling either. Franz was simply too good at what he did to avoid joining in the moment.

The storyteller himself, flushed with pride at his most recent effort, grinned again and swept an overly elaborate bow to his audience. Then he turned to the other side of the fire and bowed again, this time bowing so low that his body pitched forward to lie flat on the ground. The men roared louder than before with mirth, thinking it all a great joke. Hermann jumped to his feet with an oath, for he had seen something that his inebriated companions had missed: the shaft of an arrow protruding from the back of Franz's body.

"Damn it, we're under attack! To arms, to arms!" he shouted over the din. Already he noticed a second, and then a third form wilting under the assault of arrows. Hermann swirled his head around and regarded the surrounding trees. Through the haze of snow that blurred everything he could make out shadowy figures moving in the distance. Although he couldn't tell for sure, he thought from the size that it must be men on horseback - but men on horses in these conditions should be impossible! An explosion of pain burst in his right shoulder, and he realized an arrow had found its mark in his body. Hermann realized too late that the fire was silhouetting his form and everyone else's to make easy targets for the night riders, and so he dropped immediately to the ground. He knew it had been a mistake to build it in the first place; if only Friederich hadn't insisted that they were so safe there was no need for caution. Well, he saw that the foppish fool was dead now, three arrows protruding cleanly from his chest. Hermann realized with a sudden chill that almost everyone in his company was already dead. Fighting was out of the question with his right side all but paralyzed; escape was the only option now.

He crawled on all fours towards to where the horses were picketed on the edge of their camp. Hermann was one of the best riders in all of Germany; if he could get to his horse he might be able to lose the attackers in the blinding snow and ice. As he reached the picket lines though his heart sank; someone had already cut the lines and led off all of the horses. There was no way he could escape injured as he was on foot, so Hermann leaned back against a tree and waited for his attackers to show themselves. He didn't have long to wait.

Ghostly forms melded into the shape of several dozen Mongols seated upon horses, with bows in their hands and arrows ready to be loosed. They could have shot him dead at any moment, but a man who must have been their commander raised his hand and gestured for two others to go and pick him up. They hauled Hermann roughly to his feet, sending a lash of pain down his right arm, and carried him back towards the campfire. The distance was not far, but his shoulder hurt terribly by the time they reached it. With Mongol guards continuing to stand on both sides, half to keep his hands from reaching some kind of weapon, half just to keep him standing up, the Mongol commander approached him.

He studied Hermann's face for a moment before intiating the conversation. "German, right?" Hermann nodded back in assent. "You probably thought you were pretty clever, trying to strike at us where we least expected it, huh?" Hermann did not take the bait and remained silent. That seemed to irritate the Mongol, whose faced darkened a bit before continuing. "We spotted your group as soon as you landed and shadowed you the whole way. It sounds like you were having a merry old time here when we showed up. Do you realize that fire could be seen from almost a mile away, you fool?"

Hermann refused to reply. He didn't see any way that he could survive this encounter, and was resolved at least to keep his pride intact.

"Not going to talk, I see. Well, we do have order to send one of you back to Berlin as a messenger, and since everyone else seems to be dead or dying I guess you're the lucky one." The Mongol commander was clearly disappointed; Hermann had no doubt that he wanted to kill everyone there.

"So you're going to let me go?" replied Hermann incredulously. That did not fit with what he had heard about the Mongols at all.

"Yes, you're free to go," said the Mongol. The guards let go of his sides, and the lack of support made Hermann stumble and almost fall. "But there's just one more thing."

"Oh? And what would that be?" he asked in puzzlement.

Fire exploded in his belly, and Hermann looked down in shock to see a the point of a blade protruding from just above his belt, its tip oozing with his crimson lifeforce. Dimly he realized that he had been stabbed from the back, and as the sword was pulled free he tumbled slowly to the ground. "You should not have touched our island!" finished the Mongol from somewhere above him, and he heard coarse laughter echo around the hollow in which he lay. Then the voices were gone, receding into the distance.

All that Hermann could see was the fire, which he had ended up facing when he crumpled into a broken heap. It was a mystery to him. He knew that the fire was still burning brightly, but the light seemed to be getting fainter and fainter. The crackling sound never diminished, but the light became progressively dimmer. Soon it was no more than a faint twinkling light, no more than a distant star on a clear night. Then it was gone entirely, and there was only darkness around the fire.

[Sullla]

Another lightning campaign sees Germany lose all its mainland cities in a span of some 25 turns and also reduced to offshore island status. Before I can select another target, once again the AI decides the matter for me, as the Iroquois try to sneak attack another city. The following section was written in response to the question, "What would be going through the mind of Hiawatha in ordering a suicidal attack against the strongest power in the world?"

Iroquois Sneak Attack


* * * * *

Chapter 5
"I cannot believe that you ordered such a thing, Chief!" exclaimed Cornplanter upon hearing the big news. "War with Mongolia! Why?"

Hiawatha leaned back in his plush chair and sipped contentedly at his glass of wine. It was from some of the best vineyards in the Confederacy, the ones owned and operated by the government in the rolling hills to the southeast of Niagra Falls. "Do you really want to know why I ordered the strike, Cornplanter?" he responded in a smug voice. Cornplanter was a fine general, but completely lacking when it came to the subtleties of politics.

The great chief of the Iroquois rose and walked over to stand before the roaring fireplace, his back to the other man. They were in his hunting lodge up in the countryside several miles north of Oil Springs; one of the chief's favorite activities was hunting big game, and there was none larger than what could be found here. Up here, only a short distance from the polar ice in the north, large herds of elephants somehow found a way to survive the brutal environment. Well, it might be a stretch to refer to them as simply 'elephants', as their ****gy coats and long hair would not be recognizable to someone familiar with tropical versions of the beasts. His scientists called the things 'mastodons', but to Hiawatha an elephant was an elephant, no matter how hairy his coat. They were the source of the fabled Iroquois ivory, a fact that only a few priviledged individuals were aware of, even within his own nation. Hunting the huge things was great sport for the chief, although others failed to see what was 'sporting' about bringing down the animals with muskets. The tusks of one particularly large beast hung above the mantle of the fireplace that he now gazed into.

Cornplanter had not responded to his question, knowing his chief well enough to understand that it had been posed rhetorically. They had been friends long before either of them had wielded the reins of power. Hiawatha knew that the man was waiting patiently for an answer, so there was no reason to leave him hanging any longer. "Conducting diplomacy is just like hunting these elephants, Cornplanter," he said. "If you want to dominate the others, you start by taking down the biggest and meanest one there is first. Once you do that, the rest is easy." He took another sip from the goblet in his hand; this truly was an excellent vintage.

"Are you insane?" asked his finest general, clearly in a state of shock. "Have you looked at the intelligence reports that we have on their military? They're going to crush us! Just neutralizing their production base in Mongolia alone would be difficult, but now they can draw on all of the resources of Korea and Germany as well. We don't have a chance!"

Cornplanter's nerves looked to be frazzled by their discussion. He would have to build the man's spirit back up again. "I'm not concerned with the number of forces that the Mongols have under their banners. They are nothing more than barbarians and pose no threat to the Iroquois Confederacy whatsoever. If they try landing here, we will simply sweep them into the sea. I have full confidence in your abilities, General," Hiawatha finished. He nodded to himseld inwardly; that should set the man straight. He was so good at politics!

But Cornplanter was already shaking his head. "It's not a matter of my leadership of the army, Chief, but a question of numbers and technology. I will lead the forces we have to the best of my ability, but we simply can't match up with their firepower. If I go up against Temujin with archers and mounted warriors against his endless streams of cavalry, I'm going to lose. I don't fear for my own life, but your decision could spell ruin for our entire people."

Hiawatha felt a surge of irritation at the man's stubbornness. Why couldn't he see that defeating the Mongols was the best way to turn his small and outdated nation into the world's greatest power? Hiawatha could see it now; his army marching in triumph through the streets of Karakorum with himself at its head in a chariot drawn by a dozen of the finest horses. Wrapped in robes of the finest silk and with the great khan himself walking as a prisoner in his wake, he heard the crowds calling his name over and over again, like waves crashing against the shores. Caught up in his own fantasy, Hiawatha ceased paying attention to his surroundings entirely.

"Chief, snap out of it!" yelled Cornplanter in his best officer's voice. Hiawatha spun around dazedly to regard the general who was half out of his chair, his face etched with lines of worry for his leader. "I am truly sorry Chief," he apologized, "but you've been staring at the fire for almost five minutes now and I was becoming worried." Hiawatha trusted him absolutely; there was no chance that the man would ever betray him. He had had plenty of opportunities to do so in the past, and never capitalized on them in the least.

"Ah, sorry about that Cornplanter, I was merely thinking about how glorious our eventual victory will be." And it would be glorious when they won! Just the thought of the power he would wield upon supplanting Temujin was almost enough to make him giddy.

"Yes, that may be true, but please reconsider the situation." Cornplanter began one final attempt to change his mind. "Think of the forces used in the attack that you authorized - without my knowing - on the Mongolian mainland. Do you really believe that the small detachments we sent there can capture a city, much less hold it for any length of time?"

"No, I don't think we can capture a city there," replied Hiawatha lazily, sitting down once again in his chair and taking another sip of his wine. It was truly wonderful stuff, a pure pleasure to take in.

He noticed that Cornplanter was goggling at him in pure amazement, shocked to his core. The general began speaking very rapidly, the words pouring out one atop the other. "Then why send such an attack at all? Don't you know that any foreigners setting foot on Mongolia is enough to send Temujin into a rage? He won't stop until we're all dead!"

As much as he loved and trusted his old friend, sometimes Cornplanter's lack of political adroitness made him sigh, as the great chief did now. If only he could be more clever like Hiawatha! "I knew that the attack wasn't going to succeed. But that's not what was important anyway; the attack served as a message to Temujin and all of the other civilizations in the world. A message saying that we intend to take this fight to Mongolia, and that we will not see fighting on our own shores!" Temujin would surely have been impressed by the audacity of his attack; he was probably huddling in his palace in fear at this very moment. "It will be your job, General Cornplanter, to make sure that this plan becomes a reality." Hiawatha failed to notice that a green tinge was spreading on the other man's face and he appeared ready to faint.

"What you have asked of me is impossible," stated Cornplanter in an unsteady voice.

"Don't worry General; I have absolute confidence in your abilities," replied his chief. That would take care of things with Cornplanter. And in just a few years he would be riding through the streets of Karakorum in triumph. He could imagine the parade now, had been planning it for months in fact. There would be elephants to start in the forefront, followed by scores of the most beautiful women from across his new empire, then his chariot drawn by a dozen - no, two dozen of the finest horses, and then...


* * * * *

Cornplanter walked away from the meeting that night a pale shadow of his former self, not even noticing the fine furnishings of the room that he had been provided in the hunting lodge. His friend had always been given to delusions of grandeur, but this was too much. As he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Cornplanter began thinking about how best to arrange for his family to be sent discreetly overseas to London. He couldn't escape his duties, but there was no reason for them to suffer.

Everyone in the Confederacy is going to die, was his last though before falling into a troubled sleep.

[Sullla]

Now upgraded to using cavalry, I run through the Iroquois very quickly as well. Unlike the other civs who survived in their island colonies, the Iroquois had none and were thus eliminated. Then the Scandinavians nominated themselves for extinction next by landing to sneak attack me on one of my island colonies. I traded a bunch of luxuries and gold per turn to them for Nationalism, then asked them to leave my territory. Of course they declared war rather than actually leave, so I got Nationalism for free, heh. I mention that because it figures into the story.

Iroquois are finished:


Ragnar sneak attacks me, and loses a ton of stuff that I just traded him (his attackers are under the arrow):


* * * * *

Chapter 6
With a whirl of colors, the bird dove from out of the sky to alight upon the branch of a tree, bringing a smile to Sven's face. Observing birds was one of his favorite hobbies back home, and he had spent many an afternoon in his boyhood watching the interplay of nature and its wildlife in the hills outside Copenhagen. Perhaps his fondness for observing other animals had led him to his current occupation, he thought to himself ruefully. After all, what was the job of an ambassador if not to watch the reactions of other men?

Glancing at the position of the sun in the sky on this beautiful cloudless day, Sven realized he could not afford to spend any more time at rest if he did not want to be late. He rose from his peaceful repose on the park bench and set out into the rest of the city. The enormous palace and seat of government for Mongolia where he was stationed was not far away, certainly not far enough for him to have requested a horse. As always when he walked the streets of Karakorum, Sven was struck again by the contrast between the green expanses of the People's Park and the rest of the city. In the streets, the wooden trunks of trees were replaced by dingy, poorly constructed flats where industrial workers eeked out a miserable existance. The proud Scandanavian emissary could not see how they lived in such an environment, with no room and even less privacy between families. In the distance he could see black smoke belching forth from the smokestacks of one of Karakorum's great factories, where thousands of cavalry rifles were produced daily. The whole city seemed to be covered with a layer of gritty soot that turned everything into a faded out shade of gray. Only the verdant stretches of the misnamed People's Park seemed able to resist the industrial grime, but few workers were able to visit its sanctuary while laboring under the 12-hour workdays that were endemic in Mongolia. It's no wonder that so many Mongol youths seek escape in the army, Sven thought reflectively. After all, they are already living in hell itself here. He hurried on down the large thoroughfare and tried not to notice the wan faces that stared after his well-fed body.

It was almost a relief to reach the palace, where at least the Mongols knew him by name and greeted him with the proper respect due to his station. Well, almost a relief; in order to enter the palace he had to pass by the grisly spectacle of the Wall of Pikes. As he did every other day, Sven pointedly avoided his eyes from the sight; he steadfastedly pretended that no such thing existed. In order to avoid the horrible sight, Sven concentrated on studying the palace as he entered. Karakorum was the most important city in the world simply due to the man who made his residence there, and even though it possessed no great wonders like fabled Trondheim or London, the city was said to possess an imposing atmosphere that was enough to take a visitor's breath away. The khan's palace was the best example of that truth, rising hundreds of feet in the air to form a solid mass of stone and concrete. There was nothing ornamental or garish about its architecture; the building was designed to house the government of the world's most powerful nation, but also to defend against attack if necessary. Sven couldn't repress a shudder as he passed by arrowslits in the walls and a murderhole overhead. The Mongols were far from a decorative people, and it showed in the building that symbolized their nation - and their leader.

The furnishings on the higher floors of the palace were fortunately more civilized, and racks of weapons were replaced by artwork on the walls and woven carpets on the floor. Sven knew that the paintings on display here were not the product of Mongol artisans but were instead works plundered from the ruins of Korea and Germany. Word on the streets had it that a shipment of fine weavings from the ashes of the Iroquois Confederacy were due to arrive within the next few days. Sven was grateful to finally reach his small office in a corner of the massive building, where he could tune out the repulsive customs of his Mongol hosts as much as possible. Sifting through his daily assortment of letters, he noticed that a wealthy Scandanavian family on holiday in the mountains near Smolensk had infringed upon Mongol law and were being held by the authorities. It was a case where the couple involved had broken a law that did not exist in Scandanvia, bringing up the prickly question of extraterritoriality. Sven sighed; this was going to take up most of his day to straighten out, and possibly longer than that if the Mongols were in a bad mood - which it seemed they almost always were.

His door banged open with a loud crash, startling Sven right out of his chair. A muscled Mongol guard with a pistol at his waist and a scabbard slung over his shoulder filled the entryway, with an expressionless set to his face. "The great khan wants to speak with you. You will come to see him now." It was not a question. Since coming of his own free will was preferable to being dragged by his hands and feet, Sven sighed and rose to his feet to follow the guard out of his office. Predictably, three more of them waited outside, with two leading the way and another two following behind Sven. It was a great sign of respect to be given such a guard of honor - or maybe he was simply under guard. With the Mongols, there was never any way to tell. Sven ran his hands through his beard and long hair nervously, wishing he had had time to comb them. Appearances could mean a great deal when it came to formal interviews. What could Temujin want to tell him?

The chamber that Temujin used to entertain formal visitors was only a short distance away from Sven's office, occupying one of the highest floors of the palace. Sven was left with three of the guards to wait in the anteroom while the last one went inside to announce to the khan that his guest had arrived. In the past, Sven had sometimes been left cooling his heels in this room for hours as the khan dealt with other business, but this time he was ushered into the chamber right away. That was either a very good or a very bad sign, but in any case it meant that something important was brewing. The room that Temujin used for meeting with high-ranking foreigners was as stark and simple as the rest of the palace. The walls were made from fine limestone and a crimson carpet covered most of the floor, but both lacked any ornamentation whatsoever. One large window looked out at the city below through panes of clear but unadorned glass. The only furnishing to the room was a massive desk of fine mahogany, polished until it shone like a beacon, currently cluttered with maps and reports of all sorts.

But it was to the man behind that desk that the eyes of any visitor would be drawn, and the sight of this imposing figure reduced everything and everyone else in the room to the status of mere background details. Ghengis Khan Temujin was far from an attractive man, with a face bordering on ugly crisscrossed with the white lines of old scars and a flattened nose that certainly appeared to have been broken at some time in the past. No one could remember how Temujin had received his old injuries, and no one had the courage to ask the khan themselves. He wore the same military uniform as the Mongol guards that followed Sven into the room, cut from somewhat finer material but differing only in one aspect, that of a small insignia emblasoned above the left breast of his coat. It depicted a gauntleted hand, extended upward into the air and clenched into a fist. No one was quite sure exactly what the symbol meant, or why Temujin had suddenly began wearing it one day, but people had started referring to it as 'Temujin's Fist' and using it as the national banner. It was an ominous shape, and Sven never felt entirely comfortable whenever he spotted it. There was just something so... sinister about it.

Upon hearing the entrance of Sven and his escort, Temujin looked up from one of the papers on his desk and smiled in greeting. "I see that my friend the Scandanavian ambassador is here. Please, come forward and set yourself at ease Sven." Temujin's grin revealed his famously chipped and broken teeth, something he did at all interviews to set his guests off guard; Sven was used to them by now, and was not noticeably affected. He would have liked to sit down, but of course no chair was offered or was even present in the room beyond the one the khan was seated in. Temujin received all emissaries standing in front of his desk like supplicant beggars while he remained comfortably seated. Other leaders could not afford to act so arrogant, but then again Temujin was the most powerful man on earth.

The overly friendly greeting worried Sven; Temujin was never kind to visitors unless he was planning on springing some kind of trap. Still, there was nothing he could do except play along with the other man. "I am pleased to meet with you once again, great khan," he said, coming forward to stand in front of the desk. "What would you have me do for you today? I hope that there is not a problem with the shipments leaving on schedule."

"Ah yes, the shipments," replied the khan. "That was certainly a great diplomatic triumph for you, Sven. A real feather in your cap, wasn't it?"

"Indeed it was," Sven answered, wondering where this conversation was going. "I hope that it will be the formation of a lasting peace between Mongolia and Scandanavia." He couldn't help but recall the furious events of the previous month, when he had hammered out a deal between Temujin and Ragnar when it seemed as though war was imminent between the two nations. Ragnar had agreed to provide the secrets of Nationalism to the Mongols in exchange for massive quantites of Mongol gems, furs, silks, wines, ivory, and even more gold. It was enough riches to ensure properity for Scandanavia for years to come, and it had truly been a great diplomatic triumph for Sven. The Viking scientists had arrived last week in Karakorum, and the first shipments of Mongol goods were due to leave any day now. It seemed likely that Temujin had called him here today to discuss something dealing with the shipments bound for Scandanavia.

"Peace? I hope for peace too Sven, but often it seems to be lacking when you most wish for it," answered Temujin reflectively. "I have tried to stay out of war for ages, but others keep seeking it out with my nation and my people. First the Germans, then the Iroquois tried to land on our soil and destroy our way of life. You don't blame me for striking back in defense, do you?"

"Of course not, great khan." Sven would have agreed to almost anything that Temujin said as long as it did not compromise his country. "Nations that come under attack have a right to defend themselves, even if that means fighting back on foreign soil."

"I'm glad to see that you agree with me," replied the khan easily, still grinning faintly. Suddenly the grin disappeared and his face flattened to a harsh stare directed right at Sven's face. He gasped and stepped back a pace without thinking; the eyes of the other man were like twin drills rooting him to the spot and determined to bore into his very soul. "Then what do you make of this!" said Temujin in a voice filled with cold fury just barely kept under control. He thrust a report from his desk into Sven's face and held it there for the ambassador to read.

Sven's jaw dropped as he considered the paper. It was a report from the city of Ereen, an eastern island colony of Mongolia that was popular with tourists in the warmer months of the year. However, this paper dealt not with summer vacationers, but with an armed invasion of the island by Scandanavian forces. They had seized the city, killing the outdated city garrison made up mostly of retired pensioners from the Mongol army, and were now declaring it a part of the Viking empire. It could only mean one thing: an act of war against the Mongols by his own people.

"I don't believe it!" sputtered Sven. "Ragnar would never... I mean, he wouldn't attack... this has got to be some kind of a mistake!" he finished weakly.

"It is no mistake!" growled Temujin in that icy cold voice. "We've known about your Viking forces outside Ereen for the last two weeks now, but decided it would be more beneficial to pretend we didn't. I was right; we were able to get your some of your precious state secrets for free in exchange for a useless island colony. Not a bad deal, if I do say so."

Sven was stunned. The khan was right, the shipments to Scandanavia hadn't left yet, and now they never would get off the docks. But from what he said... Temujin had sacrificed one of his own cities just to gain access to Scandanavian technology. How cold could the man be?

Perhaps reading Sven's thoughts from the expression on his face, Temujin rose from his seat and grabbed the front of the Scandanavian's suit in one hand. Sven was not a small man, but he was powerless to pull away; the khan had an iron grip. "Look down there," he said, indicating the window and the view of what lay below. Sven tried to jerk away, but Temujin would have none of it. "I said look down there, damn it! Look down there and see what happens to those who would betray me!"

Unwillingly, but pulled almost hypnotically by the force of the khan's voice, Sven's eyes drifted over to the window to look at what lay almost directly below. The gruesome spectacle of the Wall of Pikes was easy to see even from this height, three long metal spears sticking up into the heavens, the first two of them occupied. The first was nothing more than a skull, bleached white by wind and rain over time, but still there after all these years. The second was recent enough to be recognizable, though horribly distorted nonetheless. A stray feather or two still drifted in the wind from the ceremonial headress that Hiawatha had worn so proudly in life and now retained forever in death. Whether the other skull had ever belonged to Catherine was anyone's guess, but no one was prepared to dispute the word of the khan. The third pike seemed to be waiting eagerly for its occupant; the fugitive Bismarck continued to elude the Mongols but there was no mistake that he would end up here eventually as well. The sight was enough to make Sven queasy, as it always did. He didn't know how the Mongols could leave such a thing up where children could see it, much less turn it into the heroic epic that the Wall of Pikes had become.

"Before the day is out, there will be a fourth pike adorning the Wall," said Temujin coldly. He released his grip upon the other man and Sven stepped back hastily. It was past time to be going; from this room, from the palace, from Mongolia itself; going and never coming back to this horrible place.

"I regret that things had to come to this between our countries, sir," with their nations at war, Sven was not going to refer to him as 'great khan' anytime soon, "but now I must depart to prepare for my trip back to Trondheim. The embassy will be closing for the duration of the war; I hope to see you again after its conclusion." That was a lie; Sven never planned to return again if he could help it.

"Going? Well, I suppose that you can indeed serve as my messenger back to Ragnar," answered Temujin frostily. Sven's arms were crushed to his sides by the iron muscles of the guards behind him, preventing him from moving. The khan continued speaking as another guard appeared with something that was giving off a faint yellow glow. "But you will go as a messenger on my terms. You are an ambassador Sven; you should have seen the attack coming and told me of it. You will pay for your lack of foresight."

To his horror, Sven realized that the guard had a white-hot poker of iron clenched in tongs and it was being lowered towards his face. His eyes, actually. He had time for no more than a frenzied scream before the arms of the guard came down, and then his eyes never saw anything ever again.

[Centauri18]

This is a truly cool story.

[Sullla]

I rampage through the Scandinavian continent as well, and eventually they too are killed off. For that matter, I finished off the Koreans and Germans as well. Then it was time to invade France; I picked off all of their island colonies, then invaded their mainland. I razed my way down to Paris, and then finally got the popup for a domination victory. At that time, much of France was destroyed and England was the only civ that remained untouched by war. The last chapter takes place at that time.

Deaths of some other civs:




Victory (note the minimap):


* * * * *

Chapter 7
The sun was a blood-red orb slowly keeling over the western horizon, taking the rest of the sky with it in a brilliant display of orange hues. Rays of the golden light danced and shimmered on the indigo waters of the beautiful bay to the south, where the last few fishing boats were coming in to the shore with today's catch. A few flakes of snow drifted out of the approaching darkness from the east, the remnants of an earlier storm passing out after having vented its fury.

It all blended together to form one of the most beautiful sunsets that Elizabeth had ever seen in her long years of rule, so compelling that she could not seem to concentrate on the reports that were stacked in neat piles at the corners of her desk. She was in her study now, taking comfort from the familiar surroundings in these troubled times. The furnishings were sturdy and well made, but not designed to be imposing like in her formal reception hall. The walls were painted a soft shade of lavender, one of Elizabeth's favorite colors, and only a single portrait of the queen in her youth hung upon them. An orange carpet woven with the Lion and the Unicorn in white covered the wooden floor, and a small fireplace warmed the room with a friendly cheer. It was a genuine wood-burning one; although the English were increasingly using coal or even oil to heat their homes these days, Elizabeth greatly preferred the old-fashioned ways. In addition to her desk, where the queen sat now gazing out one of the windows of finest glass, there was also a half-dozen chairs and a small sofa gathered in one corner of the room near the fireplace, suitable for receiving visitors informally over tea. Her study was the sort of room that the public never saw, but where she spent many of her hours. There was far more to ruling than simply sitting on the throne and pronouncing judgement, after all.

There was no need for the elaborate crown of the English state here, and Elizabeth had with her instead a feathered silk hat done up in the latest fashion. It was impossible to do any real work while wearing the silly thing, of course, and it rested now on the back of one of the room's chairs. Elizabeth was garbed today in a fine gown of cream-colored silk, highlighted by a design made up of small interlocking red roses. This dress was far more comfortable than the ridiculous outfit that she would have to wear at the next ball; all of the noble-born ladies who surrounded the court would try to outdo each other for the most elaborate constume, and of course as the queen she would have to better them all. In other moments, Elizabeth had wondered just how much of England's wealth had been squandered by its nobles in such frivolous pursuits. But at the moment her thoughts did not concern balls or dresses or lords at all; they just drifted on the wind and the sea, relishing in a moment of peace stolen from the neverending duties of state.

A knock at the door brought Elizabeth out of her trance and snapped her attention back to the present. Her butler Edward opened the door slightly and poked his head into the room, his familiar features tightened into an expression that spoke of worry and puzzlement. Elizabeth had known the man for what seemed like ages now, and she had not often seen the white-mustached butler with the receding hairline in this state. "You have... a visitor, my queen," he said uncertainly. "The proper forms have not been met, but I think you should visit with her anyway."

"If you think it is important, Edward, then it undoubtably is," she replied. "Please show the guest inside." The elderly butler was a stickler for proper protocol, and if he was willing to show a visitor into her study without further ado then something troubling was afoot. Elizabeth also wondered for the first time why her guards posted outside the door had not appeared as well; they were always present to protect her for all but the most intimate and well-known of guests.

No sooner had Edward's head disappeared behind the door when it swung open fully to admit her butler along with a guest that Elizabeth had not expected to see anytime soon. Jeanne D'Arc, known as Joan to the English, strode into the room with the same commanding presence that had allowed her to rule a prosperous nation for as long as anyone could remember. But it was not just the sight of the leader of France walking into her study unannouced and unescorted that caused Elizabeth to gasp and rise to her feet; it was the condition that the other woman was in. Joan's blue field marshall uniform, on which the brass buttons and bronze medals had once been polished until they shone like the sun, now was torn and soiled in places from dirt and smoke. From its rumpled look, it appeared that Joan had spent more than one night sleeping in it - possibly many more than one night. The Saint of Orleans was no better herself, with her usually neat and combed shoulder-length hair in a tangled mess and with a thin layer of grime seeming to cover her hands and face. Dark circles formed twin halos around Joan's eyes, telling a story of unspeakable things seen in the past.

Elizabeth had never seen her longtime friend and ally in this state before, and was at a loss for what to say. Joan initiated the conversation herself. "I'm sorry to come to London in this sorry state, Liz," she said in her low, mannish voice, "but I didn't have anywhere else to go." That simple admission seemed to drain all the forced strength from her body, and her shoulders slumped in either resignation or exhaustion. Probably both.

By this time though, Elizabeth had recovered enough to respond. "Joanie! What has happened to you? No, wait; before you tell me anything I will arrange to have a bath prepared and fresh clothing brought." No wonder Edward had looked so out of place! He must have been close to fainting when Joan showed up unannounced at the palace.

But Joan waved off her offer with an absent gesture. "That sounds wonderful, but I'll pass. I need to speak with you first. Now." The woman's tone would allow for no disagreement on that point.

Elizabeth sighed and nodded agreement. She could never change Joanie's mind when it was made up about something. As she guided the other women over to two of the chairs by the fire, Elizabeth called to her butler to provide warm tea for the two of them. "No tea for me," laughed Joan darkly as the man prepared to go, "It's not strong enough. Bring me a flask of brandy instead." Edward's face tightened again at the highly unusual request, especially coming from a lady, but he nodded his assent and departed, closing the door softly behind him. Then again, thought Elizabeth, Joan was hardly your average lady.

When they were both comfortably seated, Elizabeth could not resist her curiousity and spoke up on what was troubling her. "Joanie, you must tell me what has happened to you. Why are you here, and in such a troubled state?" Calling her condition 'troubled' was being more than generous to the other woman, but Elizabeth had been trained almost from birth to be diplomatic in negotiations. And aside from the fact that their nations had long been allies, she genuinely liked the other woman as a friend and confidant.

"What happened? The Mongols are what happened," she laughed again, this time in dejected fashion. "We all thought that we were safe after he was finished with Scandinavia. Why would Temujin attack France? We had always been allies and trading partners. Then came the word that all of our colonies had been overrun in a matter of weeks. All of them, Liz! We never even had the chance to fight back," she finished bitterly.

Elizabeth just stared sadly at her friend's face. What could she possibly say to the other woman? Joan pulled herself together and went on again in a small voice. "Then they came and landed in France. We fought back with everything we had, burning our cities to the ground behind us as we went to deny them to the enemy, but what could we do? I remember when we first discovered the secrets of railroads and factories," she said, turning to smile sadly at Elizabeth, "back when it seemed the new industrial technology would usher in an era of peace and prosperity. How wrong we were! Why did we ever sell that knowledge to the Mongols, Liz? They took the information we gave them and turned Mongolia into a hellish nightmare of industrial production, churning out endless armies and the weapons to equip them. And for what? Silks that they themselves pilfered from the Germans?" Joan pointed to the material of Elizabeth's dress accusingly. "We sold our souls for mere trinkets and luxuries Liz. Well, France has reaped what it has sown, and I will be haunted by the sight of the flames consuming Paris for as long as I live. And soon it will be coming home to roost here as well."

"You think the Mongols are coming to England next?" asked Elizabeth as an icy tinge of fear ran down her spine. Joan nodded calmly, and met the queen's stare confidently. After a moment, Elizabeth dropped her eyes to stare absently at the shapes portrayed in the carpet. There didn't seem to be anything to say in response to that, and the silence began to stretch out uncomfortably between the two women. The arrival of Edward with hot tea and the requested brandy was a welcome relief, and as Elizabeth sipped the warm liquid, she nodded thankfully to the butler when Joan wasn't watching. He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement and again shut the door behind him.

Buoyed by the refreshments, Elizabeth took up the conversation once again. "What makes you think that the Mongols will attack England next? We have never done anything to threaten their nation, and he has nothing to gain from the slaughter."

Joan laughted again quietly and took a small sip from the flask. She had disdained the use of the crystal goblet provided and was drinking directly from the brandy's container. "That reasoning didn't protect France, and it won't protect you either. For that matter, it didn't protect Korea or Germany or Scandinavia either."

"But those nations all attacked Mongolia first," answered Elizabeth defensively. "We all know from history that the Mongols simply defended themselves, against the Russians first, then against Korean marauders, and more recently against the Germans, Iroquois, and Vikings. They were always the ones attacked, never the aggressors themselves!"

"Do you still believe that? I did too, once," Joan replied. Her expression said that Elizabeth was ignoring something obvious, and being foolish on top of that. "Only the victors write the history books, Liz. Did the Russians really attack the Mongols, or vice versa? There's no way to tell now, and we have only Temujin's word to go on. Same with the Koreans and the others; do you really think that Korean pirates tried to seize Karakorum, forcing the Mongols to declare war? Or that the Germans landed horsemen in Mongolia and tried to capture Dalandzadgad? It's all lies and half-truths, and there's no way to tell the difference. Me," she said conspiratorily, eyes darting from side to side only to focus once again on Elizabeth, "I think that Temujin started every war himself. We were only all too willing to believe his side of the story with Mongol luxuries flooding before our eyes. But now, too late, I can see him for the horrible beast that he truly is."

Elizabeth nodded slowly. What Joanie was saying made sense, and there was no other way to interpret the horrific acts that had gone on in France without any warning beforehand. For that matter, she could seem to remember a small one-handed man who had visited London ages ago, bearing a warning not to trust the Mongols. But that was so long in the past, it was little more than a wisp of a memory. She took up the line of conversation along which Joan was leading her. "You want me to fight back against Temujin now, before it's too late." Joan enthusiatically nodded her head in approval. "Well, if I were to do so, who else could we call upon for support? Bismarck? Wang Kon?"

At the mention of those last names, the eager light fell from Joan's face and she wilted visibly in her seat. "They're both dead, Liz. The Mongols hunted them down to the ends of the earth to make sure they didn't couldn't escape."

The news was like a sharp knife turning in her guts. "Well, what about Ragnar?" She really had not been following events as closely as she should have, but surely the proud Viking king still held out somewhere.

Joan's face took on an even more dejected look, if that was possible. "He's dead too, killed trying to protect his last stronghold on one of the northern islands. We're all that's left, Liz, just you and me." With that last statement, Joan unstoppered the flask and knocked back a long drink, uncaring of the trickles of liquid that slipped past her lips to drip on her worn-out uniform.

"Ragnar... I can't believe he's gone," said Elizabeth as she stared off into space, stunned at the news. She remembered attending a great ball in Trondheim to mark the dedication of the fabulous observatory that Ragnar had built. She had worn the most beautiful dress that night, and been the envy of every Scandinavian lady at court. Late that night, Ragnar had given her a personal tour of the great new wonder, which was too technical for either of them to understand fully but beautiful nonetheless. But that huge dome was gone now, razed to the ground when the Mongols took the city, and the fabled towers of Trondheim were no more. Did London have a similar fate in store for it?

"Elizabeth... there's worse news I have to tell you." The use of her full name by the other woman brought her out of her memories like a pitcher of cold water thrown into her face. Joanie was regarding her with a flat expression now, obviously braced to deliver bad news. "The last thing that my spies were able to tell me before we were forced to flee France was that... well, do you know of that terrible wall that the Mongols have set up in their capital?"

"Yes," replied Elizabeth softly. How could she not? The Wall of Pikes was an abomination condemned by all other nations.

"I was told that..." Joan's voice broke for a moment, and she was clearly having troubling going on, "told that there are now seven pikes on that wall." She finished with a rush, not needing to explain the implications.

Seven pikes. There had been seven other nations in the world to start besides Mongolia, and now there were seven pikes. Elizabeth felt like pouring a drink of brandy for herself. Seven pikes. That could only mean one thing, she realized. "No, there must be some kind of mistake. Temujin would never..." Were her hands really trembling? No, that must be an illusion due to the fading light as the sun went down. Just a trick of the light.

Joan was speaking again now, and Elizabeth had missed the first part of what she said. "...a good idea to secure some for yourself. I'm keeping a small vial of poison with me at all times just in case." She grinned in sickly fashion at Elizabeth. "If they want my head, I'm going to make sure that my body no longer needs it first."

Her door burst open to admit a messenger struggling to make his way past the two guards that had him by both arms. Elizabeth and Joan turned as one to regard the man who had entered in such a rush without being announced. "My queen!" he gasped excitedly over the arms of the burly guards, "We're under attack! The Mongols have landed in force on the north side of the island. We're taking heavy losses trying to stop them, there's just too many to fight!"

Elizabeth saw her world crashing down around her. It was all over, she realized. He had won. Why didn't we all unite to stop him in the beginning, when we could have done so? She could imagine the progress of the army, out there somewhere far to the north, but moving ever closer to London under the banner of Temujin's Fist. It was all over for them; total defeat stared England - no, the world in the face. From the corner of her eye she could see Joan rocking back in forth in her chair, knees drawn up to her chest like a child, laughing to herself in a tone just short of madness. Elizabeth woodenly decided she had better go about securing her own supply of poison before the Mongols arrived. She knew now that they would never be satisfied until the world was theirs.


The sun slipped quietly over the horizon, leaving in its wake only darkness and a few tiny flakes of white drifting aimlessly on the wind.

The End

[Sullla]

That's the full thing. I put only the smallest details of the game up here, so you could just read the story, but it really was meant to go with the report too. Again, it would make more sense if you read the full thing, but I guess I can't expect everyone to follow the links I provided. If you are curious though, just follow what I posted at the top of the page. I hope you enjoyed it!