Post by grimgryphon on Oct 24, 2016 16:33:35 GMT
Seems some people are striking back in-game. ;-)
Found these four books on a public vendor. I copied the content to a text file so the paragraph formatting is a bit fucked up. It's still readable though. Enjoy!
Tyrannical Incompetence I
The Economic and Social Policies of Lord British
By Ann Ominous
Perplexed, the old sage sat in his study contemplating the bizarre economic conditions which suddenly plagued New Britannia. He simply could not imagine what could cause the sudden surge of hyperinflation along with the shortage of certain consumer goods. The old man reviewed his notes one last time as sunlight faded.
At 600 gold each he could not afford candles anymore, so he hurried to finish up his notes before his study faded into darkness. He would have liked a hot meal, but a new cook oven now cost 5000 gold, so he dined on the stale bark bread given to him by a refugee in Soltown. Poor woman, he thought, first her livelihood was ruined by the inexplicable drop in the price of bark bread, then her home overrun by undead. The return of Lord British was certainly not heralding a new age of peace and prosperity.
Just what was that man up to? Pondered the old sage for not the first time. Reluctantly he concluded it was time to conduct a divination ritual to determine just what was going on with the ruler of New Britannia. Fortunately, the price of reagents at least was somewhat stable. Making his way through the streets of Owl’s Head the old man surveyed the once again new cityscape of the town. For years uncounted they had been trapped in a seven-year time loop. Over and over they had found themselves entering into New Britannia to be confronted by the mysterious woman with her repetitive questions, which set their path of destiny.
Each time they found themselves in the aftermath of the same battles with the same outcome. At least until now, he thought sadly considering the strange paradox of Charlotte Gray’s fate. For seven years they would work to reestablish their power and wealth only to have it all disappear and find themselves back in the presence of that mysterious woman to answer her questions once more. However, this time something was different. The hideous clanking metal head of an Oracle had somehow seized the power of the mysterious woman and the time-loop was broken. Now what they did in this world would last and count for something. Arriving at the alchemy shop the sage went through the tired old ritual conversation of Name! Job! My name is! Help! William had been the shopkeeper here for as long he could remember. It was good to see him alive and still in existence. Some shopkeepers were not so fortunate. Sadly, he remembered his old friend the blacksmith of Ardoris who always paid a premium price for armors and weapons. Yet one night he disappeared only to be replaced by a stranger who did not pay premium prices. Concluding his business with William the old man raised a bushy eyebrow in surprise as William immediately marked the price of each reagent he had just purchased up 2 gold. “Sorry” said William somewhat shamefacedly “Lord British’s economic policies require I do this…” Say no more” replied the sage with a wave of his hand. Arriving back home, the old wizard setup his divination ritual using bowl of water as a scrying channel. Sinking his awareness into the reflective surface two men in a brightly lit room came into view. The old man took a moment to adjust his eyes to the glaring light. Every wall seemed to be covered with wall torches and candles. Row after row of eerie blue lighted floor torch seemed to fill the room. Red and blue patterned rugs covered the floor producing an almost checkerboard affect, while large piles of the rugs lay stacked about the room. Though the room was obviously a throne room the piles of housewares gave it the look and feel of a big box store warehouse.
Focusing in on the man on the throne and the court official standing before him the old sage recognized them as Lord British and Blackthorn. As the sound of their voices faded in the old wizard heard the voice of Lord British plaintively asking, “But why can’t we use the solar ritual to banish the avatars again? It has worked great for almost a century. The avatars show up, we start the ritual, they spend the next seven years accumulating wealth and property while the ritual builds power, then poof they are gone. We seize the wealth and property they leave behind and the avatars return to the point of time where they started and start over; rinse and repeat.”
“Well, Sire” replied Blackthorn, “According to the Oracle the solar ritual is like trying to enchant an item with alchemy. While we have been able to perform the ritual without risk up to this point there is now a 20% chance it will fail causing the sun to implode, forming a black hole that will destroy this solar system.”
“Hmmm…” Replied British “20% is not too big of a risk..”
“My Lord!” Blackthorn exclaimed with a start “Those odd were calculated by the same mathematical formulas used to determine the chance of successfully mining ore or mastercrafting an item!”
“Oh,” muttered British as his face turned as white as a day dead goldfish.
“Besides,” continued Blackthorn “Even if the ritual succeeds this time, the chance of failure will be 50% if we ever try it again. Also the Oracle said to tell you if you destroy the world her last act before going into the void will be to banish your ghost to the midway point between the Andromeda and Milky Way galaxies. Then you will truly have gone where no man has gone before or will ever go again. There you will spend eternity floating through space at standard ghost speed until you manage to find an ankh.”
“Uh, in that case,” stuttered British, “How are we going to deal with the avatars now that we are stuck with them and how are going to continue financing my space program? You know how I feel about avatars. Quest of the Avatar was the biggest mistake I even made… I ended up having to relate individually to all those idiots in thousands of individual universes. Now I have bunch of groupies made up of mostly male computer gaming geeks.”
“My lord,” replied Blackthorn soothingly, “think what a valuable economic resource they have been in financing your latest project.”
“Humph,” retorted British, “just because I like their milk does not mean I want to get close enough to the cattle to smell them. You had a great plan for me to avoid the avatars in Ultima V. It would have worked great if my sandalwood had not accidently gotten left out of my luggage. I never was clear on how that happened Blackthorn,” stated British eying his old friend.
“Well, your majesty,” stammered Blackthorn, “I entrusted Heckles with the task of packing your bags. However, the night before he was entertaining a diplomat from the Kingdom of Id, the Jester Binge. I hear things got out of hand and Heckles was not at his sharpest the next day when he packed your bags. He must have checked the box off as having been packed by mistake. I reviewed the check list myself and all seemed in order.”
“It kept the avatars out of my hair for most of their visit,” continued British, “but that refuge got awful damn boring after a while. I thought it was supposed to have internet, but the only thing I could do for entertainment was scare the crap out of some peasants by appearing in their campfires.” “It was the best we could do with the current level of technology my lord,” added Blackthorn quickly. “I still had to do a meet and greet with each of the bloody fools. At least the ones not too stupid to actually rescue me. Do you know in how many parallel universes I am still stuck in that damn room?”
“Uh, no my lord,” answered Blackthorn with a veiled smile.
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Tyrannical Incompetence II
The Economic and Social Policies of Lord British
By Ann Ominous
“Anyway,” continued British, “ I thought we had a plan to get rid of them for good when we conned the gargoyles into luring them through moongates and killed them. At least they stayed away for 200 years after that visit. But then there they were back again, looting my castle, interfering with royal justice, and mooching food from the kitchen staff every day. Batlin was supposed to lure the fools to the Isle of the Avatar and do away with them with the help of my friend and ally the Guardian. But those bloody fools of a brother and sister kept hauling them back to Paws to be revived every time they managed to get themselves killed. “
“And whose idea was the Forge of Virtue anyway?” continued British glaring at Blackthorn. “That gave the bloody fools the means to actually kill me!”
“Your Majesty!” Replied Blackthorn quickly, “You are universally loved and adored by your subjects! It never occurred to any of us that someone would actually attempt to use the demon sword against you!”
“Blackthorn, Blackthorn,” British said with a sigh shaking his head. “You are my loyalist supporter. I can understand it never occurred to you that some do not share your love and devotion to me, but those fool outlanders have been trying to kill me every since I made it possible to engage me in combat. The point was so that I could kill them personally. Across thousands of multiverses I lured them into battles they could not win just so I could have the pleasure of killing them! Yes, it was usually on an offshoot timeline and they went on their merry way in the main timeline, but it was fun none the less. I even let them find the Skull of Mondain so they would think they could one shot me and sure enough they showed up in the throne room to try the skull on me. Those were good times,” British sighed contently. “But to give them the ability to actually kill me? Whose bright idea was that?” “I am afraid it was the marketing people who slipped that in on us,” countered Blackthorn smoothly. “Do know how many timelines off shoots I ended up assassinated by an avatar?” fumed British.
While the old sage watched the divination took on a new dimension as the two men talked. While Lord British’s thoughts were chaotic and unreadable, Blackthorn’s were highly ordered and readable. Though Blackthorn replied “No my lord, I have no idea,” in his heart he thought, yes you bungling buffoon, I know exactly how many times your reign of tyrannical incompetence came to an abrupt and permanent end. “Humph,” continued British, “what about that embarrassing legal document that turned up on my corpse? The last thing I wanted was the avatars learning about my personal business with the chambermaids.” Well my lord,” replied Blackthorn with a slight air of evasiveness, “A royal child is a rare occurrence. The legal department decided there should be some form of legal provision for m-your child.” Once again the passion of Blackthorn’s thoughts bled through the scying. Yes, your impotent fool, my child! Because you are a dead relic of the past righteously put to death by your own avatars in my Britannias. You have no awareness of what lands of prosperity and order my Britannias became under the dynastic rule of MY descendants under MY direction. The divination shifted from British’s throne room in New Britannia to the council chambers of another Britannia where the moons continued to perform their majestic dance in the sky and the moongates opened and closed in their timely and orderly manner. In the chamber Blackthorn attired in unstated splendor faced a young man of about 12 or 13 years garbed in royal array. The similarity of their features was undeniable. With the triumphant joy of a king about to be crowned who had long fought to win his rightful throne, Blackthorn looked the young man in the face and spoke the words he had so longed to speak, “Luke…. I am your father.” “Well,” continued British, “at least we kept them out my hair for their next two visits.” “Yes,” commented Blackthorn, “sending them to Serpent’s Isle worked out rather well.” “True, “agreed British, “but damn that Dupree. You know what I had to pay that old witch to name the avatars as the ones to go into the furnace?”
“Yes sire,” acknowledged Blackthorn, “it was quite expensive, but at least the Guardian was able to keep them out of your hair in Pagan.”
“And no one to resurrect them,” laughed British. “I knew it would kill a bunch of them off if we made them do stupid stunts that depended on their real natural abilities. I still chuckle when I think of them jumping from rock to rock then drowning. Even though they time wrapped out of it each death was a dead end timeline and it was hilarious seeing some of them die over and over again in the same spot!”
“And their time in Pagan gave us time to setup our final plan to deal with the avatars once and for all,” commented Blackthorn.
Yes,” replied British with an evil grin. “Free of the avatars and the Guardian in one shot. Still,” commented British eyeing Blackthorn with annoyance, “I thought there were not going to be anymore killing Easter eggs lying in wait for me. Choking on rat poison bread while the avatars hacked away at me with their swords was not at all pleasant.”
“The poisonous bread was a trap for the avatars,” replied Blackthorn quickly. “The bread being used on you was an unfortunate lack of foresight on the part of the developers.” The old sage took note of Blackthorn’s veiled smile as he covered over yet another lapse in British’s safety and security.
“Well,” continued British, “I finally ended their one on one intrusions once and for all, and I got the girl,” concluded British with an evil grin.
“We really didn’t start to get a handle on them though until we confined them to shards,” continued British. “At least then I could mostly avoid them, but I still don’t understand what happened to my immunity with that wall of fire. One of the few times I had to appear in public and I get assassinated in front of everybody!”
“We think it was an inside job sire, but we were never able to determine who was responsible,” stated Blackthorn in a voice conveying frustration and disappointment, while hiding a smug smile.
“Well, at least I got something out of the Britannian avatar nonsense, the first step in my space program, the only thing I really care about,” stated British as he gazed dreamily skyward. “The Empire of Acquisition (EA) paid much for my fealty and imperial rulership of Britannia. But damn… how did EA find out about my plan to simultaneously Armageddon all the shards and permanently destroy all the avatars? They actually deposed and exiled me!”
“EA must have had a mole in our government,” replied Blackthorn shaking his head sadly while covering his mouth and faking a cough to hide a chuckle.
“Thank the stars that you as my loyal friend and vassal were able to assume the throne and rule in my behalf,” declared British looking at his ‘friend’ with profound gratitude.
“Well, sire,” replied Blackthorn, “it was the least I could do to repay you for all the roles you have given me in your government over the years.”
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Tyrannical Incompetence III
The Economic and Social Policies of Lord British
By Ann Ominous
“Anyway, enough reminiscing about the past,” continued British, “what’s the current state of my space program? When will my next prototype spacecraft be ready?”
Blackthorn winced at the question. “Sire, after the first prototype impacted the moon knocking it out of orbit and caused the cataclysmic collision of the moons, we have proceeded with caution in developing the next prototype. Besides, our government is composed of a small team wearing many hats. However, rest assured I have given appropriate priority to development and construction of the next prototype.”
“I am still confused what went wrong,” whined British. “The ship felt like it was going to shake apart during takeoff! Nothing in the ship seemed to match or work the way it was supposed to and the flight and tech manuals made no sense. Who headed up that project anyway? I couldn’t figure that out from the documentation and none of the developers could tell me. They all keep referring me to someone else.”
“My lord,” replied Blackthorn, “your spaceship was produced according to our standard production procedures. Each component was assigned to a different developer. Everyone worked independently on their component without consulting anyone else. After all we are a small team wearing many hats. The developers were also assigned different chapters of the flight and technical manuals to write. Of course since we are a small team wearing many hats they did not have time to consult one another. After all the components and chapters were complete we shipped it all off to Fire Lotus for assembly. In keeping with our standard production practices no informed her in advance what she would be working on. However we did provide her with a small budget with which she was able to hire various bandit groups and a troll to do the actual assembly work. The troll was very helpful in collating the manuals.”
“Well, that is in keeping with the production procedures I designed,” replied British, “so the problem could not have been there.” “One issue we need to address though regarding that project is where did your escape capsule come from?” inquired Blackthorn. “There was nothing in the plans and specifications about an escape capsule. If someone on our team is taking initiative to correct a perceived oversight we need to get rid of them.”
“No,” replied British, “it wasn’t anything like that. The escape capsule was a gift from the elves, kobold, and satyrs. They told me my continued rulership over the humans was in the best interest of their races and they wanted to assure my safe return from my skyrocket ride. At least someone appreciates me… Actually I think the descendants of those elves settled in Blood River.”
“Really,” replied a narrow eyed Blackthorn, “I shall have to arrange something to repay their kindness…”
“Anyway,” continued British, “back to the present. Finally all the avatars in one Britannia under my absolute control! I am their god and this is their hell! Muhahaha! While I derived a great deal of pleasure from slaughtering the first wave of avatars and strolling through the Brittany Graveyard gives me great pleasure, I have come to realize killing the avatars over and over again is my greatest joy. And to think, those fools think I friend them all because I like them! I friend them so I can keep track of them and inform my Chief Assassin, The Baron, when they venture into PvP zones or breakout one of my ultra powerful alts and go kill them myself. New Britannia is my private hunting preserve and the avatars are my prey! “
“Ah yes, The Baron, also our Covert Propaganda Minister,” commented Blackthorn. “It is difficult to believe one person can so effectively dominate our channels of communications. He immediately squelches anyone who contradicts our official stance on any matter. Of course like any lobbyist he has his own agenda.”
“Yes, The Baron is a useful tool,” commented British, “but I’ll find an excuse to throw him under the bus soon enough. After all part of our master plan is to drive off or banish every major backer. We must never lose sight that our business model is based on that old movie ‘The Producers,’” remarked British as he hummed ‘Springtime for Hitler and Germany’ under his breath. “We can’t have anyone coming back to us actually expecting a return on their investment.”
“No, that would not do at all,” remarked Blackthorn.
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Tyrannical Incompetence IV
The Economic and Social Policies of Lord British
By Ann Ominous
“Ok,” continued British, “now that we are stuck with permanent resident avatars this is how I want you to deal with them. First off make their lives an economic nightmare. Remember, our mantra is ‘regional economies.’ The bigger the disaster it is the better and no matter what economic plans, suggestions, or cries of anguish you hear from the avatars, keep chanting the mantra at them. Carefully monitor how the avatars are making money. As you identify the ways they make money ruin the profitably of whatever they are doing. Always gauge our economic policies on the performance of the top elite gold producers. Set before the average avatar an impossible standard they can’t meet. The other economic mantra you shall cling to is ‘player driven economy.’ In the name of the player driven economy you shall wrought economic chaos on the avatars. See that wherever they choose to base their operation the prices of their basic supplies are unpredictable. And continue to fund my space program through insane property taxes and outrageous behind the scenes sales taxes on candles and other basic items. Continue to push the property lottery. We are making far more gold that way than if we actually sold property deeds. Continue to foster economic dependency on the COTOs. That will bring in income in both New Britannia and on Earth. Also downgrade the weapons of our mercenaries and undead minions we maintain to ambush and kill the avatars, but increase their training to maintain efficacy. Oh and see to it none of their armor can be recovered and sold by the avatars. The avatars are making good money off our minions’ equipment and we can’t have that now can we. Keep the faucets shut tight and the drains wide open. Our real goal is to force the avatars into dependency on buying COTOs to generate gold.” Looking about his throne room British took note of the clutter of rugs lying about. “Oh and now that there is a thriving rug market based on the less desirable patterns we left available, put these rugs and the other patterns we have been withholding back on the decoration vendors and be sure to undercut the current player driven prices,” added British with a laugh. The old sage’s expression soured even further as he considered all the work he had put into growing cotton and making rugs.
“Also continue to discourage and frustrate the avatars through unstable and unpredictable laws of nature and physics. Make styles of adventuring temptingly over powerful. After luring as many as possible into dependency on that style yank the rug out from under them! Make it a double tap! First implement countermeasures in the name of balancing that adventuring style, then render the adventuring style ineffective, but leave the countermeasures in place. Change long established laws of physics by which avatars move and function suddenly and without notice. Shift numbers and probabilities behind the scenes without giving notice. Keep applying good old fashion Orwellian and Machiavellian principles in our dealings with the avatars and keep them totally off balanced and confused. You know Blackthorn we certainly rely heavily on the writings of Machiavelli and Orwell for our policies and tactics. Maybe I should take some time to actually read them…”
“Oh no Milord!’ interjected Blackthorn quickly. “There is no need for you to trouble yourself with that! I have not only spent years studying their writings but have also both read and written commentaries on their collective works. Anything you need to know about Machiavelli or Orwell I will certainly tell you.”
“You’re a good man Blackthorn. It is good to have use on my side.”
“Thank you Milord, I am also most grateful for the opportunity to stand by your side.” “As for the crafting,” continued British, “keep making it sound enticing, but see that it takes so much time to make anything really exceptional the avatars will end up buying COTOs to maintain their exceptional equipment.”
“As milord commands,” intoned Blackthorn. “Our other task is to break the avatars’ morale, yet keep them cleaving to New Britannia. First destroy their incentive to group and socialize by destroying the experience bonus for grouping and adventuring together. I want them isolated individuals adventuring and working alone. Second chain them here through their houses. While we make all else fail in New Britannia keep the housing system working and attractive. This is one of our biggest cash cows, so keep herding them toward the add-on store with new and exciting offers. Just like in the shards their houses will keep the avatars bound to New Britannia for years to come and provide me with funding for my space programs in both New Britannia and Earth. Now tell me Blackthorn, how is my Earth space program progressing?”
"Sire, I am pleased to tell you we have raised the capital to finance the first phase of the next step in your space program, your trip to Mars.”
“Really, how?”
“Well sire I approached our major backers in New Britannia. They were extremely enthusiastic about sending you and Arabella to Mars, and the sooner the better. They really pulled out the stops and organized a worldwide fundraising effort. Also everyone who has done business with you in the past contributed heavily to the project, even EA. They even pulled political strings to get NASA to go along with the plan. As soon as the technical details are worked out and the vehicle constructed you and Arabella will be the first humans to arrive on Mars. Once there you will run the automated oxygen plant and construction robots in preparation for the incoming colonists.”
“Wow! What about our return trip?”
“Well milord, once you and Arabella arrive on Mars and successfully establish the Martian base, I will continue to personally oversee the fundraising for your return trip to Earth,” replied Blackthorn with a veiled smile. “Of course there is also another option. An earthlike planet has been discovered orbiting a nearby star. This may be your opportunity to take yet another historic step in space exploration and colonization.”
“Is it possible?”
“We will certainly do our best to make it happen sire.” “What about our kids? You have not mentioned them.”
“Well sire, as the bard sang, ‘Mars is not the kind of place to raise the kids.’” However it was the words of another song the old diviner heard running through Blackthorn’s thoughts, “Ground control to Major Tom.”
“Hmm, I suppose your right, but who is going to look after them while we are gone?”
“I took the liberty of drawing the papers naming me your children’s guardian during your absence, along with granting me power of attorney to administer your assets.”
“Really? That is an awful lot of responsibility to take on. Are you sure you want to do that?”
“Quite sure milord. Your children will be well cared for and I will manage your assets as though they were my own.”
The old sage stared at his divination bowl is disgust. In the clearest expression of his feelings about what he had seen and heard the old man decided the divination bowl would serve well as a chamber pot. As he aimed the golden stream at the enthroned image breaking the divining spell the last words of the srying came faintly through, “Is it raining Blackthorn?”
The End
Found these four books on a public vendor. I copied the content to a text file so the paragraph formatting is a bit fucked up. It's still readable though. Enjoy!
Tyrannical Incompetence I
The Economic and Social Policies of Lord British
By Ann Ominous
Perplexed, the old sage sat in his study contemplating the bizarre economic conditions which suddenly plagued New Britannia. He simply could not imagine what could cause the sudden surge of hyperinflation along with the shortage of certain consumer goods. The old man reviewed his notes one last time as sunlight faded.
At 600 gold each he could not afford candles anymore, so he hurried to finish up his notes before his study faded into darkness. He would have liked a hot meal, but a new cook oven now cost 5000 gold, so he dined on the stale bark bread given to him by a refugee in Soltown. Poor woman, he thought, first her livelihood was ruined by the inexplicable drop in the price of bark bread, then her home overrun by undead. The return of Lord British was certainly not heralding a new age of peace and prosperity.
Just what was that man up to? Pondered the old sage for not the first time. Reluctantly he concluded it was time to conduct a divination ritual to determine just what was going on with the ruler of New Britannia. Fortunately, the price of reagents at least was somewhat stable. Making his way through the streets of Owl’s Head the old man surveyed the once again new cityscape of the town. For years uncounted they had been trapped in a seven-year time loop. Over and over they had found themselves entering into New Britannia to be confronted by the mysterious woman with her repetitive questions, which set their path of destiny.
Each time they found themselves in the aftermath of the same battles with the same outcome. At least until now, he thought sadly considering the strange paradox of Charlotte Gray’s fate. For seven years they would work to reestablish their power and wealth only to have it all disappear and find themselves back in the presence of that mysterious woman to answer her questions once more. However, this time something was different. The hideous clanking metal head of an Oracle had somehow seized the power of the mysterious woman and the time-loop was broken. Now what they did in this world would last and count for something. Arriving at the alchemy shop the sage went through the tired old ritual conversation of Name! Job! My name is! Help! William had been the shopkeeper here for as long he could remember. It was good to see him alive and still in existence. Some shopkeepers were not so fortunate. Sadly, he remembered his old friend the blacksmith of Ardoris who always paid a premium price for armors and weapons. Yet one night he disappeared only to be replaced by a stranger who did not pay premium prices. Concluding his business with William the old man raised a bushy eyebrow in surprise as William immediately marked the price of each reagent he had just purchased up 2 gold. “Sorry” said William somewhat shamefacedly “Lord British’s economic policies require I do this…” Say no more” replied the sage with a wave of his hand. Arriving back home, the old wizard setup his divination ritual using bowl of water as a scrying channel. Sinking his awareness into the reflective surface two men in a brightly lit room came into view. The old man took a moment to adjust his eyes to the glaring light. Every wall seemed to be covered with wall torches and candles. Row after row of eerie blue lighted floor torch seemed to fill the room. Red and blue patterned rugs covered the floor producing an almost checkerboard affect, while large piles of the rugs lay stacked about the room. Though the room was obviously a throne room the piles of housewares gave it the look and feel of a big box store warehouse.
Focusing in on the man on the throne and the court official standing before him the old sage recognized them as Lord British and Blackthorn. As the sound of their voices faded in the old wizard heard the voice of Lord British plaintively asking, “But why can’t we use the solar ritual to banish the avatars again? It has worked great for almost a century. The avatars show up, we start the ritual, they spend the next seven years accumulating wealth and property while the ritual builds power, then poof they are gone. We seize the wealth and property they leave behind and the avatars return to the point of time where they started and start over; rinse and repeat.”
“Well, Sire” replied Blackthorn, “According to the Oracle the solar ritual is like trying to enchant an item with alchemy. While we have been able to perform the ritual without risk up to this point there is now a 20% chance it will fail causing the sun to implode, forming a black hole that will destroy this solar system.”
“Hmmm…” Replied British “20% is not too big of a risk..”
“My Lord!” Blackthorn exclaimed with a start “Those odd were calculated by the same mathematical formulas used to determine the chance of successfully mining ore or mastercrafting an item!”
“Oh,” muttered British as his face turned as white as a day dead goldfish.
“Besides,” continued Blackthorn “Even if the ritual succeeds this time, the chance of failure will be 50% if we ever try it again. Also the Oracle said to tell you if you destroy the world her last act before going into the void will be to banish your ghost to the midway point between the Andromeda and Milky Way galaxies. Then you will truly have gone where no man has gone before or will ever go again. There you will spend eternity floating through space at standard ghost speed until you manage to find an ankh.”
“Uh, in that case,” stuttered British, “How are we going to deal with the avatars now that we are stuck with them and how are going to continue financing my space program? You know how I feel about avatars. Quest of the Avatar was the biggest mistake I even made… I ended up having to relate individually to all those idiots in thousands of individual universes. Now I have bunch of groupies made up of mostly male computer gaming geeks.”
“My lord,” replied Blackthorn soothingly, “think what a valuable economic resource they have been in financing your latest project.”
“Humph,” retorted British, “just because I like their milk does not mean I want to get close enough to the cattle to smell them. You had a great plan for me to avoid the avatars in Ultima V. It would have worked great if my sandalwood had not accidently gotten left out of my luggage. I never was clear on how that happened Blackthorn,” stated British eying his old friend.
“Well, your majesty,” stammered Blackthorn, “I entrusted Heckles with the task of packing your bags. However, the night before he was entertaining a diplomat from the Kingdom of Id, the Jester Binge. I hear things got out of hand and Heckles was not at his sharpest the next day when he packed your bags. He must have checked the box off as having been packed by mistake. I reviewed the check list myself and all seemed in order.”
“It kept the avatars out of my hair for most of their visit,” continued British, “but that refuge got awful damn boring after a while. I thought it was supposed to have internet, but the only thing I could do for entertainment was scare the crap out of some peasants by appearing in their campfires.” “It was the best we could do with the current level of technology my lord,” added Blackthorn quickly. “I still had to do a meet and greet with each of the bloody fools. At least the ones not too stupid to actually rescue me. Do you know in how many parallel universes I am still stuck in that damn room?”
“Uh, no my lord,” answered Blackthorn with a veiled smile.
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Tyrannical Incompetence II
The Economic and Social Policies of Lord British
By Ann Ominous
“Anyway,” continued British, “ I thought we had a plan to get rid of them for good when we conned the gargoyles into luring them through moongates and killed them. At least they stayed away for 200 years after that visit. But then there they were back again, looting my castle, interfering with royal justice, and mooching food from the kitchen staff every day. Batlin was supposed to lure the fools to the Isle of the Avatar and do away with them with the help of my friend and ally the Guardian. But those bloody fools of a brother and sister kept hauling them back to Paws to be revived every time they managed to get themselves killed. “
“And whose idea was the Forge of Virtue anyway?” continued British glaring at Blackthorn. “That gave the bloody fools the means to actually kill me!”
“Your Majesty!” Replied Blackthorn quickly, “You are universally loved and adored by your subjects! It never occurred to any of us that someone would actually attempt to use the demon sword against you!”
“Blackthorn, Blackthorn,” British said with a sigh shaking his head. “You are my loyalist supporter. I can understand it never occurred to you that some do not share your love and devotion to me, but those fool outlanders have been trying to kill me every since I made it possible to engage me in combat. The point was so that I could kill them personally. Across thousands of multiverses I lured them into battles they could not win just so I could have the pleasure of killing them! Yes, it was usually on an offshoot timeline and they went on their merry way in the main timeline, but it was fun none the less. I even let them find the Skull of Mondain so they would think they could one shot me and sure enough they showed up in the throne room to try the skull on me. Those were good times,” British sighed contently. “But to give them the ability to actually kill me? Whose bright idea was that?” “I am afraid it was the marketing people who slipped that in on us,” countered Blackthorn smoothly. “Do know how many timelines off shoots I ended up assassinated by an avatar?” fumed British.
While the old sage watched the divination took on a new dimension as the two men talked. While Lord British’s thoughts were chaotic and unreadable, Blackthorn’s were highly ordered and readable. Though Blackthorn replied “No my lord, I have no idea,” in his heart he thought, yes you bungling buffoon, I know exactly how many times your reign of tyrannical incompetence came to an abrupt and permanent end. “Humph,” continued British, “what about that embarrassing legal document that turned up on my corpse? The last thing I wanted was the avatars learning about my personal business with the chambermaids.” Well my lord,” replied Blackthorn with a slight air of evasiveness, “A royal child is a rare occurrence. The legal department decided there should be some form of legal provision for m-your child.” Once again the passion of Blackthorn’s thoughts bled through the scying. Yes, your impotent fool, my child! Because you are a dead relic of the past righteously put to death by your own avatars in my Britannias. You have no awareness of what lands of prosperity and order my Britannias became under the dynastic rule of MY descendants under MY direction. The divination shifted from British’s throne room in New Britannia to the council chambers of another Britannia where the moons continued to perform their majestic dance in the sky and the moongates opened and closed in their timely and orderly manner. In the chamber Blackthorn attired in unstated splendor faced a young man of about 12 or 13 years garbed in royal array. The similarity of their features was undeniable. With the triumphant joy of a king about to be crowned who had long fought to win his rightful throne, Blackthorn looked the young man in the face and spoke the words he had so longed to speak, “Luke…. I am your father.” “Well,” continued British, “at least we kept them out my hair for their next two visits.” “Yes,” commented Blackthorn, “sending them to Serpent’s Isle worked out rather well.” “True, “agreed British, “but damn that Dupree. You know what I had to pay that old witch to name the avatars as the ones to go into the furnace?”
“Yes sire,” acknowledged Blackthorn, “it was quite expensive, but at least the Guardian was able to keep them out of your hair in Pagan.”
“And no one to resurrect them,” laughed British. “I knew it would kill a bunch of them off if we made them do stupid stunts that depended on their real natural abilities. I still chuckle when I think of them jumping from rock to rock then drowning. Even though they time wrapped out of it each death was a dead end timeline and it was hilarious seeing some of them die over and over again in the same spot!”
“And their time in Pagan gave us time to setup our final plan to deal with the avatars once and for all,” commented Blackthorn.
Yes,” replied British with an evil grin. “Free of the avatars and the Guardian in one shot. Still,” commented British eyeing Blackthorn with annoyance, “I thought there were not going to be anymore killing Easter eggs lying in wait for me. Choking on rat poison bread while the avatars hacked away at me with their swords was not at all pleasant.”
“The poisonous bread was a trap for the avatars,” replied Blackthorn quickly. “The bread being used on you was an unfortunate lack of foresight on the part of the developers.” The old sage took note of Blackthorn’s veiled smile as he covered over yet another lapse in British’s safety and security.
“Well,” continued British, “I finally ended their one on one intrusions once and for all, and I got the girl,” concluded British with an evil grin.
“We really didn’t start to get a handle on them though until we confined them to shards,” continued British. “At least then I could mostly avoid them, but I still don’t understand what happened to my immunity with that wall of fire. One of the few times I had to appear in public and I get assassinated in front of everybody!”
“We think it was an inside job sire, but we were never able to determine who was responsible,” stated Blackthorn in a voice conveying frustration and disappointment, while hiding a smug smile.
“Well, at least I got something out of the Britannian avatar nonsense, the first step in my space program, the only thing I really care about,” stated British as he gazed dreamily skyward. “The Empire of Acquisition (EA) paid much for my fealty and imperial rulership of Britannia. But damn… how did EA find out about my plan to simultaneously Armageddon all the shards and permanently destroy all the avatars? They actually deposed and exiled me!”
“EA must have had a mole in our government,” replied Blackthorn shaking his head sadly while covering his mouth and faking a cough to hide a chuckle.
“Thank the stars that you as my loyal friend and vassal were able to assume the throne and rule in my behalf,” declared British looking at his ‘friend’ with profound gratitude.
“Well, sire,” replied Blackthorn, “it was the least I could do to repay you for all the roles you have given me in your government over the years.”
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Tyrannical Incompetence III
The Economic and Social Policies of Lord British
By Ann Ominous
“Anyway, enough reminiscing about the past,” continued British, “what’s the current state of my space program? When will my next prototype spacecraft be ready?”
Blackthorn winced at the question. “Sire, after the first prototype impacted the moon knocking it out of orbit and caused the cataclysmic collision of the moons, we have proceeded with caution in developing the next prototype. Besides, our government is composed of a small team wearing many hats. However, rest assured I have given appropriate priority to development and construction of the next prototype.”
“I am still confused what went wrong,” whined British. “The ship felt like it was going to shake apart during takeoff! Nothing in the ship seemed to match or work the way it was supposed to and the flight and tech manuals made no sense. Who headed up that project anyway? I couldn’t figure that out from the documentation and none of the developers could tell me. They all keep referring me to someone else.”
“My lord,” replied Blackthorn, “your spaceship was produced according to our standard production procedures. Each component was assigned to a different developer. Everyone worked independently on their component without consulting anyone else. After all we are a small team wearing many hats. The developers were also assigned different chapters of the flight and technical manuals to write. Of course since we are a small team wearing many hats they did not have time to consult one another. After all the components and chapters were complete we shipped it all off to Fire Lotus for assembly. In keeping with our standard production practices no informed her in advance what she would be working on. However we did provide her with a small budget with which she was able to hire various bandit groups and a troll to do the actual assembly work. The troll was very helpful in collating the manuals.”
“Well, that is in keeping with the production procedures I designed,” replied British, “so the problem could not have been there.” “One issue we need to address though regarding that project is where did your escape capsule come from?” inquired Blackthorn. “There was nothing in the plans and specifications about an escape capsule. If someone on our team is taking initiative to correct a perceived oversight we need to get rid of them.”
“No,” replied British, “it wasn’t anything like that. The escape capsule was a gift from the elves, kobold, and satyrs. They told me my continued rulership over the humans was in the best interest of their races and they wanted to assure my safe return from my skyrocket ride. At least someone appreciates me… Actually I think the descendants of those elves settled in Blood River.”
“Really,” replied a narrow eyed Blackthorn, “I shall have to arrange something to repay their kindness…”
“Anyway,” continued British, “back to the present. Finally all the avatars in one Britannia under my absolute control! I am their god and this is their hell! Muhahaha! While I derived a great deal of pleasure from slaughtering the first wave of avatars and strolling through the Brittany Graveyard gives me great pleasure, I have come to realize killing the avatars over and over again is my greatest joy. And to think, those fools think I friend them all because I like them! I friend them so I can keep track of them and inform my Chief Assassin, The Baron, when they venture into PvP zones or breakout one of my ultra powerful alts and go kill them myself. New Britannia is my private hunting preserve and the avatars are my prey! “
“Ah yes, The Baron, also our Covert Propaganda Minister,” commented Blackthorn. “It is difficult to believe one person can so effectively dominate our channels of communications. He immediately squelches anyone who contradicts our official stance on any matter. Of course like any lobbyist he has his own agenda.”
“Yes, The Baron is a useful tool,” commented British, “but I’ll find an excuse to throw him under the bus soon enough. After all part of our master plan is to drive off or banish every major backer. We must never lose sight that our business model is based on that old movie ‘The Producers,’” remarked British as he hummed ‘Springtime for Hitler and Germany’ under his breath. “We can’t have anyone coming back to us actually expecting a return on their investment.”
“No, that would not do at all,” remarked Blackthorn.
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Tyrannical Incompetence IV
The Economic and Social Policies of Lord British
By Ann Ominous
“Ok,” continued British, “now that we are stuck with permanent resident avatars this is how I want you to deal with them. First off make their lives an economic nightmare. Remember, our mantra is ‘regional economies.’ The bigger the disaster it is the better and no matter what economic plans, suggestions, or cries of anguish you hear from the avatars, keep chanting the mantra at them. Carefully monitor how the avatars are making money. As you identify the ways they make money ruin the profitably of whatever they are doing. Always gauge our economic policies on the performance of the top elite gold producers. Set before the average avatar an impossible standard they can’t meet. The other economic mantra you shall cling to is ‘player driven economy.’ In the name of the player driven economy you shall wrought economic chaos on the avatars. See that wherever they choose to base their operation the prices of their basic supplies are unpredictable. And continue to fund my space program through insane property taxes and outrageous behind the scenes sales taxes on candles and other basic items. Continue to push the property lottery. We are making far more gold that way than if we actually sold property deeds. Continue to foster economic dependency on the COTOs. That will bring in income in both New Britannia and on Earth. Also downgrade the weapons of our mercenaries and undead minions we maintain to ambush and kill the avatars, but increase their training to maintain efficacy. Oh and see to it none of their armor can be recovered and sold by the avatars. The avatars are making good money off our minions’ equipment and we can’t have that now can we. Keep the faucets shut tight and the drains wide open. Our real goal is to force the avatars into dependency on buying COTOs to generate gold.” Looking about his throne room British took note of the clutter of rugs lying about. “Oh and now that there is a thriving rug market based on the less desirable patterns we left available, put these rugs and the other patterns we have been withholding back on the decoration vendors and be sure to undercut the current player driven prices,” added British with a laugh. The old sage’s expression soured even further as he considered all the work he had put into growing cotton and making rugs.
“Also continue to discourage and frustrate the avatars through unstable and unpredictable laws of nature and physics. Make styles of adventuring temptingly over powerful. After luring as many as possible into dependency on that style yank the rug out from under them! Make it a double tap! First implement countermeasures in the name of balancing that adventuring style, then render the adventuring style ineffective, but leave the countermeasures in place. Change long established laws of physics by which avatars move and function suddenly and without notice. Shift numbers and probabilities behind the scenes without giving notice. Keep applying good old fashion Orwellian and Machiavellian principles in our dealings with the avatars and keep them totally off balanced and confused. You know Blackthorn we certainly rely heavily on the writings of Machiavelli and Orwell for our policies and tactics. Maybe I should take some time to actually read them…”
“Oh no Milord!’ interjected Blackthorn quickly. “There is no need for you to trouble yourself with that! I have not only spent years studying their writings but have also both read and written commentaries on their collective works. Anything you need to know about Machiavelli or Orwell I will certainly tell you.”
“You’re a good man Blackthorn. It is good to have use on my side.”
“Thank you Milord, I am also most grateful for the opportunity to stand by your side.” “As for the crafting,” continued British, “keep making it sound enticing, but see that it takes so much time to make anything really exceptional the avatars will end up buying COTOs to maintain their exceptional equipment.”
“As milord commands,” intoned Blackthorn. “Our other task is to break the avatars’ morale, yet keep them cleaving to New Britannia. First destroy their incentive to group and socialize by destroying the experience bonus for grouping and adventuring together. I want them isolated individuals adventuring and working alone. Second chain them here through their houses. While we make all else fail in New Britannia keep the housing system working and attractive. This is one of our biggest cash cows, so keep herding them toward the add-on store with new and exciting offers. Just like in the shards their houses will keep the avatars bound to New Britannia for years to come and provide me with funding for my space programs in both New Britannia and Earth. Now tell me Blackthorn, how is my Earth space program progressing?”
"Sire, I am pleased to tell you we have raised the capital to finance the first phase of the next step in your space program, your trip to Mars.”
“Really, how?”
“Well sire I approached our major backers in New Britannia. They were extremely enthusiastic about sending you and Arabella to Mars, and the sooner the better. They really pulled out the stops and organized a worldwide fundraising effort. Also everyone who has done business with you in the past contributed heavily to the project, even EA. They even pulled political strings to get NASA to go along with the plan. As soon as the technical details are worked out and the vehicle constructed you and Arabella will be the first humans to arrive on Mars. Once there you will run the automated oxygen plant and construction robots in preparation for the incoming colonists.”
“Wow! What about our return trip?”
“Well milord, once you and Arabella arrive on Mars and successfully establish the Martian base, I will continue to personally oversee the fundraising for your return trip to Earth,” replied Blackthorn with a veiled smile. “Of course there is also another option. An earthlike planet has been discovered orbiting a nearby star. This may be your opportunity to take yet another historic step in space exploration and colonization.”
“Is it possible?”
“We will certainly do our best to make it happen sire.” “What about our kids? You have not mentioned them.”
“Well sire, as the bard sang, ‘Mars is not the kind of place to raise the kids.’” However it was the words of another song the old diviner heard running through Blackthorn’s thoughts, “Ground control to Major Tom.”
“Hmm, I suppose your right, but who is going to look after them while we are gone?”
“I took the liberty of drawing the papers naming me your children’s guardian during your absence, along with granting me power of attorney to administer your assets.”
“Really? That is an awful lot of responsibility to take on. Are you sure you want to do that?”
“Quite sure milord. Your children will be well cared for and I will manage your assets as though they were my own.”
The old sage stared at his divination bowl is disgust. In the clearest expression of his feelings about what he had seen and heard the old man decided the divination bowl would serve well as a chamber pot. As he aimed the golden stream at the enthroned image breaking the divining spell the last words of the srying came faintly through, “Is it raining Blackthorn?”
The End