Well, I didn't have anything personal against poor Joan, as she and Elizabeth had been my strongest trading partners throughout the game, but they were the only ones left now and it was time for them to face the music. I had achieved peace in 1515AD by killing off the Koreans and Scandanavians; in 1520AD I declared war on France and got ready to roll. Joanie had a ton of island colonies scattered all over the map that I could easily grab with minimal effort; it was my hope that they would push me over the domination limit. If not, I would simply invade mainland France and fight my way through it. If I killed France and still was short of the victory, the hammer would fall on Elizabeth next.
I'm sure that the shock was total for Joan when I suddenly declared war and began rampaging through her island colonies. I took Bensancon, Amiens, Poitiers, and Grenoble all on the first turn of war. Dijon fell on the next turn in 1525AD, and then Cherbourg, Toulouse, and Rouen fell the turn after that in 1530AD. By that time, France had been stripped of ALL of its overseas colonies. I did not win a domination victory, so I began moving forces into place for the massive invasion of the French mainland. Getting units there was a logistical nightmare, but once my supply chains were set up I could simply overwhelm the defenders with sheer numbers. It wasn't for another five turns that I could land my first (yes, only the first) task force on the French mainland. And it was a rather impressive one, consisting of a full 24 units made up mostly but not entirely of cavalry:
This image has been lost.
I've landed larger stacks of units than this before, but it still wasn't too bad. Take a look at the minimap too; all of the French colonies in the north have been replaced with the yellow banner of Mongolia. I should probably have landed more rifles and fewer cavalry, because the French counterattacked with a number of cavs and quickly killed the one rifle I did bring. Then they picked off three or four cavs before running out of attackers. Fortunately I had brought along enough forces so that their attacks were mere pinpricks; Chartres was taken - with heavy losses, since it was size 12 with rifles inside - and razed in 1560AD. The settler I had brought along simply founded a city right where it stood, completely inside French cultural borders. That's something a lot of new players don't even realize that you can do, but it certainly was helpful in this situation. Now I had an almost flip-proof city right on the French mainland to use as a base. The injured cavs that were left went inside it to heal up for their next assault.
On the same turn that Chartres was razed to the ground, 12 more cavs landed on the OTHER side of the French island and prepared to attack a size two coastal city which was over there. Two more galleons full of cavs were ready to land in 1565AD, bringing 8 more cavs to the western side of the French island. Within two or three more turns, I would have well over 50 cavalry in France. In between turns, the French attacked one of my colonies - the last Korean city of Manp'o - and killed the two rifle defenders to capture the city! What was it with my luck there, anyway? Well, I would take that city back soon enough as I continued to burn my way across their homeland.
Errr, no I wouldn't:
How embarrasing! After plundering and looting my way across the entire world, I lose one of my cities on the very turn that I trigger victory. Well, that's life for you. A win is a win in any case, and I really didn't want to push too much further into France anyway. I had fulfilled all of my self-made goals and roleplayed my civ to the full degree that I wanted. I fought every single civ except England at least once, and killed all but the two eastern ladies. This was by far my highest score for an archipelago map, and if it had been a pangea map I would have won at a far earlier date. Only the logistics of moving forces around in ships prevented me from winning much earlier. On a interesting note, none of the AI civs ever fought a war against anyone but me; they never fought amongst themselves at all. I kind of liked that; it only reinforced the "me against the world" feel of the game. I never signed any alliances with other civs, never traded for anything but techs and the occasional luxury to offset war weariness pains. And in the end, the Mongols overcame their foes and stood as the undisputed masters of the world. A great game, tons of fun, and I'd like to thank Sirian for the game concept and design. I hope you enjoyed reading the report and my attempt at some fiction; if you have comments you'd like to make about that privately, they can be e-mailed to me at MSoracoe@hotmail.com. Now I'll leave you with some pictures from the replay, the final histograph, and the last chapter in the story.
Starting Positions:
After winning, I "played a few more turns" to retake Manp'o and raze a few more French cities, down to and including Paris. The following events take place at that time, a few turns after I actually won a domination victory.
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.
