Day Two-Nintety-One: Should've been called Libbyball

DAY TWO OF OUR GRAND EXPEDITION. The rain is gone, all our shit is dry, and spirits are high. The nobles are bitchin' about their lack of comforts - where the hell do ya expect to find bathrooms out here, ya twits? - but, yeah, everything's going well so far.

The plains are… plain. There's not much to say. Hilly land in all directions, with only the sun's movement to guide us. I've travelled the Indies before, and you kinda WANT to run into a whole lotta nothing. The migrations through these lands are deadly to migrants. You really think the lot of us could take on a horde of bouncing marmots? Not bloody likely. Our best warrior is preggers at the moment.

And busy! Libby doesn't have much to do, what with her gigantic belly, so she's occupied herself with designing a new board game. We lost her first one back in our old home, and the second, developed in Goblinoster, was deemed rather dull. She abandoned it in that sordid town and started fresh. (Libby blamed my death for stealing away her creativity. Pfft!) But this new one, hell, it is FUN.

Lemme run down the rules as I understand 'em:

- You begin play on a trigonal board, one player per corner, three neophytes per player. There's a maximum of six players if you can figure out how to play on a Z axis.

- Each player takes turns teleporting their neophyte from one end of the board to another. When two neophytes meet they engage in 'Praxis', whereby the neophyte with the higher ability score wins. Extra points go to players who bundle indicative theories with their moves.

- If a neophyte is 'nullified', he transforms into a 'reaper', and gains fifteen status points. If a neophyte is SOLIDIFIED, he transforms into a 'gangwenatch' and LOSES those fifteen status points, simultaneously adding a 'surefire' marker to his side of the board. Extra points are awarded during transmogrification if the player can balance a ball on their head throughout their turn. 

- If a player runs out of neophytes, they lose - though another player can grant them an 'extra life' through an agreement of indentured servitude. I'm not sure if I like this rule so much, 'cause it implies that the dead player can't WIN, thus giving the master an unfair advantage, but it's Libby's game. I'll let her iron out all the kinks.

- The player with the greatest tally of science points by the end of the twelfth half-round wins. They are thereafter entitled to eat all the ice cream they want, at least until the beginning of the next match. This prize is tough to apply when ya don't have any ice cream, so we won't be able to play PROPERLY 'til we're near a restaurant.

Make sense? Does to me. The rules are fairly clear-cut, and Libby's good at explaining what we have to do. Grylock loves the game, I'm pretty good at coming in third, and Edmund… well… Edmund's kinda stupid, I guess, 'cause this is what he had to say about the rules:

"I've been to many places, and many folk I've met; /

'tis many now the weary day that I have had to fret /

O'er worldly things of wonder, and our world's wonders more, /

And know I well /

That wonders swell /

And outward they outpour; /

But ne'er in all those days, so many days of yore, /

Have e'er I played /

Nor long outstayed /

Such bullshit, that thou namest 'War'."

(Yes, Libby named it 'War'. Just like the card game. She's not good with original names.)

I could tell Edmund was confused by the game through his lack of poetic structure. His rhyming was fine, but the progression of the stanzas? Changing it up halfway through? Nope. Didn't work for me. Didn't work for him, either, 'cause he was getting more upset with each word, and I'm pretty sure he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown when Libby told him to get lost.

Edmund ditched our wagon and practiced his rhymes while walking alongside one of the oxen. Got back to normal after a few minutes. Good for him.

So… yeah! That's more or less been our day. Grylock and I talking to Libby about her new game while she messes with the rules. I've made a point to stop the caravan a few times so the oxen have a chance to rest, and I've tried to talk to all the nobles at least once or twice. They all needed reassuring that I wouldn't run off on 'em, like I tried before. They're so insecure.

I'd say more, but Libby's calling me back for more gaming. Seems she's got a variation on one of her rules already. Make up your mind, lady!

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Mayor