Our group is called Gremus (it’s short for something and it’s a long story :), and DDG came up with a Risk game based on continents made out of worlds from our books. My continent is the Gods Dimension from my Laws of Magic series.
So DDG put all this together and we modified the rules so we could play online. The first day was ridiculous! (I lost like 5 guys to a land with 2 or 3). Today DDG wrote up the story of the first day of battles and it is so freaking funny, I had to share from: https://gremurisk.wordpress.com/2015/09/02/day-one-results/ Enjoy 😉
Dawn sunlight pokes through the mist. Extras in battle gear fidget in the wings, making last minute adjustments to their green moustaches. Somebody complains about how itchy the banana outfits are. Lights. Cameras. The whole world of Gremu is about to shout “Action!” when a Viking on a T-Rex ambles into view, waving a pair of large white Y-fronts on the end of a stick.
‘Since when do Vikings wear Y-fronts?’ asks a Furry.
‘Beats me,’ says a lawyer in a blood red suit of armour, sifting through a briefcase of shurikens and hand grenades.
‘We surrender!’ booms the Viking.
‘What?’ asks Sir Ian McKellen who has kindly agreed to narrate the Battle of Gremu. He is dressed like a pirate and is sitting on a deckchair in the mist, pouring a mug of tea from a flask, a script lying open on his lap. ‘You can’t surrender – we haven’t even started fighting yet!’
The Viking shrugs. He is dressed from head to toe in radioactive Gremu green. ‘We’ve been all over the place,’ he says. ‘None of us have a clue what’s going on.’
The T-Rex roars.
‘Harry here, he wants you to know that he is bitterly disappointed. He was looking forward to eating some bloranges,’ says the Viking.
A man dressed like a blorange screams and jumps into a paddling pool filled with peanut butter. He goes under like it’s quicksand.
‘Seriously,’ says Sir Ian McKellen. ‘Can we get on with this now?’
He stares into the camera, magic twinkling in the corner of his eyes. He blinks. The magic isn’t supposed to be there. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys, girls, bananas, bloranges, furries, and magical creatures. Let the Battle for the World of Gremu begin!’ He flips the page of his script and puts on a pair of reading glasses. ‘Hang on, that’s all it says.’
A half-eaten jar of peanut butter scurries into the shot. He is evil, but Sir Ian McKellen doesn’t know that until the peanut butter bites him on the ankle. ‘Why you little…!’
‘FIGHT!’ shrieks the half-eaten jar of peanut butter, and he blasts a klaxon that can be heard all over Gremu, deafening poor Sir Ian McKellen who is hopping around on one foot.
The Kichaitans were born ready. As soon as they hear the klaxon, five armies of sassy lawyers all in blood red battle armor charge across the Meijeryn border. But the Furries were expecting the attack, and have prepared a weapon so insanely powerful, it defies description. ‘It’s a trap!’ shrieks a Senior Counsel. ‘We need to retreat!’
‘Form B12!’ cries a patent attorney, armed with a cutlass. ‘We need a Form B12!’
‘B12?’ cries a litigator in high heels, carrying a bazooka. ‘Don’t you mean an F3?’
But it is too late. The indescribable weapon strikes and 5 armies of lawyers get wiped from the face of Gremu in three blinks of Sir Ian McKellen’s eye.
North of Kichaita, in the wastelands of The Deinnan, a young lieutenant, a human rights lawyer to trade, puts down his telescope and rushes inside a hidden bunker where Commander Amie is sitting on a fluffy couch, editing a novel. The lieutenant goes head over heels. ‘Oh for god’s sake, Lieu, it’s not that difficult running in high heels,’ says Amie, not looking up from her book.
‘Ma’am, it’s about the Meijeryn offensive. They’re dead. They’re all dead,’ blurts out the young lieutenant, getting unsteadily to his feet.
‘Excellent,’ says Amie.
‘N-no ma’am,’ stammers the lieutenant. ‘I mean, we’re all dead. The Furries were expecting us. They had a top secret weapon.’
‘What sort of weapon?’
‘Hard to say, ma’am…’
‘****!’ shrieks Amie and she hurls the pages of her book across the bunker. ‘I just got my ass whupped by a kid. Oz, mark my words, there will be blood in your streets!’
Meanwhile on Shapeshifter Isle, Oz chews some grass and says “Bring it on”. He watches as his Furry army sing their badass anthem and disguise themselves to look like hardy Szarians. They cross the sea to Szar in a fleet of fishing boats, 3 whole armies in disguise. News of the victory over the Kichaitans has them in good spirits and they make up some sea shanties as they row towards shore.
On the shoreline of Szar, Roman and Sparrow wearing matching purple tunics, watch the boats sailing in. ‘Now?’ asks Roman, and Sparrow nods. ‘This is too easy,’ he tells her and he motions to Fred who releases a tank of Great Purple sharks into the water.
The sharks devour the Furry fishermen in a matter of minutes. The last sound we hear is a lonely ballad, some bubbles, then the crunch of bones.
‘That wasn’t just easy, that was a level beyond easy,’ says Roman with a shake of his head.
‘Peasy,’ says Sparrow.
Roman laughs. ‘Gods, I love you! You are the Sword In My Si-‘
‘Sword AT my side,’ says Sparrow. ‘Sheesh, Roman. How many times do I have to tell you?’
In another realm, high above the terrestrial world of Gremu, the gods are getting restless. The Japanese Shinkoku have been watching the fighting down below. ‘Pathetic,’ says one, looking around at his brothers and sisters. ‘Did you see that Great Purple devour that entire ship of Szarians? They were too busy singing to notice.’
‘Actually, they were shape-shifting Furries,’ says another.
‘Seriously?’ snorts the god. ‘You could never tell.’ He picks up his Flaming Samurai Sword of Destiny and raises it aloft. ‘Let’s go mash some lawyers!’
In Gaiwiio, a solitary army of lawyers are chilling.
‘The good thing about getting stationed out here, is that we’re unlikely to see much action,’ says a criminal defense lawyer.
‘You don’t think we’ve been abandoned by the Big Boss. Left out here as sacrificial pawns while she concentrates on trying to win a continent in the west?’ asks a nervous solicitor, trying to get to grips with walking in high heels.
‘Nah,’ says the criminal defense lawyer. ‘All we’ve got to watch out for is those druids of Ryn’s over on the mainland. 3 armies of them. But they’re more interested in picking wildflowers for potions than -‘
They don’t even see the Shinkoku gods. One minute there’s nothing, and the next they are getting hacked to pieces.
A short while later, Daydream Generators Yongles* his way to the island of Faerie in the God’s Dimension. He is not pleased. Word on the streets is Denali and Olympus have fallen.
‘Bananas!’ he shouts. But there are no bananas. Only six armies of pixies. ‘Oh frick,’ he mutters, ‘not pixies again. Well, I suppose you’ll have to do. We’re going to take The Island.’
‘Which island?’ asks one pixie at the front.
‘THE Island,’ says Daydream. ‘Down there in Gremu.’
Six armies of pixies shake their heads.
‘THE ****ing Island! THE ISLAND!’ yells Daydream. ‘Remember? Our plan to invade the dark green continent from 3 sides?’
The pixies look at him blankly.
‘Asdfghjk,’ says Daydream, sitting down on a rock. ‘Jeez, these bulletproof banana costumes are itchy!’
Meanwhile in Meijeryn, the indescribable weapon is malfunctioning.
‘What’s wrong with it?’ asks a fox general in a really badass grey uniform.
‘It’s broken,’ says a sturdy wolf.
‘Don’t we have an instruction manual?’ asks the fox.
‘Can’t we Google it?’
‘Google what, sir?’
They look at the indescribable weapon.
‘Well, this is disastrous. Our troops are attacking Szar as we speak. They’re going to get their tails kicked.’
The Battle of Loa
Loa turned out to be a popular place in the God’s Realm. First the lawyers were chased out by Sarah’s purple warriors from the recently renamed My Glyth (previously Mt. Olympi), only to see Ryn’s Norse gods come charging through the gates of Asgard. Fully expecting to be fighting lawyers, the Norse gods had spent far too much time looking out B12 and F3 forms, and not enough time sharpening their hammers. It was another purple rout, with one solitary army standing firm.
Ryn listens to it all on a portable radio from her base in one of those cool Arabic tents in the Black Desert of Auster Efni. ‘Stupid Norse gods,’ she mutters.
The Iron Lands commander, a giant wolfess, snarls. ‘We shall have our revenge.’
A jingle for doughnuts comes on the radio. ‘Doughnuts! Doughnuts! Get your free doughnuts!”
Ryn’s belly rumbles. There are no doughnuts in the Black Desert.
Several hours later…
Sir Ian McKellen kicks a half-eaten jar of peanut butter over the edge of a clifftop and turns with a microphone to interview Watkins. ‘Somehow you managed to repel wave after wave of ninja bananas from the Sand-Lands, as well as pixie gods attacking from the The Island. And without losing a single troop too! How was that possible and why is that griffin looking at me like he wants to eat me?’
Wakins leans into the microphone. ‘The defender’s of Logan’s Rock are tending to their injuries. The bloranges have carried the day! The high cliffs of our island are too great for those slippery banana’s climb! All hail Commander Watkins and her brave griffon Cuddles!’ She blushes at the cheering crowd. ‘I know it sounds egotistical, but that’s what it says in my script.’
Sir Ian McKellen fumbles with a flask and holds it out to the victorious Watkins. ‘Cup of tea?’
‘Ooh, yes please,’ says Watkins, ‘don’t mind if I do.’
Sir Ian McKellen tosses the flask to her and edges as far away from Cuddles as he can, before turning to the camera. ‘And so, that concludes the first day of fighting. But there is still a long way to go, and anything, anything could happen. This is Sir Ian McKellen, who really isn’t get paid nearly enough for doing this, dressed as a pirate, reporting to you live from Logan’s Rock. Handing you back to a nerdy little man in the studio.’
Cut to the studio where a nerdy little man points with a stick at a map on the wall, and clears his throat. ‘As the sun sets all across Gremu (don’t ask us how that’s possible), our six remaining commanders mull over the day’s events. Some are happy. Some are not. Some have blood or banana juice on their hands. Others are clean as a whistle. Our statistics machine has ranked the 7 armies performance on day one as follows…’
A stubby little machine saunters forward with a cigarette in his robotic hand.
7. VRQ (Green) – Surrendered prior to the first fight. Expect neutral army to get eliminated in due course. Unless a new commander can be found quickly. (cough-cough, Feedme)
6. Oz (Badass Grey) – 8 territories and 9 armies. Sustained heavy casualties, though managed to retain the same amount of territories.
5. Amie (Blood Red) – 6 territories and 16 armies. Several losses has reduced her number of territories to 6, but she does have significant forces.
4. Daydream (Banana Yellow) – 8 territories and 10 armies. A potentially crippling loss at Logan’s Rock proved a fine line between glorious success and abject failure.
3. Sarah (Poiple) – 8 territories and 14 armies. Some important victories and a sizeable army. With Sparrow and Roman leading the way, expect them to make further inroads.
2. Ryn (Sort of Teal) – 8 territories and 17 armies. Managed to avoid any bruising defeats and still commands 17 armies.
1. Watkins (Blorange) – 9 territories and 21 armies. The only commander to increase her number of territories, with more surviving troops than all the others. We can safely conclude that day one was a minor victory for the bloranges, but there’s still a long way to go.
He sighs and stubs his cigarette out.