"Guess-the-Author" Analysis and Critiques

[DensleyBlair]

I’ve received all submissions! Will publish later today when I have time after work for all the formatting.

We’ve got an excellent, varied batch to look forward to. Great to be ending the year with another round!

 

[DensleyBlair]

Didn’t even realise I’d caught the top of the page earlier. What an excellent stroke of good fortune. Here follow the submissions:

 

[DensleyBlair]

Entry #1

The Most Impossible Find​

The mausoleum stood alone in the desert. The old structure, made from stone, was so weathered that it blended into the surroundings, barely discernable from the neighboring piles of rock and dirt. Facing west, a single round arch marked the entrance. The words etched into the stone archway proclaimed a threat: Whosoever disturbs my tomb shall face a greater and more terrible foe than myself.

A group of four people stood back to back, looking at their grim surroundings and keeping the Mausoleum at a safe distance. The foursome shivered. Even though the sun was high in the sky, this place was cold, very cold. The group was on edge, waiting.

“You answered my summons. Excellent.”

The voice seemed to come from nowhere. The four companions reacted without hesitation. They turned in place and took aim. Wands, staffs, enchanted gauntlets, and other magical weapons pointed into the dark shadows extending away from the mausoleum.

One member of the group took a step forward, projecting her voice into the shadows:

“You lied to us. You sent Oighear to his death!”

The woman aimed her dowsing rod at the mausoleum, then back toward the darkness in front of her. As if scurrying away from a deadly predator, the shadows retreated, flooding the space with cold daylight. A man stepped out of the stone wall, keeping his Feldspar wand aimed at the ground. The other three people stood behind the woman, aiming their wands threateningly at the newcomer.

“Uisce, I am no traitor.” He said. “You know that better than everyone else. Have I ever done anything to harm you? Or the Cause? When have I failed to raise my hand against the enemy?”

Uisce did a double-take, casting her gaze at the nearby mausoleum before looking back at the fifth man.

“Did you forget?” She said. “Did you forget what happened here three days ago?”

Uisce knelt in front of the others and stabbed the sandy ground with her dowsing rod. With a great rushing noise, towering figures made of muddy brown water emerged from the desert floor. The water pillars shaped themselves to look like people, and once they took form, the apparitions commenced a re-enactment of the events that took place three days ago:

A man named Oighear approached the mausoleum with a party of magical warriors behind him. They drew their wands and prepared to storm the foreboding structure. Oighear turned to his companions and said: “Remember Cloch’s orders. Touch nothing except the Holy Relic. We must remain undetected. Now follow me.”

Oighear led his companions through the archway and into the mausoleum. There was a series of loud noises, and a few moments later, a different group of people appeared. A party of men emerged from the mausoleum, dragging the corpses of Oighear and his companions behind them. The bodies were thrown in a heap, and one of the strange men pointed his wand at the dead, who erupted into flames. He said: “Let this be a lesson to Cloch and his ilk. This war is over now, and I will tolerate no further resistance.”

The water pillars collapsed, sucked into the earth by the hot sand. Uisce glared at Cloch.

“You’ve always had the answers before.” She said. “What happened? You could you not foresee this before it happened?”

“I did.” Cloch said. “I foresaw all of this, and I foresaw what will happen now.”

He pointed at each person in turn.

“Uisce, You will enter the mausoleum. Bring me whatever you find in the crypt. Your companions will stand outside with me to guard your escape.”

She turned back to look at her companions.

“I do not like this any more than you, but I will not go against Oighear.” Talamh said.

She bade goodbye to her companions and stepped underneath the arch. In moments, the sunlight was behind and entered Uisce the mausoleum.

Uisce moved swiftly through into the shadows. With her left hand, she raised a simple white crystal aloft. It emitted a brilliant light that illuminated the path ahead. In her right hand, Uisce pointed her dowsing rod into the darkness, magical light dancing along its length.

She had to move slowly inside of the crypt, not because of the darkness, but because of the wreckage leftover from the battle three days ago. Oighear and his party had fought viciously against the ambush, leaving behind two different types of battle remnants. There was, of course, physical remnants, like broken stone and fallen pillars. However, there was another remnant lurking in the darkness.

Uisce closed her eyes, reaching out with all of her senses. Focusing hard, she opened her Inner Eye, allowing her to see the traces of magic in the crypt around her. She could see the fragmented remains of enchantments placed by the people who built the mausoleum, but more importantly, Uisce could see the traces of magic left behind by the battle that killed Oighear and his companions.

She examined the traces of the trap spell that snared her friends. She could feel a chill in the air, marking the spot where dangerous magic exploded outwards from its hiding place. The sting of a curse hung in the air, Uisce made sure to duck her head and walk underneath of it.

She was supposed to be looking for something in here, but Uisce was finding far more than she bargained for. The magical fight that occurred here was a ferocious one, and she could barely take a step forward without running into the aftereffects of a spell. Each time, she had to stop her movement and use her dowsing rod to dispel the leftover magic.

Treading with great care, Uisce made her way deeper into the crypt. She peered around, trying to find out just what Cloch wanted her to find, but nothing stood out. No fallen wands, scattered crystals, broken staffs, misplaced enchantments, nothing to find. Just when Uisce was thinking about turning around to leave, she heard a noise.

“Hello?” A voice called out from the darkness.

Uisce held her luminous crystal aloft once more. A shape stumbled out of the darkness toward her. A feeling of wonderment and disbelief rocked Uisce, holding her fast.

A man stumbled toward her, begging for help. Now that she could see him clearly, there was no doubt about who he was.

“Oighear!” Uisce cried out. “This is incredible! You’re alive!”

She threw her arms around him and squeezed. Oighear did not reciprocate.

“No,” he said. “I’m Nathan.”

Uisce let go of him.

“What? No, you’re Oighear of the Brotherhood, and my friend.” She said. “You cannot fool me.”

Oighear pushed her away, looking very confused.

“No, lady. You’ve got it all wrong. I’m Nathan from, like, Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn? Nathan? What?” Uisce was confused now. “But… you’re Oighear!”

“Look, lady, I think I know my own name.” Oighear said, visibly annoyed. “I can’t even pronounce whatever it is you keep calling me. Can barely tell what you’re saying through that fake-ass Irish accent you’ve got.

Uisce ran out of patience. She grabbed Oighear by the hand.

“Come with me. Cloch will set this straight.”

Uisce pulled Oighear back the way she had come. She flicked her dosing rod once, causing the path of broken spells to illuminate itself, revealing a safe path. In just a few minutes, she and Oighear were back in the chilly daylight.

Cloch and the other men met Uisce under the archway. Her companions cheered at the sight of their friend who, up until this moment, they thought to be dead. Oighear did not join in this revelry. He raised his voice.

“Who the hell are you people and what the hell is going on here?”

“What do you mean?" Said one of Uisce’s companions. “We all thought you were dead. We mourned you.”

Oighear put his hands up.

“Look, I don’t know you people. I don’t know anyone who dresses up like freakin’ Harry Potter characters and waves sticks around like they’re wands. Not in broad daylight anyway. Just… let me go home, okay? My dog’s gonna make a mess if I don’t let her outside before five.”

Uisce and her companions all opened their mouths to speak, but Cloch held up his hand for silence.

“Nathan Hyles, you are confused and frightened. That is understandable. My name is Cloch, and I will answer all of your questions… but not here. We are exposed in this place. All of you, follow me. Our time is short and I forsee our enemies making their next move soon.”

Reluctantly, the man called Nathan followed the group of five as they walked away from the mausoleum. He was alarmed to see that their footprints disappeared from the desert sand when there was no wind, but the young man would not fully comprehend the situation he was in until a moment later.

One by one, each person walked into the shadow cast by a large formation of rocks. As soon as they slipped into the shadows, that person vanished completely. Nathan refused to follow them into seeming oblivion until Uisce took his hand and offered to enter with him.

Once all six people vanished, the mausoleum returned to its silent vigil.

 

[DensleyBlair]

Entry #2


A gathering of hats and coats,

Eager now to board the boats.

Yet in their midst a secret lies,

To cause untold misery.



A tale as old as time again,

A million men dead in the rain.

Gloves turn the paper round,

Blood flows yet upon the ground.



Who was it who stole away,

The treasure that had won the day?

I suppose the price was right,

To hear our screaming every night.



We gathered on the shore to see

The sea filled with the enemy.

Holes and tears filled our shirts,

And now we lie within the dirt.

 

[DensleyBlair]

Entry #3


In a building without a name a man with a fabricated job title was finishing a briefing to a man who officially didn't exist.

"It is not much to go on I know." Sir Wallace was almost but not quiet apologetic. "But if it was easy we wouldn't be giving the job to you."

"Of course." Croft said.

"Who do you want on the team for this?"

"McCready if he is available."

Sir Wallace sat back in his chair.

"He is and it's your team so you shall have him, but are you sure he's the man you want? He is not exactly a subtle fellow."

"Every job needs someone for the messy stuff." Croft explained.

"I never though you had a problem getting blood on your hands Croft?" Sir Wallace asked in surprise.

"I'm fine with blood, but I draw the line at dirt and this job will involve quite a lot of it." Croft smiled. "Usual rules on deniability and so on?

"No need for any of that, if the French catch you on this one I suspect they will just shoot you outright regardless of diplomatic niceties." Sir Wallace warned.

"Understood. Well if that is all I shall get going."

Croft walked to the door, pausing only to take his trilby from the hat stand by the door.

"I'd wish you Best of British, but I understand you don't believe in that sort of thing." Sir Wallace said.

"Oh I believe in luck, I just think I used up all of mine in the last war and don't want to risk relying on it anymore." Croft replied as he left the room.

---

The team in Paris had been as good as their word and had procured a mass of plans and recording drawings which had been sent back to London in the diplomatic bag.

"So you think the location of the vault will be on these plans under a cover name?" McCready asked.

"I'd be surprised if it was." Croft said. "He that would keep a secret must keep it secret that he hath a secret to keep."

"Words to live by." McCready said appreciatively. "But why gather all the records if the vault isn't on them?"

"If we know where everything else is, we can find what isn't shown by mapping the invisible interference."

McCready looked blankly at the senior agent.

"Most things are built efficiently - sewers run straight to the treatment works, the Metro should follow the shortest or cheapest route between stations, that sort of thing. When they do start curving or making diversions you can normally see on the map the other structure they were having to avoid." Croft explained.

"So when you see a pipe making a turn but nothing nearby, it could be trying to avoid a secret structure." McCready finished the explanation. "Very clever, but there is a huge amount of Paris to search."

"I believe the Grand Council will want to keep their secrets close, so we can start around the Presidential Palace and the Interior Ministry."

---

"It's under Marigny Square." McCreedy announced, sitting back in his chair and straightening his spine.

Croft looked up from the plans he was studying and walked over.

"You seem very sure on that." He said.

"I am. It's close to the Elysee, there are number of utilities with large diversions all around it and the entire site was sealed off for years after the war, apparently due to damage and risk of unexploded bombs." McCreedy pointed out the labels on the plans.

Croft nodded.

"That site does seem to tick all the boxes. Repairing bomb damage would be a useful cover story for the excavation works. Likely access points?" He asked

"There is a clear corridor from the site to Presidential Palace and Interior Ministry." McCreedy pointed out the clear areas on the plans." But it is also just next to Line 1 of the Metro and that area got cleared of utilities as part of the post war 'repairs'."

"But in reality they cleared the pipes so they could build a secret route from the Palace into the Metro. Yes, I can see the Petit Lion and the Grand Council liking the idea of having a secret passage to scurry down if they needed to escape." Croft agreed.

Croft turned and looked at the surface maps for the area.

"Sneak into the Metro system, down the tunnels and then use the escape route to get in the back door." Croft started to put together his plan. "We'd need to do it at night when the power is off for maintenance or whatever, then we'd need a distraction."

"Not necessarily." McCready said. "I believe I can provide a distraction that will allow us access at any time of our choosing."

"I'd do look forward to seeing what that is, I'm sure it will be suitably dramatic." Croft smiled at his colleague.

"We will also need to get past any security systems." McCready said.

"Indeed we will, but I will take care of that. For now, I think it is time we started planning our trip to Paris."

---

Sometime later, at one of the many small tables outside the Grand Palais in Paris, two well dressed men had just been served their coffees and were resuming their conversation. Croft took a tentative sip before pulling a face.

"It appears you are not impressed by the famous French coffee." McCready said.

"I didn't expect much, but if something so bitter and foul is truly their national drink it explains a great deal." Croft declared.

"You could have ordered a tea." McCready said.

"Yes, I could also have put out an advert in Le Figaro announcing we are here which would have a similar effect."

"It probably would make us more memorable than the chaps back in the office would like."

"Besides if that is what they do to mere beans I dread to think how they would treat tea leaves."

Croft's complaint was interrupted by the sharp ringing bells and discordant howl of a pair of police cars roaring down the Champs-Elysees. The noise redoubled as several fire engines raced after them, seemingly heading for the clouds of dark smoke starting to rise near the Place de la Concorde.

"I take it that is your distraction?" Croft asked his colleague.

"I do believe it is."

"Do I want to know what has occurred to summon such a cavalcade?"

"If I had to guess I would say the brakes on Metrocar 85 failed to operate correctly on the curve into Concorde station. As a result the entire train could not slow down sufficiently and derailed on the curve, it's momentum carrying it further down the track until it crashed into the station itself. But that is only a guess."

"How convenient that such an unfortunate maintenance failure would occur just now and in just the right place." Croft said.

"Indeed it is. I should also add that after such an incident the response plan orders that power to the adjacent sections of the Metro line be cut off, to ensure there is no risk of the emergency response teams working near live track."

"In which case, shall we?" Croft gestured towards the nearby Metro entrance just opposite the large statue of Marshall Petain.

---

The staff and passengers in the station were unsure if they should stay or return to the surface, so Croft helped them to decide by setting of the fire alarm. The locks on the station maintenance room door were comprehensively outclassed by McCready's lockpicks, providing a suitably discrete place for the men to wait out the evacuation. Once they had privacy they emerged and made their way down the empty metro tunnel.

"What sort of security systems are we expecting around the vault. CCTV?" McCready asked.

"Nothing like that I'm sure, CCTV needs someone to monitor it and no-one is even supposed to know about this place." Croft repiled.

"No security at all?"

"I didn't say that, I strong suspect there will be noise and vibration based alarms to detect if anyone enters."

"Noise and vibration, so close to a metro tunnel with loud, rattling trains in it? Surely not?"

"It is a terrible choice I agree, however the brother-in-law of the Minister for State Security runs a firm that sells noise and vibration sensors so I feel sure he will have got the contract."

"You really think they would run dodgy bids on something this important?" McCready raised an eyebrow.

"Will a notoriously corrupt regime be corrupt in all they do? Yes I think they will. Besides the main defence of the vault is the fact it doesn't exist and is not on any maps, I'm sure none of them expected the security to ever be tested."

The two men continued walking until they came to an discreet and unmarked set-back opening in the tunnel wall.
"This must be it. No loud noises until I can get a white noise box in front of the audio sensors and try to vibrate less than a train."
McCready smiled and broke out his lockpicks, once again the lock proving unequal to the challenge. Once inside a short walk brought them to a mass of cabinets and shelves loaded with storage boxes. Croft found the security microphones and setup the white noise boxes so the two men could speak freely.
"It is going to be one of the first boxes, let us hope there is some sort of system to this." Croft said.
A short while later, at the very back of the vault, Box #001 was found and Croft started rooting through it.
"Here we are, the Petain Proposal of June 1940." He said while flicking through the document. "Need to stay in France... impossible to abandon... reasonable armistice terms."
"Petain as in the hero Marshall Petain, beloved step father of First Citizen President de Hérain?" McCready asked.
"That's the one, and this is his proposal to surrender to the Germans rather than fight on from North Africa."
McCready whistled.
"Indeed. Have a look for the rest." Croft said.
"The rest?" McCready asked, while starting to root through the box.
"It's not just him. Old Man Laval, Flandin, Darnand, most of the future Grand Council agreed with the plan and there should be notes to prove it."
"Why did they keep these reports once Petain got him himself killed and Reynaud convinced everyone to fight on?" McCready asked as he looked. "Just burn them and be done with it."
"Something to keep de Hérain in line. A way to remind him that he is just a puppet who can be cast aside if required, so he shouldn't get any ideas about independent thought."
"This would be a bit awkward for the Little Lion and Heir to Petain to explain away." McCreedy agreed.
"For the rest the Grand Council are all cowardly rats and they know it, the biggest risk was not someone else finding out it was being betrayed by one of their own. Keep a central copy is mutually assured destruction, a way to ensure that they live or die as a group." Croft said.
He collected up the documents.

"Now, lets get this lot back to London."

---

Sometime later.

“This is the BBC World Service from London. A new trade deal has been announced between the British Empire and French Republic, lowering tariffs and removing quotas on trade between the two blocs. The talks had reportedly been stalled due to serious national security concerns in Paris where the majority of the Grand Council was against any move away from self sufficiency, however it is understood these objections have been dropped. While warmly welcomed by British and Empire trade bodies, the new treaty has been condemned by both French Trade unions and business leaders who fear the removal of tariffs would see British goods flooding into France and her colonies.”

 

[DensleyBlair]

Entry #4


Shara looked and could not believe what she was seeing. Buried for so long, the tomes were dusty and breaking apart from the sands of time. She longed to see what they had to say, but the pages were brittle and tore apart on her as she tried to read.

“You know better than that.”

She looked to Porter with aged eyes, “They are here! The stories that they would tell!”

“You’ve been at this a long time, Shara,” Lewis stood to the entrance of the cave, “Why is this so important to you?”

“He was here,” she held her gaze to the fading parchment as it crumbled within her fingers, “And how can we know...if it is all lost?”

Porter crouched over her shoulder, “We know the tales, my dear. You more than most.”

“Your life’s work,” Lewis agreed.

She felt a tear to her eye, “Yet it is lost. All lost! So...forgotten.”

“No one forgets the great ones,” Porter held her near, “And the tales are legendary. This is proof enough.”

Shara turned to him with pain to her eyes, “Yet no one can read them. Not now.”

“Yet the memory remains,” he answered as he helped her stand.

Lewis took a step, “You’ve seen much. From Crimea to the Bard and his three tales.”

“It’s a cold night,” Porter suggested.

Lewis agreed, “And the desert tides, Shara. We shant stay here too long.”

“He was here!” she repeated as she bent once more to touch the sacred texts.

Porter tried again to help her stand such was her age, “And what is there to prove? You were there too, Shara. Dr. Rowe? Aurturo? The fat man has been dead for a long time.”

“Cairo and Higgins were ages ago,” Lewis offered, “Shara...you must leave it lie.”

She looked to them both with genuine agony, “How will they remember him? All that he did? This is his legacy! We did not come here to find nothing.”

“And yet...we have found it, my dear,” Porter answered, “All of it.”

Shara looked again to the faded pages, “That no one will remember.”

“I do,” Lewis suggested, “All of it as you have told me. So too Hobsen here.”

Her fingers were frail. As much as the pages. And she hesitated to reach out once more. The memory and everything it meant to her. The mysteries and the riddles...all of it a grand escape and challenge. Everything at her age for she was almost eighty. Her life’s work and it would be for nothing if she could not recover it.

As another tear fell from her eye, Porter bent to a knee and held her again, “You can never go back, but we have found the proof. Is that not what you needed? Required?”

“Yet he is gone,” Shara looked to him with sadness, “And I am the last.”

Lewis offered a smile, “And thanks are we for that, my dear. For you will remember him. And...what a storey.”

 

[DensleyBlair]

Entry #5

A Raid on Roman Veii​

The city itself looked extremely mundane. It was located on a plateau and dotted with small houses - mostly villas outside of the city limits. There were rivers nearby, which Mago figured could have been used to supply the area. Even many of their temples lacked roofs and were exposed to the sky.

The city of Veii certainly didn’t look like an imperial capital, but Mago knew that appearances meant nothing. If the Samnite intel (that they had been very reluctant to part with) was correct, this small settlement had once been the seat of a great empire. More importantly, it had once been the seat of a great empire that included Rome, and records of that fact survived. If he could find those records, the Etruscans might defect and join Hannibal Barca’s coalition. If the Etruscans defected, Carthage would have a more convenient path to Rome itself.

The problem was that their informant had failed to provide much detail about this city. The only thing that he knew was that the secret archive was located under the hardened volcanic ash that made up the ground in the city. Furthermore, the city itself had been walled off. If Mago had an army, he might be able to conquer the area, but he was here alone.

Mago walked across the plateau while avoiding the walls of the settlement. He had to cross a hill, but, once he had done so, he found a structure. It was blanketed in shadow by what looked to be an abandoned wall, and it looked to be a place of worship.

The worship area was divided in half, but it seemed completely abandoned. Only one of the structures had a roof, and even that roof had become half-decayed. Statues decorated it, and yet those terracotta figures looked like they were about to fall into the temple itself. Next to that temple stood an abandoned pool. The entire area was surrounded by trees, which even reached the boundaries of the temple itself.

Mago walked towards the pool and drank. The water looked covered in dirt and leaves, but he was thirsty. He picked out the leaves that he could spot and drank. The water tasted better than he expected, and, for a brief moment, he even thought that he could taste salt. He had tasted much cleaner water, but, in this strange land, he would take what he could get, especially given that he didn’t have any other drinks. His supplies of wine had long since been exhausted. If only this area had been dedicated to Bacchus or Dionysius…

Now hydrated, he decided to continue on his journey. He walked towards the roofless structure. He walked through the columns and entered a vast room filled with columns made of ash. Wood and terracotta blanketed the floor. The walls were covered in paintings. He looked up once more and realized that there were only three columns.

He stepped closer to the column closest to him and discovered that it contained sculpted heads. He spotted heads that looked human, but a few depicted more mythological beings. He spotted the snake-covered heads of gorgons and heads with crazed and intense eyes - the heads of maenads. He moved toward the maenad heads and looked around them. If the devotees of Dionysius had once been honored here, perhaps he could find the wine that he so longed for… Sadly, his search failed to yield results.

Disappointed, Mago abandoned his perusal of that column and moved toward the next column. There, he found papyrus, scrolls, and books. He immediately knew that this column was where he might find what he was searching for. Excited, he carefully removed some of the scrolls from their spots in the column and looked at them, thanking every deity that he believed in that he had bothered to learn the Etruscan language.

After many hours of searching the column of knowledge, he finally found a few texts that might be helpful and pulled them out. These texts were Secrets of Veii, the Glories of Etruria, and Those To Whom The Gods Knelt.

After a minute of consideration, he decided to skim through Secrets of Veii, hoping that text would allow him to find the archive under the city of which his Samnite informant had spoken.

His skimming was quick and revealed that, while this text was full of interesting information, it contained no references to any secret repositories under the city of Veii. It did reference another font of knowledge near the city walls of Veii, but, given the map and references to a sacred grove nearby and columns of ash, Mago figured that font was where he currently was. It promised that the “Temple of Menerva” had all the knowledge of the city and its glorious history, but it also said that temple was supposed to have a roof of wood and terracotta. Given that wood and terracotta currently made up the floor of this place, Mago figured that some things did not survive the ravages of time.

Even so, he decided to open his second text and found exactly what he was looking for in an instant. The very beginning of the papyrus scroll labelled the Glories of Etruria had a map of the Etruscan Empire at its greatest extent. That map included Etruria proper, all of Cisalpine Gaul, Corsica, and, most importantly, all of Latium, including Rome. To his shock, the empire had also apparently had tributaries across all of Gaul and Germania. As he continued on with the scroll, more good news emerged. This text also claimed that Rome was not a unique city founded by the children of the god Mars but instead a mere colony of the mortals of Veii.

Mago rolled up both scrolls and returned Secrets of Veii to its column. He kept the Glories of Etruria, well aware that it was exactly what he needed. He began to roll up Those To Whom The Gods Knelt, but something stayed his hand. For a brief moment, he wondered if this scroll also had information that could be useful to Hannibal Barca’s war effort, and so he began to look at it. The scroll’s beginning instantly grabbed his attention for some reason that he could not voice.

The scroll itself was strange. It began by describing how the mighty Etruscan Empire had once dominated these lands, but its content swiftly changed into more esoteric things. It told him of ancient secrets involving the divine, such as how to steal the gods of a different nation or even how to make a new god. Unfortunately, all of these things involved rituals that he could not do alone. Finally, it offered him untold power by telling him of a ritual of sacrifice that only required the actions of a single human.

Immediately, Mago rolled up the papyrus as quickly as he could. He refused to resort to human sacrifice for any reason, regardless of the propaganda that the Romans used to demonize his people.

He almost put the final scroll back on its shelf, but doubts plagued him. He knew that scroll could also be useful for Carthage as a nation with its divine secrets, even if he refused to engage in sacrifice. Later, he would claim that it was this consideration that stayed his hand in the temple, but that claim was always a lie. In truth, he stashed away the last scroll without a lot of thought, and he could never justify why other than a faint feeling.

Thus, Mago moved out of the ancient Temple of Menerva in Veii with two scrolls that would change the course of the Second Punic War - and of history.

When Mago finally reached the Punic camp, days had passed. He gave the great Hannibal Barca the Glories of Etruria and insisted that he had only found that text in his searches. Before he slept, though, he snuck the other text that he had pilfered from the ancient temple into a private hiding spot.

When he finally did fall asleep, though, his dreams reflected the third book. He was in an unusual realm where few things could be observed. The only thing Mago saw was purple clouds and a black floor of volcanic ash. The only thing he felt was crippling power.

And the only things that he knew were that his soul and his body had been separated… even though he was definitely still alive, and some entity wanted something from him.

As if summoned, he felt a being enter his mind. It said nothing, but he understood it all the same. “I know that you have read my book. Unlike your strange assumptions, I do not demand human sacrifices… all I need is a sacrifice of some kind. I could give you an eternal throne in exchange for your spoils of war. I could give you a pantheon of gods that answered to your will if you merely sacrificed most of your food to my glory. Everything has a price, Mago of Utica. That price is not always impossible to bear. Now leave and consider what I have said.”

“And if I refuse? Or if I attempt to cheat my end of the deal?”

“You can refuse. Cheating will have… consequences.”

Mago’s eyes shot open, as he tried to forget his dream. He failed, of course. Once the residents of the Shroud have a road to influence in the material world, they never give it up.

Mago turned and went to the war meeting. Focusing on the conflict should get his mind off of his hallucinations. When Mago arrived, the war council was already assembled.

“There you are,” Hasdrubal said. “Does that mean we can begin this meeting now?”

“Yes,” Hannibal Barca replied. “Mago’s discovery is very useful. It will almost certainly turn the Etruscans against the Romans. In that respect, the plan went perfectly.”

Mago frowned. The news of the inevitable defection was amazing, but the exact wording implied that there was more to it. “But?”

Hannibal sighed. “But the news about how expansive and glorious this empire was raises a few questions. One of those is more pertinent than the others.”

“And that is?”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “If the Etruscan Empire was so glorious and mighty, then how did it fall? How was it erased from history? Why have none of our Gallic allies mentioned it, if they used to pay it tribute?”

To those questions, Mago had no answer, but he was beginning to have a sinking suspicion.

 

[DensleyBlair]

Entry #6

The Raid on the Secret
and Forbidden
Archive of Kønugardr
by the warband of
Gorm,
the King-in-Waiting,
Slayer of The Ten Thousand,
in the spring of 971
as witnessed by his right hand
Haraldr the Quick-witted​

The Gathering of the Mighty

It came to pass that Gorm's warband assembled outside the Bear King's City for their most dangerous, daring, and desperate undertaking yet, the raid on the Secret Archive. Bright were their weapons and high their spirits, as they gathered to hear mighty Gorm's plan, but just as he was about to speak words of wisdom, carrot-topped Thora, she of the ample bosom and short temper, interrupted, saying,

“Shut it, Harald!”

Haraldr the Quick-witted, indulgent of the scatterbrained notions of the weak-minded sex, followed the lead of honoured Gorm, who ignored her feeble interruption and, before turning to weightier matters, whispered under his breath,

“Please don't tease her, Haraldr. I need both of you for the plan.”

So noble Haraldr refrained from teasing She Who Must Not Be Affronted, as Mighty Gorm, the King-in-Waiting, addressed the multitudes,

"I am sure you are all wondering why I have called you up today, and the answer is simplicity itself. My friends, we are going to raid the Secret and Forbidden Archive, that contains the Tablet of Destiny, with provides evidence of my superior lineage.

We need to acquire said evidence using stealth and guile, lest anybody suspect our purpose, and once the king dies, perish the thought but he's an old man, and it could happen any day, he's clearly ga-ga, I wouldn't be surprised if he fell out of a window and broke his neck or speared himself while boar-hunting, forefather Odin forbid, but.. where was I. Right, when he dies, I, Gorm, will reveal myself and claim the throne. You will be greatly rewarded come the day, I hope it goes without saying!"

The warband cheered their leader wildly, clashing their weapons and shouting words of encouragement, except for Bjorn Cowsplitter, he of the great axe, who asked how the archive could be both Secret and Forbidden, but nobody paid him attention, because he's a berk.

“I have studied the few extant sources, determined the archive's location, and with the aid of my good right hand Haraldr, I have scouted the outer perimeter of the archive. The good news is that since the archive is both Secret AND FORBIDDEN (please emphasize this for the scrolls, Haraldr), it is not large and it is only lightly guarded. A single-story stone building."

The warband listened attentively, and none more attentively than big-eared Ran.

"The bad news is its location; The archive is in the king's compound, next to the Hall of Champions.”

Big-eared Ran interrupted, asking the question that was on everybody's mind, except for that of Haraldr the Quick-witted, for he knew, saying:

“You mean the old library?”

“The Old Library, yes. Specifically, it is hidden within the Old Library's Inner Sanctum!”

“I didn't know it had an outer sanctum!”

“That's how secret it is!”

Everybody was amazed at this penetrating insight, and expected further words of wisdom, but instead Gorm, the occasionally grumbling leader of the host, said,

“Save it for the sagas, Haraldr. Thora's got a point. Your sotte voce narration is distracting and you aren't a Skjald yet to carry if off convincingly.”

Haraldr the humble realized that perhaps, just perhaps, supreme Gorm had a point, as the warband cheered his words. Never one to let down a friend in need, Gorm suggested, gently,

“Can't you just scribble some notes?"

Haraldr the humiliated began taking notes.


The Plan

"Since this is a secret raid on the SAFA, we cannot afford to be identified, we cannot afford for to leave any evidence of our transgression, and we cannot afford to fail. Speed and stealth be our guide, we must be like knights of mist and shadow!" spake Gorm.

"I'm not a knight," objected slack-jawed Thora, which Gorm wisely ignored.

"There is only one entrance and it is, of course, guarded at all times. We must bypass the guards. Past the guards is the Warden of the Portal. The Warden must be distracted. Past the Warden is the Maze. Within the heart of the Maze lies the door to the SAFA. Within the SAFA its Protector lies in wait. The Protector must be tricked. With me so far?" asked Gorm the Cunning.

"What Protector," asked big-eared Ran. "Guards = Library axemen. Warden = Librarian. But who's the Protector?"

"The Serpent."

"That's it, I'm out," said Thordis Skullsmasher. "Sorry, Gorm, but that's too hot for me. If The Serpent so much as catches a whiff of me, it will all end in fire and tears.

"What's the problems with serpents?" asked Aznar the Frank, a recent addition to the warband.

"Not a serpent, Aznar-you-idiot. The Serpent. The Bear King's Serpent. Get it?" Ill-mannered Thora interjected.

"So the king has a pet serpent?", clueless Aznar continued. "I believe the kings in the northern isles used to have hundreds of the things in their serpent pits; Venomous serpents all over the place in those days; I heard this great story about your ancestor Ragnarr Hairy-breeks, and.."

"This one is... larger. I believe you call them dragons out west." Gorm told his sworn man solemnly.

"Dragons! The King has DRAGONS?"

"Just one, and she's domesticated but has a vicious temper. The female serpents often do. We cannot fight her, and we cannot outthink her, but to look on the bright side, she is unlikely to kill without provocation. Thanks to Harald's good work I know her weakness, so I am sure I can trick her, for am I not in cunning unsurpassed?"

And the warband granted that it was so.

"So listen very carefully, my sworn men", Gorm began bombastically, and noticing that mount Thora was about to erupt, adroitly continued, "and women, for I shall say this only once:

The plan is as follows:

1. Full operational security! Codenames only.
2. We infiltrate the city dressed as poor woodcutters on our first visit to the BKC and make our way to the OL
3. Rn, Bjrn, vr, and znr the Frnk start a brawl outside the OL, distracting the guards
4. The rest of us enter the OL and ask the WOP for directions to the nearest mead-hall
5. Thrds and Hrld will engage in traditional woodcutter dance-fight if this is not enough to distract the WOP
6. While the WOP is distracted, the rest of us will enter the OS of the OL
7. Within the OS, we will pose as poor woodcutters who have discovered literacy and lacking mead decided to better ourselves by reading the latest news from some of the smaller runestones in the current affairs section
8. The CA section of the OS in the OL is next to the MZ, which is where we split the party
9. Thr and Grm will seek the HRT of the MZ
10. If anybody interferes with the search, Thr will use her feminine wiles to distract him
11. Once at the HRT of the MZ, GRM will enter the IS
12. In the IS, GRM will face the SRPNT
13. ...
14. PROFIT!
15. Run for the hills! Sneakily.

Any questions?

"Can't I just hit them with my axe?"

"Speed and Stealth, Thora! Not bloody murder, remember?" long-suffering Gorm corrected the warrior-maid.

"But I don't have any femine wiles. Why don't YOU do it," wrathful Thora suggested, staring daggers at her chief.

Gorm paled as the warband reacted to this suggestion with studied neutrality and a few sniggers, for nobody wanted to affront Thora the Pissed Off, especially not when she had her axe to hand.

"Fine. We'll pretend to be lovers sneaking into the MAZ for a bit of privacy. How do you like that?" he grinned, and easily ducked her flying axe, only to crumble from an unexpected and decidedly unfair kick to the groin.

"Fine with me," excessively violent Thora, the Maid from Hel, told cross-eyed Gorm, "I like a boy with spirit!"

"Now, are there any OTHER questions?" groaned distressed Gorm, but everybody was too embarassed to speak up, except for brainless Thordis Skullsmasher.

"Will you intercede on my behalf if my mother discovers my participation?" asked Thordis, which was a damn silly question that made me wish I hadn't brought her along to the Gathering of The Mighty, but when my older sister is in town, and she's such a renowned fighter, and most of all when she caught me as I was going to the meeting and threatened to tell mom, how could I have left her behind?

"No. Tricking The Serpent is dangerous enough as it is. Our only hope is that she considers my presence a harmless prank. Motion dismissed."

Thus began the fateful Raid on the Secret and Forbidden Archive.


The Infiltration of the City

REDACTED woodcutters REDACTED and a bear that REDACTED cheese.

FOR THE GOOD OF THE REALM, THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN CENSORED BY THE WILL OF THE BEAR QUEEN.


The Traditional Dance-Fight

REDACTED

"I can't believe you forgot the bells," annoyed Thordis exclaimed, as they started to dance.

REDACTED Blood all over the place REDACTED

"Of all things anglo-saxon, why did our ancestors adopt this?" asked curious Thora, and Quick-witted Haraldr was quick to set the record straight.

FOR THE PROTECTION OF MORRIS DANCERS, THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN CENSORED BY THE WILL OF THE BEAR QUEEN.


The Maze

Kicking the head under a shelf, fire-haired Thora attempted to console Gorm the disconsolate, as he REDACTED his REDACTED.

"Let's try again in a few years?" modest Thora suggested.

AFTER THIS UNFORTUNATE AXE INCIDENT, THORA IS FORBIDDEN HER AXE UNTIL SHE LEARNS RESTRAINT.

FOR THE PRESERVATION OF STATE SECRETS, THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN CENSORED BY THE WILL OF THE BEAR QUEEN.


The Victory of Gorm

REDACTED REDACTED AND HEAVILY REDACTED
...and ever-victorious Gorm escaped with the Tablet of Destiny while The Serpent was REDACTED with a REDACTED.

FOR THE PRESERVATION OF STATE SECRETS, THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN CENSORED BY THE WILL OF THE BEAR QUEEN.


The Serpent's Surprise

When the warband gathered after the raid, dumbstruck Gorm discover that the stolen tablet was blank. He had read about disappearing ink, but disappearing carvings? What manner of sorcery was this?

Quick-witted Haraldr spoke up, saying,

FOR THE PRESERVATION OF STATE SECRETS, THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN CENSORED BY THE WILL OF THE BEAR QUEEN. THE TABLETS OF DESTINY WERE NEVER ENDANGERED.


The Punishment of Gorm

"Spare the rod and spoil the child," said The Serpent, as she pulled up her sleeves.

FOR THE DIGNITY OF THE SONS OF THE BEAR KING, EVEN THE SONS BY LESSER WOMEN, THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN CENSORED BY THE WILL OF THE BEAR QUEEN.


The Punishment of Thordis and Haraldr

REDACTED hurt while sitting for a week, and he regretted giving lip.

The End.

BECAUSE HARALDR, NOT GORM, WILL BE KING, THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN CENSORED BY THE WILL OF THE BEAR QUEEN.

 

[DensleyBlair]

There we have them. A reminder that our prompt is “Raiding a Secret Archive”. I suspect at this point we can function without a list of potential authAARs, but I will provide one if there is popular outcry. Otherwise: have at it with your comments and critiques! I’ll keep things open until the New Year. Then we can see where we stand.

Happy guessing!

 

[Von Acturus]

A good looking collection! I'll be commenting and guessing as I read.

Story 6 of the long winded name, is an excellent piece of comedy.

Marvelous story, I love this kind of absurd comedy. Special appreciation goes to the ever changing and hilarious epiphets. Cross eyed Grom had me laughing aloud! I was collecting my prefered lines, but gave up after a short while. There are simply too many of them. I can't really offer any writing advice, as he who wrote this is clearly a better writer than I.

Only thing that did not convince me much was the abundance of "redacteds" and brevity of the account of the raid itself. I understand it was used for the comedic effect. but to me it felt a bit too rushed and too censored and not as hilarious as the previous segments. Maybe I'm missing something, either on the comedy or the history.

I loved that the dragon/serpent was revealed to be a wet nurse, though. And the twist at the end was similarly unexpected and entertaining.

Great story, clearly written either by @Peter Ebbesen or by an impersonator of him, so skilled at their mimetism as to render themselves indistinguishable from the original.

 

[Von Acturus]

Story 1 is a nice piece. Very interesting premise, caught me by suprise. The story was well written and managed to keep my interest alive from beginning to end. The description of the tomb was very vivid, which is always enjoyable, especially in more fantastical settings like this one where we can't just assume the appearance of the surroundings.

However, I did find the beginning a bit confusing. I understand it was meant to hint at a larger world, but the part about the war supposedly won by those inside the tomb (although they seemed to behave more like the remnant of a vanquished foe than a victorious conqueror) and the disappearance of these guardians after utterly wiping the floor with the first intruders, seemed a bit confusing to me. Maybe I'm reading it wrong though.

Again, loved the premise, and the first contact scene was quite amusing, so overall a very good story. A bit of a shot in the dark this guess.

@SibCDC (?)

 

[Von Acturus]

Entry 2 the poem. Despite being quite short, it's an enjoyable piece of poetry. Unfortunately poetry isn't right up my alley, so I won't be able to give a lot of feedback. I first thought this was about the expeditions to Egyptian tombs during a major conflict like the Napoleonic wars or world war one. Now not quite sure. Maybe a war over an artifact? In any way I certainly liked the way they describe the carnage, especially the last stanza.

Also a shot in the dark for this one, but maybe @DensleyBlair ? I seem to remember he wrote a poem for Guess the Author some time back. Edit: It has been pointed to me this was actually a clever impersonation by Peter Ebbensen. I'll still vote for Densley, if only because while he may have never wroten poetry before, this does have a bit of the social realist style present in his AARs (and besides I have no other guesses.).

 

[Macavity116]

Also a shot in the dark for this one, but maybe @DensleyBlair ? I seem to remember he wrote a poem for Guess the Author some time back.

Woah, wait a sec. The host is a possible suspect as well!?

Alright, now I've got to go back and tear down all of red string from my conspiracy board and start over.

 

[DensleyBlair]

Also a shot in the dark for this one, but maybe @DensleyBlair ? I seem to remember he wrote a poem for Guess the Author some time back.

Woah, wait a sec. The host is a possible suspect as well!?

Alright, now I've got to go back and tear down all of red string from my conspiracy board and start over.

To make things even murkier, I didn’t even actually write that poem. If you’re referring to the round I think you’re referring to, @Peter Ebbesen confected it to make it seem as if I were, in fact, the true author.

 

[Avernite]

To make things even murkier, I didn’t even actually write that poem. If you’re referring to the round I think you’re referring to, @Peter Ebbesen confected it to make it seem as if I were, in fact, the true author.

Or the round after where I put some poetry?

 

[Peter Ebbesen]

Also a shot in the dark for this one, but maybe @DensleyBlair ? I seem to remember he wrote a poem for Guess the Author some time back.

Actually, that was me having fun writing a bad poem implicating him as an author, by weaving the names of several AAR veterans into the poem in more or less cunning form (some were never discovered), with one of the less obvious - but still easy enough that I counted on it being discovered since it was taking triplets of letters in a certain order, spelling out explicitly that he wrote this.

Upon my request, he was kind enough to add his own name to the list of possible authors for that round to aid the deception and sow paranoia. (And we have had the host participating before, so it wasn't completely unheard of.)

The theme was the Bleak Midwinter with an added twist that the authors were urged to engage in deception to throw the trail, and I managed to get several of the posters to join the guessing game rather than asking the obvious question of why the author would provide clues to his identity in a round that was all about deception. Or at least that is my fallible recollection, which may or may not be in accord with what one would find by rereading those pages. So I'll pass up on doing that.

It was a great round. All the entries tried to misdirect the readers in various ways; references to AARs, older GTA entries, imitating styles, duplicating missteps from the immediately prior round of GTA to make us wonder whether it was the same author, poking fun at himself for well deserved criticism, or somebody else.

This was my pretty awful poem. I am not much of a poet, but I am usually better than that; Poetry, however, had to take second place to deception.

For entertainment, see how many AAR writers you can find (Densley Blair is explicitly called out as the writer in the third verse) - or try to read the comments following the entries as everybody joins the fun trying to throw suspicion every which way. It was one of the most enjoyable rounds of Guess the Author I have partaken in.

@Swuul guessed it was me right away anyhow, with the most infuriating argumentation ever given that this is a very, very, bad poem. He wrote:

Author #4
This is poetry that goes way over my head. Too classy for my poor head.
Peter writes poems that must be good. Usually I don't get them, as they have such deep-woven delicacies I simply miss the whole point. I believe this is one of those.
My guess: Peter Ebbesen

That round ranks right up with the round back in 2017 where I wrote an entire entry drawing parallels to one of Avernite's GTA entries from many, many, years earlier, just so I would be able to write a penetrating criticism showing how he had returned to an old unfinished story, stronger in form than ever, and was having fun on our behalf expecting nobody to notice what he was doing. My entry was For the Emperor, this was Avernite's original entry from 2009. Both @Avernite and @Wyvern pegged me as the author right away, but I did manage to sway some minds with my critique of it, and this was my favourite critique of the entry, written by @DensleyBlair. Read it and weep.

Err, I have a bit of history with attempted misdirection in this game, having been around for a long, long, time.

This particular round is crystal clear, however, as I clearly wrote entry #6.

1. It refers directly to my ongoing AAR
2. It uses formatting for title like I do
3. It lays out paragraphs like I do
4. It is easily recognizable as my sense of humour
5. It includes several turns of phrase that I use frequently
6. It even includes the sort of punning that I love, the slightly intellectual, blink and you'll miss it, as when the archive is referred to as a one-story building. This seems an obvious a misspelling, until you remember that the archive is located in the old library.

So for this particular round, fear no trickery. While in principle I could have agreed with @Wyvern or @Swuul that we swap styles for this entry, neither of them would be able to carry it off convincingly. Of course I might try to throw snow in your eyes by suggesting even indirectly that this is the case, as I am doing right now, but let's face it: Even in the absence of Occam's razor to give a clean shave, I obviously wrote it.

So that's my vote for author #6. @Peter Ebbesen

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

The theme was the Bleak Midwinter with an added urge to the authors to engage in deception to throw the trail, and I manged to get several of the posters to join the guessing game rather than asking the obvious question of whether the author would provide clues to his identity in a round that was all about deception.

Ah that was a cracking round. Wrote a deliberately terrible Lovecraftian spoof designed to melt the eyes of anyone who tried to analyse it. Seemed fitting.

 

[Wyvern]

So that's my vote for author #6. @Peter Ebbesen

My vote too. I felt it was so obviously you I didn't bother saying so earlier, but as you've fingered yourself for it too, I guess I'll join the club .

 

[Peter Ebbesen]

My vote too. I felt it was so obviously you I didn't bother saying so earlier, but as you've fingered yourself for it too, I guess I'll join the club .

Good man. Sure you don't want to try to pretend you wrote it, imitating my style? You can always reverse your position.

 

[Avernite]

Good man. Sure you don't want to try to pretend you wrote it, imitating my style? You can always reverse your position.

Nah, too many ostentatious titles. Must be you.

I or Swuul might have come up with some of them, but I don't think anyone else could have done it so consistently.