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Johnny Among The Stars III: Sanguine Solutions, The Day I Bloody Well Got My First Space Job

Note: My release schedule is already a little out of whack thanks to exams but I should be able to return to normal after Monday (my final exam... god damn Legal Theory). By then I'll be releasing stuff each Thursday night (Australian EST). Sorry about the delays, any readers that I may or may not have!
 
Hello everyone, this the third installment of Johnny Among The Stars, the tale of an Australian serviceman taken from the Kokoda Track in 1942, only to be abandoned to the cruel woes of fate in the stars thanks to the bureaucratic nightmare that is the wider galaxy. If you're new to the story this is the beginning!. If you're a little bit behind, find out what happened previously
 

Otherwise, Enjoy!

 
“You’re telling me,” Merlia said sceptically, “that some puny little newcomer put down three Threndotians in hand to hand combat and walked away without a scratch?”
 
“Aye ma’am,” the Illyan barman said nervously. “Quick as the Void’s comin’, he was. Strong too. Those bottom-feeders didn’t know what hit ‘em. He was right nice to me. Paid up front, and I’m sure he wouldn’t have started any trouble in my pub if they hadn’t started on him.”
 
“Right,” Merlia replied thoughtfully. “And where might we find this newcomer? I’ve got some questions for him.”
 
The Illyan looked at her blankly before scratching his head and holding out his hand. She narrowed her eyes at him and glowered. Illyans typically did not stand up to Travians. With deep red eyes, slitted pupils, and small fangs that were reminiscent of their long-tempered savagery, Travians were the sophisticated alternative to Threndotian mercenaries. Lithe, strong and shapely, Merlia herself was the true embodiment of what it was to be a Travian warrior. And yet the Illyan stuck to his guns. She harrumphed and handed over 50MD, which he quickly secreted away in one of many pouches hidden about his person.
 
“He loaded ‘em up on his sled and took ‘em to the Moot Bureau to get some bounties. The thing is,” the Illyan lowered his voice conspiratorially, “I don’t think he’s a Moot citizen. Didn’t know some obvious things, and I’ve never seen anything that looks like ‘im before. Haven’t heard anything over the infowaves about a new signatory to the Moot neither. So odds are, he’s probably still there, under arrest for unlawfully apprehending a Moot citizen or some such nonsense.”
 
“What makes you so sure that he hasn’t already been taken by StationSec?” Merlia asked sharply. She could still get to him, wherever he was, but it would be substantially cheaper to get to him at the Moot Bureau rather that the Security Offices.
 
“I’ve got friends in pubs all over Erebos,” the Illyan laughed, “and I know that Constable Patrokus has been drunk for three days straight at The Laughing Indril and it doesn’t look like he’s going to be sober any time soon.”
 
 
Welbeck paced the edges of his cell for what must have been the thousandth time in the few short days that he’d been there. He was bored and dreadfully so. It was not as if he was mistreated. He received meals three times a day that he could both digest and, to some extent, enjoy. He was not beaten or interrogated. He had adequate plumbing facilities to wash and so on and he was provided with a moderately comfortable bed to sleep on. It was a bloody paradise compared to Kokoda. He was almost tempted to stay if he was not driven by greater imperatives, chief among them being the desire to return home to his family, but another strong motivating factor was that this cell was so bloody boring. It was so boring that he grew to hunger for the company of the Stroban who ran the place, even though the bastard never spoke.
 
He saw the Stroban Moot official stroll past the glass wall divided his cell from the hallway a few times a day, but the busy being barely spared him a glance as it went about its duties. His arrest had been accompanied with the words, “the authorities will arrive shortly.” He had assumed ‘shortly’ had meant a matter of hours, but as he had sat and stewed in his boredom for what was now the fourth day, Welbeck had realised that ‘shortly’ had entirely different meaning in this little corner of creation. The phrase that the Stroban had precisely enunciated, this lie, actually meant that the authorities would arrive whenever they could be bloody arsed.
 
Welbeck looked at the glass that blocked his freedom with speculation. It looked about as thick as the glass that he’d smashed through back on the Quinzuin Cruiser. He could do it. He could do it and get out of this damn cage. Welbeck had already taken up a sprinter’s posture at the end of the cell facing the glass before he really took a moment to think through the consequences of his actions.
 
He was already in trouble, of that much he was certain. The actual severity of his punishment was unknown to him. If this was the space version of prison, perhaps the Moot equivalent of hard labour was pushing a lawn mower about and weeding some old bastard’s garden. To try to escape, or cause damage to this government’s property, would probably mean that they would up the sentence on him. It would be years before he could even think about returning to Earth, let alone put any plan he could think up into action.
 
“What on earth you doing?”
 
Welbeck froze and looked up. He’d been staring down at his feet, still in a pose that suggested he was ready to spring into any number of athletic actions, as he thought through his options. Now a new, and by the tone of voice, severe and authoritarian player had made themselves known. The speaker was a woman, as far as he could tell, in that she had the shape of one. Welbeck was careful not to make assumptions, however. He was in space. She could be bloody anything but, for now, she was a woman. The woman in question had smooth ash- grey skin and deep red eyes. Welbeck’s eyes narrowed and his figurative hackles rose as he spotted fangs that peeked cheekily from behind her lips.
 
Vampire
 
“Just thinking about breaking through the glass,” Welbeck replied neutrally as he slowly sank into a fighter’s crouch. “I’ve done it before.”
 
The vampire-woman-thing looked at him speculatively, in a manner that made Welbeck very aware of the blood that was pumping through his veins. He suppressed an instinctive shudder.
 
“Why,” she finally drawled, “would you do that when I could just let you out?”
 
“I’m not sure old mate wandering around here would like that. Or the turrets that would probably fill us both with holes as soon as we step out the door.”
 
“Trust me, newcomer, it’s all been paid for.”
 
“And my fine?”
 
“Well, that will depend upon the outcome of this little talk.”
 
 
Merlia let her fangs show because she knew it unnerved him. This self-professed ‘Human’ who called himself John Welbeck was everything she’d hoped he would be. Not only in terms of physical ability, which appeared to be on the high end of the spectrum, but also in reference to his intuitive and cognitive processes. Travians were masters at many things and, if it were not for large conglomerations of political entities like the Moot and the Commonwealth and the fact that it took extreme situations for groups of more than 50 Travians to work together at any given time, there was no doubt that they would have carved themselves an empire from the backs of the vast majority of docile races that inhabited civilised space. Even now, the Travian political community was well on the way to achieving it. Manipulation, observation, deception, plotting and killing; all of these things came naturally to the Travian race. Here, Merlia reasoned, she may have met a species that may rival her own in a few of those categories.
 
Welbeck had recognised her danger to him immediately, of that much Merlia was certain. She was an omnivore, but evolution had left Travians with sharp fangs that varied in sizes depending on different families. It is said that the larger the fangs, the more combat oriented a Travian is likely to be. Her fangs and the fangs of her bloodline were quite large. She could tell that his instincts immediately screamed predator when he first saw her. As he had sunk into a fighter’s crouch her own instincts had started screaming too.
 
Threat.
 
Her mind had joined her instincts when they had started to negotiate. He was shrewd and quick-witted, immediately recognising her ploy for what it was, an attempt to secure the loyalty of a potential recruit with little to no cost. She believed that some called it indentured servitude. He had already guessed at the vast reach of her resources, she knew. She also knew that he had nowhere else to go.
 
“You’ll pay for my fine, and in return I come work for you. That’s the bare-bones of it, yes?”
 
“Yes. And, of course, I’ll be taking a percentage of any bounties or rewards you may accrue in your independent action.”
 
“What percentage?”
 
“80% until your debt to me is paid. If you still wish to continue on working for me that percentage will reduce.”
 
“By how much?”
 
“My standard cut is 60%. Good workers can get it down to a 50-50 split,” Merlia smiled slyly. “If I like them.”
 
“What do I get in return for that percentage of my pay besides, of course, the curious sensation of being fucked up the arse?”
 
“My dear Mr. Welbeck, You get protection. Every time you need help in situations like this,” Merlia gestured at the stark white walls of the Moot Bureau interview room. “I’ll be there. I’ll bail you out of gaol, I will get you into places that a non-citizen like yourself wouldn’t normally be able to go, and I will make sure you get the best medical treatment possible when you inevitably get shot. If you’re lost and hunted in some hell-hole because a hit’s gone bad, I’ll send someone to pick you up. I’m the nurse that keeps you alive. I’m the key that opens doors. I’m the security blanket that makes sure you don’t fall to pieces. That, Mr. Welbeck, is what you get.”
 
Welbeck sat and stared at her pensively as he chewed at his lips in thought. Merlia couldn’t help but notice that he too had small fang-like incisors. He was an omnivore, at least. She wasn’t sure if she had him yet, but by the Void did she want him. Something told her he’d be worth quite a bit of money down the track.
 
“Right,” Welbeck gruffed, “how does it work, then? I can’t pick people up or do anything like that because I’m a non-citizen.” “That’s where I come in, Mr. Welbeck. As a non-citizen you are not allowed to apprehend Moot citizens wanted by the law as an independent contractor. However, when you sign on as an employee with my company, any action taken that falls under your employment parameters will be seen as an action taken by the company, not by you. As such, with my company’s credentials, you will be able to operate as an independent contractor. These facts will be stated on the MID that we will provide.”
 
Welbeck nodded and Merlia took it as a sign to continue, the small flutter in her chest telling her that she was close to the kill, as some seasoned bargainers would put it. Negotiation was much like hunting, depending on how you went about it.
 
“In terms of how the actual work goes, it’s quite simple. For the most part, you will operate independently, with any bounty you claim automatically paying 20% into the account we’ll set up for you and the 80% going to the company. From time to time, however, we will contact you and offer you work that has been offered directly to the company by a prospective client. This may be anything from mercenary work to a bodyguard contract. Should you accept it, we will pay you the same percentage of what the client is offering that you would normally receive from a claimed bounty.”
 
“Right,” Welbeck replied, his bright blue eyes narrowed in suspicion and recognition in his lack of choices in the matter. “Before I sign, I want a written guarantee that I will be able to leave at any given time after the payment of my debt, that the interest rate is for that debt not to go above 8% per annum and,” Welbeck paused significantly. “You’re cut is 25% once the debt is paid.”
 
Merlia’s mouth went dry. “Preposterous,” she spluttered, “how can I expect to make a profit? I’ll go no lower than 50%.”
 
“And I’ll go no higher than 40%.” Welbeck stated calmly. There was a moment of disbelieving silence as Welbeck sat motionless, his blue eyes boring into Merlia’s red. Merlia couldn’t believe his thought process. That he would actually risk his freedom over a little bit of extra money was absurd, but something told her that he would happily return to his cell if he didn’t get what he wanted. He moved imperceptibly, as if to rise and leave.
 
“Fine, I agree,” Merlia blurted out, frightened that she would lose him when she had gone through so much effort to locate him.
 
“Where do I sign?”
 
“Right here,” Merlia said morosely. She entered the correct changes for the agreement into the form template and handed it across to Welbeck, who signed them with no change of expression.
 
“Welcome to Sanguine Solutions, Mr. Welbeck. If you’ll come with me, I have the perfect job to start you off.”
 
Merlia allowed herself a small smile of victory as she led Welbeck from the room. Good assets were hard to come by and she could practically smell the money she was going to make off him in the future, despite the draconian agreement he had just forced her to offer.
 
 
“There’s someone on Erebos that I want you to take,” Merlia purred as they walked through the crowded streets. All of Welbeck’s things had been returned to him, most importantly his weapon, which was now a comforting weight strapped to his right thigh.
 
“Right, who?” Welbeck growled back. His immediate dislike towards Merlia had been tempered with respect, but that did not silence the niggling voice of distrust that whispered in his mind. She was intelligent and manipulative, of that much he was certain. He had the feeling that she had intended to acquiesce to his demands from the start. He also had the sneaking suspicion that this vampire-woman had her fingers in some not altogether legal pies.
 
“A core system dignitary’s son. He’s an adolescent Centari who decided to slum it on the fringe to celebrate his graduation for a cycle or two before returning home. Needless to say, he wasn’t quite cut out for life out here. As I take it, he’s a bit of a snob.”
 
“What’s it matter to me?” Welbeck asked as he shouldered past an Illyan. The poor being was nearly launched into a nearby stall, and launched a tirade of angry curses at Welbeck’s back. “Sorry about that, mate, I wasn’t paying attention.” Welbeck’s smile sent the Illyan scampering, and his face fell in confusion. “I was only trying to be polite.”
 
Merlia laughed, a noise that was surprisingly light and mirthful. Welbeck had somehow expected the sound to be quite villainous. “You’ll have to be a bit careful with those teeth in public, dear. For most cultures in Moot space, showing your teeth is a sign of hostility.”
 
“What about yours?”
 
“Oh, it can mean a great deal of things in mine, depending on the situation. It can go so far as to show a willingness to mate.”
 
“Same here, I guess.” Welbeck replied tightly. “Back on topic then, what’s this about the rich bastard and his boy?”
 
“Refreshingly direct. Well, here we are. He’s in there.” Welbeck and Merlia had stopped in front of a non-descript door at the base of a building like any other in this section of Erebos. Worn, graphitized and slightly dirty, the door could lead to any number of situations, illicit or innocent.
 
“So, what do you want me to do?”
 
“The boy has made himself an enemy of a boss of a local crime syndicate. Fairly low level. They’ve kidnapped him and are now asking the father to pay an exorbitant fee to get him back safely. Go in there and get him.”
 
“Sounds like the bastard’s rich as can be, why not just pay the ransom and be done with it.”
 
“The nature of Centari politics means that situations like this are best kept under the rug. It’s cheaper politically and financially to hire us to do the job quietly, rather than have Herd Leader’s potential liabilities spreading about town. Furthermore, there’s no guarantee that the abductors will return the boy once that ransom is paid. Since there’s nobody who knows about this, although I’m sure there are some who suspect, then there’s nothing to stop our client from taking his boy back by force and then killing the crime boss to send a message to similar persons who may or may not decide that our client is a soft touch. Act strong, look strong is a very real mantra that much of the Centari follow in their political lives. Looking weak is not an option. These gangsters made a very big mistake by not making the fact that they had this boy public.”
 
Welbeck remained silent.
 
“So, here’s the plan, and it is rather simple. Go in there and get him back. Deal with anyone who tries to stop you by any means you deem necessary.”
 
“What’s he look like?”
 
“He’s a Centari, darling, they’re quite obvious. Just look for the only thing in there with 4 legs and a tail.”
 
“Right.” Welbeck nodded. He drew his pistol, he still hadn’t really had the chance to test it out, and contemplated the door. He didn’t like the sound of this whole deal that he’d entered into with that vampire witch, but he also knew he had no choice. He owed her a debt, and he’d have to pay it and then earn some more cash on top of that if he was ever to see his children again.
 
With a deep breath, Welbeck slammed his foot into the door, blowing it off its hinges and launching it backwards into the hallway to crunch into an unsuspecting guard. There was a moment of stunned silence as the two other guards who had been loitering in the hall stared at their fellow lying unconscious on the ground and the imposing duster-clad form of Welbeck standing in the doorway, weapon levelled.
 
The lead guard, an Illyan, lifted his weapon to fire at Welbeck which, when considering the current situation he was in, was a very stupid move. Welbeck fired his pistol. The report of the gun was strange enough to make Welbeck’s eyes widen in shock. It was as if a piece of corrugated iron had flapped and torn in a windstorm. They widened a little further at the damage that the bolt of blue energy could do. The Illyan’s head had been blown clean off. Green blood spurted from the stump left behind and hung in the air like a fine mist. The second bolt was already on the way down the corridor as the headless body twitched and fell, striking the second guard, a one-eyed Stroban, in the chest. It burned his skin away like paper and launched him backwards to crunch into the ground, where he expired without a sound.
 
“Fuck me,” Welbeck said wonderingly as stared down at his gun. For all intents and purposes, it looked like a standard issue British Service revolver with some glowing bits tacked on. He bloody loved it.
 
 
Grgnupl Vippitichi was in deep trouble. Trouble that would probably get his hooves cut off and sent off with a courier to hurry along his father in paying the ransom. The last week had been hell. He had been innocently playing Gvetch in a local casino, where he’d made some remarks about a certain fellow’s playing style. How was he to know the wretched fool, who (might Grgnupl add) played Gvetch about as well as Threndotian who happened to have been dropped on his head as a child, was a station renowned crime boss. He’d found himself suddenly held at gunpoint, before a fairly large Gunji had knocked him out with an expert smack to the back of his head. He’d awoken here, in this dingy little room. His four legs were hobbled by painfully tight ropes that chafed through his soft hide, unhardened by rough living or work. The rope itself was tied in such a manner that it meant that he could shuffle slowly but not move for any distance at any speed greater than that of an elderly Grandmare in the throes of extreme arthritis. The plumbing of the room consisted of a bucket in one corner for waste, and another in the opposite corner filled with fresh water. He had never in all his life experienced such a constant state of indignity, humiliation and pain.
 
It was made all the worse by the fact that there were witnesses. There were three heavily armed guards in the room with him at all times. They guarded him in shifts, and they always seemed to smirk down at him with untold arrogance. He was the son of Herd Leader Hdhrul Vippitichi! None would dare look down upon him like this! And yet they did, and he found that their expressions of contempt were a heavier weight on his soul than any physical discomfort could hope to match. His heart was a complex mix of seething anger, fear and self-loathing. But also a small spark of hope. This hope stemmed from the fact that all his guards were fingering their weapons and looking at the only entrance to his cell with mixtures of fear and trepidation.
 
The screams and gunshots had started a little while ago, and they were only getting closer. The door opened and all his guards lifted their semi-automatic rifles and immediately sighted them at the new threat.
 
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” squealed the frantic Illyan. “You have to get ‘im out of here! We can’t hold it for long! We’ve got to get out!"
 
“What’s happening out there?” snarled the Gunji. Gunji were a solid choice if you wanted an aggressive, strong and loyal henchman that didn’t ask too many questions. A Travian would probably try to stab you in the back, a Threndotian would probably try to eat you in a moment of weakness, but Gunji, well a Gunji would stay with you through thick and thin, using its mottled green hide to shield you from harm and its thickly muscled arms to throttle the life out of your enemies. They were strong, quick and cunning and they would be the support for your organisation that would never falter… for the right price.
 
“It’s… It’s a mon-“ the Illyan stammered before being cruelly interrupted. A tremendous force had blown the door off its hinges, sending it flying into the terrified being. His green blood liberally splattered the occupants of the room. Grgnupl felt as if he was going to be sick as he felt the warmness drip from his face, and the putrid, mouldy taste seep onto his tongue. All thoughts of vomit were swept aside as he looked upon the face of the being that entered through the door. Its face was hidden in the shade of a wide brimmed hat, and the majority of its form hidden by a long coat, but it did not need to reveal itself to instil fear in the room. Its eyes shone a clear and freezing blue, cutting through the darkness that hid its face like a sword.
 
The Gunji was the first to fire and the first to miss. The newcomer was quick and had already taken cover to the side of the entrance. His head peeked around and two shots tore through the Illyans that stood ready on either side of the Gunji. Their bodies fell to the ground, dismembered and twitching, leaving great pools of green blood to seep into the porous concrete floor. Grgnupl blinked in surprise. From the sound of the weapon and the damage it did to the Illyans, he would guess that it was an earlier model from the Sicario series of battle pistols. They were quite rare, and only an antiquary like his father could hope to recognise them. Grgnupl only happened to know this because his father had one that he frequently fired at the range.
 
The Gunji did not waver, despite the bloody demise of his fellows. He took cover behind Grgnupl, causing white hot fear to race through young Centari’s veins. The being peeked around the corner again, his weapon raised and sighted, only to hesitate at the site of Grgnupl being used as a shield. The Gunji took this as the opportunity that it was and let loose three quick shots. Two went wide, but one struck home. Slamming into the newcomer’s shoulder and launching him back to slam against the wall, sending its weapon skidding across the room to lie at Grgnupl’s hooves.
 
“Fuck you, you bastard,” the thing snarled as it immediately kicked off the wall to launch at the Gunji. Both the Gunji and Grgnupl froze for an instant in amazement, which was all the being needed to close the distance. A shot like that should have immediately blown whatever appendage it struck straight off, leaving its owner to bleed out in whatever grave he, she or it chose. Instead, the being still had full control over all its limbs, albeit a limited range of movement for the limb that had been shot. The being was not, as any reasonable person would expect, fatally wounded or already dead. It was enraged by what appeared to be a non-debilitating injury, like the proverbial Mintis stung by the Bloatfly.
 
By the Void, what a monster.
 
The Gunji managed to fire another shot before the being was within his reach, a shot which sailed harmlessly over the things head. Howling to give himself courage, the Gunji swung his fist in a wild hay-maker that was expertly ducked. His head was then rocked back by successive punches, all of which appeared to be quick, compact and efficient… and brutally powerful. The Gunji stumbled back, one tusk snapped in half, his nose and mouth leaking blue. He roared again, challenging the being, his opened mouth sending spittle and droplets of blue blood into the air like the foulest rainstorm that Grgnupl had ever experienced. The newcomer charged before the Gunji had the chance to move after his challenge, grabbing him by his shaggy top knot and ramming the back of his skull into the wall behind him. The Gunji stumbled, dazed, but the newcomer wasn’t finished. A knee to the gut forced him to double over, and then an uppercut so quick that Grgnupl could barely see forced him back up again. The newcomer grabbed the Gunji’s head again, spinning the helpless and barely conscious being around and slamming his face into the wall repeatedly. The newcomer kept at it until blue blood covered the wall like paint and the Gunji’s face was barely a recognisable, a smashed pulp made from blood and bones broken like shards of glass.
 
Finally, the being saw fit to stop his brutal assault and let go of the Gungi’s corpse, which slid to the ground noiselessly. The newcomer turned, his clothing and face a myriad of blues, green and red. The scent of cooked flesh hung in the air, sickly sweet and pervasive.
 
“You the kidnapped boy, then?” The being asked.
 
Grgnupl couldn’t help it. He vomited onto the floor, and started to sob, as relief and fear competed for supremacy in his heart. The being seemed to transform in that moment; from fearless, merciless, bloody warrior to that of a comforting father. He wrapped his arms around Grgnupl in a surprisingly gentle embrace and lifted him up, which was impressive considering Grgnupl’s weight and size (he wasn’t exactly in shape, although a week of captivity enforced dieting had stripped some of the meat from his bones), and carried him out the door.
 
“It’s alright, my lad, it’s alright. I’ve got ya. We’ll get you home to your dad soon, don’t you worry. John Arthur Welbeck is here to keep you safe. No one will touch you again, my boy, you have my word.” Welbeck whispered soothingly in Grgnupl’s ear, as the adolescent Centari sobbed into his shoulder.
submitted by brownoniongravy1 to HFY

Early days tips - for Teuts

Hello, as I promissed, i'm gonna write a couple of tips I learned while playing teutons.
  1. I always settle +/+ coords - for a very stupid reason. I hate writing "-" in input boxes when sending resources/troops and if youre on +/+ cords you dont have to do this so much xD
  2. As soon as you spawn, your only goal is to settle a new Village ASAP. DOnt plan on wrecking that roman player near you, dont rush paladins to farm teutons - SETTLE A NEW VILLAGE ASAP
  3. Dont skip the tutorial, even if you know every single little thing about travian - you get a special reward in the tutorial "Your hero instantly arives to the adventure".....therefore i always send my hero on the longest adventure, to gain the most out of that reward.
  4. Here is a complete list of task and rewards - calculate which ones are worth doing, to gain the most resources. https://wbb.forum.travian.com/index.php?thread/61641-t4-2-tasks-task-rewards/
  5. Check your soroundings, do you have a lot of oases that can be easily cleared? Are there any players, that could proove themselves to be a threat? always keep an eye on their development.

So for the first days complete the list of tasks (those that are worth it) and only upgrade fields. As you have your fields on lvl 5 start building CP producing buildings. Build an academy, lvl 3 embassy, lvl 10 cranny, lvl 10 main building, lvl 7 market, and fill the rest of the spots with lvl 3 crannies. This will help you get your CP up in no time. If youre a gold player i strongly recomend getting the HELM OF THE GLADIATOR. Its a must have for a fast 2. village.
So, if you extend your protection period (i do this a lot actually and only farm oases) then there is no need to train more than 60 clubs. You have to know, that clubs dont cost you 250resources- they cost 250 at training + 1 every hour. AND you spent those 250resources on a troop, rather on a building that would increase your production. So they actually cost a lot more and you really need to estimate if they are worth it.
If you dont extend your protection, then research SCOUTS and build at least 150 troops by the end of your begginers protection. Scout and raid villages NON STOP, your daily farm income should be at least as much as your village produces in a day.
And finaly some DON'Ts of the early game:
- Do not build a palace in your 1st village. It's too expensive
- Do not raid every single player in your 10x10. Eliminate the problematic players and let some grow. They will be much better farms later in the game, and you might even chief their villages.
- Do not build tons of troops in the beggining. The early day raids might be good, youre getting your 3200resources per village but soon, those will run out, and you will be left with a 800man army, with farms that produce 40 res per hour, and with undeveloped resource fields.
- If using gold, which is kind of a must for a fast start, always develop your resouce fields lvl by lvl. Meaning, dont upgrade your woodcuters to lvl 6 and leave iron at lvl 3, because lover lvl fields "pay" for themselves a lot sooner than higher lvl fields - basically meaning you get more value for your resources.

Travian is MATH. A lot of fun MATH.
And this is my first attempt at writing such a thing, so its a bit messy....i might get better in the future XD
submitted by Qsterix to travian

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