One of the strangest Piers Anthony short stories ever is entitled, "On The Uses Of Torture", and can be found in his "Anthonology". This post has nothing at all to do with the story.

NOTE: This was on the original EMPIRE51 website; I thought it deserved a rescue from digital oblivion.

So I've been looking for Honor Medals for a month now. Apparently, they can be found most often in L1-3 NPCs, where they are awarded once every 50 raids or so... when the city has been left alone for more than eight consecutive hours. This is excellent intel, but not terribly useful when the world is filled with all these L5 Barbarians. So, being a progressive thinker, I planted a handful of L3 Barbarians and proceeded to farm them.

Then I made a fatal error.

I let slip the secret.

Now, all my neighbors are methodically farming my L3 cities. I've taken to getting up at 4am just to steal a march on the guy to my north who logs on before work every day. I think he's started to get up at 3:30.

So finally, I got enough medals to get my promotion to Viscount. It was terribly exciting. I almost got up and danced, but of course my legs by this time have atrophied and my posterior has been permanently molded into my computer chair. Instead, I pried my right hand from the keyboard and pumped the air with a withered fist. Woo hoo.

Apparently, I need five more to make General. And, just to make things a bit happier, I discover that the medals drop about 20% less often for every promotion you accept.

So here I am, trying to plant more L3s, when I realize: The guy to my north, a member of an allied Alliance, seems to have captured all the local Flats and held them at L5. He seems to be waiting for his next promotion, when he doubtless intends to create nine cities in rapid succession.

Fortunately, I'm Host. And the Senate ain't in session.

We're going to war for 24 hours, so I can capture those * flats! MwahHahHahHaahHAAhaHAAHhaHaHaHaaHaaaahhhhh!!!!