PLAYER BLURBS.
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Corwin at Myhkul@aol.com
Deep in the heart of Mishlon Jungle, in a secret grove, sits young man, listening to wind rustle the leaves far above. Except for the breeze, all is still, quiet, and calm. Though there is no mark on him but for an fresh scar along his left cheek, the young man looks tired and worn. Almost inaudibly, a young woman approaches, worn and battle-scared, but somehow more vibrant than man sitting beneath her. "Tellurian, He is gone," young woman says. "But there is still much to do." "Do? How can we do anything? Your armies are nearly destroyed. My magic is not only spent, but burned out. I will need to begin my studies and researches again. Our civilization is in ashes. We can do nothing but lick our wounds and pray to Gaia that others fared no better." "No! That is what we cannot do. We must rebuild our civilization, our armies and our magics. If we do not, then we will be no better off than if Dreadlord himself had destroyed us. For mark my words, if we are not rebuild our strength, we will be crushed after the others rebuild theirs. We have not a few enemies in the other wizards. They will destroy us if they can." The young man sighs. "I know. But I weary fighting for what is ours and has always been ours. We can begin again. In fact, we must. But not today." Tellurian turns back to still pool, and watches sun play on ripples and the shadows dance on the stones beneath. "Not today." Eventually, young woman departs to gather her tribesman, for she knows her consort and co-regent will rega his strength and Will soon enough. Then they will beg long, hard route that freedom makes possible. But without that struggle, life is without purpose. ---------------------------------------------------------------- The Gilitian Amazons sit on western coast land, in the Southern Mishlon Jungle. They are proud people, living in dangerous place, working, living, and loving fast, for all know that today could be their last, as any can fall to the great panthers, tigers, snakes, spiders or any other creatures that share their domain. They have learned that stealth is best way to deal with threats, for an attack you cannot see, cannot be defended against. The current rulers Gilitia are Regents Tellurian and Terra. Consorts for several years, they complement each other, and at times seem to be able to read each others minds. Terra, a brilliant leader in her native jungles, has lead her armies to victory time and time again, besting all challengers. She has much less experience outside area where she grew up, but she learns quickly. Tellurian has keen intellect, and with the aid mystical grove in the heart of the Mishlon, has in the past wielded powerful magics. As with most wizards in the world, the cost for imprisoning the Dreadlord was most of his magical power, so he once again must learn all he knew before. He also plans the economy of the empire, listening to the peoples requests and trying to impliment them with resources he has available. He has been known to work long into night, but he does it cheerfully, knowing that his people will prosper once more. Both Terra and Tellurian are childless, as with their respective duties they cannot take time to raise child properly. They will choose their successors, as they were chosen, from population at large which is most able to perform their assigned duties. Both regents welcome all communication from others, rulers and otherwise, and attempt to quickly answer any missives sent to them. To contact them, go to any plant in your area, and speak these mystical words and they will hear. Tellurian still has some small powers available to him.
Contact Tellurian at despair@crl.com
As Dalinski spoke to his people following the night of jagged knives, his very words become a source of new hope to the long embittered people of Goish. Long since suppressed and locked away to the colds plains of Icelarna by the evils of bureaucrats and unqualified lawyers, Dalinski spake of a new order ..... one promising strength through unity ...... rewards for the merciless ........and supernatural guidance. The great return of the once forgotten entity 'Gnost Jahrgen' will guide all Plainsmen to lands of plenty. With banners of Black, Gold and Red the might of the Plainsmen 'Flachland Wache' swear an eternal oath of servitude. "The Hand of Gnost Jahrgen guides us in our reign. May 'His Storm' sweep thunder across all the Realms of Shadowmoth."
Contact Dalinski at dalinski@ihug.co.nz
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Merlin at pooh100130@aol.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Terano at morrissj@topaz.cqu.edu.au
 The Orcs stood tall and proud in a ragged formation for Lord Kaos's inspection. Each warrior was truly massive in size, and grouped together they formed a truly fearsome sight. Despite this fact, one look and it is obvious why Lord Kaos, outfitted in his custom armor and carrying a huge maul, had been destined to become their leader. A full head above any other Orc, Lord Kaos had proven his valor time and time again. The deep scars on his face and body attested to this. The After the inspection of his troops, Lord Kaos surveyed his rapidly growing capital, Camoth. Camoth is a wonderful Orc city; dark, pungent, and deep in swampland. Small and medium sized huts and buildings are erected on the few bits of dry land available. The entire area reeked; in fact, the entire swamp reeks. This particular reek, however, is most definitely Orcen in origin. Hundreds of Orcs make their home here; this is where they work, play, and train. His peasants were working hard, building and producing as best they could. He wished he could reward them better; but alas he can only provide as much as the swamp allows. His private oath to himself was that one day his Orcs will have wealth, and unlimited food. That much was for certain. Lord Kaos's peasants practically worship him. They know he is destined to lead them out of the swamp and into prosperity. They know that because of Lord Kaos, Orcs shall rule Shadowmoth. And it is destined; legend and mythology speak of the Great Order of Orcs which shall spring forth from chaos. The peasants know Lord Kaos is the chosen one; he was born on the sacred day, and true to legend he has the gift of magick. His battle scars prove his valor in combat. If that is not enough, as only a child he slayed the great serpent beast that had been terrorizing the local swampland. This, again, was in accordance with prophesy. Today, Lord Kaos is still young, but fully grown. He stands proudly among his Orcs; they stand proudly next to him. Both would die for each other if it ever came to that; but Lord Kaos has no fear of death even were it a possibility. Lord Kaos returned to his study reluctantly for his magick demanded it. Lord Kaos was becoming restless and knew the time had come to expand. After a few hours, he sent for his messenger. It was time. He would send word to all of Shadowmoth.  Hail Wizards of Shadowmoth
Me Orc from deep swamps of Shadowmoth, and me seek to speak
with other Wizards throughout the lands.
Only with talk can we settle down for War. Only with friends
can we crush the enemies. That is the way. This why me
send messenger to speak my truth. Me ask for you to be friend
now...
You not want be friend now, that ok too. Me need enemies to
crush too. Me and me Orcs not be happy if no one to kill.
But still, me want be friends with you. Me know enemies will
come soon enough.
So to the many races of Shadowmoth, me think it time to not
look at how different we look, and look at how same we want
to be. We all want rule Shadowmoth. Any way to do that is
good. So you not judge me because me big smelly Orc, and me not judge
you cause you short Dwarf or funny looking Elf. Me even not
mind if you silly Gnome making funny toys.
What me do want is this - to form great alliance and crush
and kill Wizards who oppose. If this sound good to you, me
think you should send me message. We rule Shadowmoth together.
Time is growing
short to make friends with me. Soon all I meet who not already me friend
will die. That is way of the land. We all need expand.
Some need die.
Me ask that you want send me message you use messenger. |
Contact Kaos at renoitseuq@aol.com
|
Many thanks noble masser for seeing me. I come with
news from the Great Western Desert from a little known people, the KI. A
PROPHET has been found! But wait, I mus start at the beginning, and
control my excitement, for you must know little of my people. I have heard of the many horrible atrocities that were committed by the Dreadlord on your people’s masser. The reach of the Dreadlord was indeed great for we, the people of KI, so many leagues away from your people, were nearly strangled out of existence by his tyrannical grip. We believe we were in fact one of the first races to feel His evil. He sought our gem mines to empower his wizards for his future expansion over our world and swiftly sought out to destroy our magic’s. Our power has always been in the mystical arts and in a blink of an eye our holy sanctuaries of learning were set upon by the fullness of his power and all our holy Vizzards were massacred. Our people were simply not ready for ferocity and immensity of the Archfiend’s army for our last prophet mysteriously died, and thus we had no warning. In our lands, where water is the most precious of commodities our peoples, in shock of the destruction of everything held holy, shed enough tears to make an ocean. Our council bid us to scatter to the winds and hide in secret hovels hidden amongst the dunes and to wait like the Scarat beetle, deep under the sand, dormant till the rains once again fell. The rain has fallen in the Great Western Desert, the rain from our eyes, our tears of joy at the fall of the Dreadlord and the coming of a new prophet, the Lady Dessana. It has been at her bequest that riders be sent out to the many races and countries of this land. 
I am here to tell you of the pieces of the vission that she has
blessedly imparted on me, after her 14 days of fasting at the Temple of
Kyrna. She has foreseen two possible outcomes for our peoples.
The first brings me much joy, that we will form in a great alliance in which both our peoples will flourish with our mutual trust and support for each other. The second vision troubles me greatly: She foresees the death of our peoples. She sees many great wars with an enemy nation seeking to dominate our people. In this vision our people are not willing to go back into hiding but proudly fight to the death. This passion and commitment to revenge on the hostile nation that seeks to dominate us is so strong that in our death throes we mortally wound our enemy. So the people of KI and our aggressor are finally put to rest in the sands of time. In hopes of seeing the first vision coming to light, I give you this sample of our wonderful gems and these other fine examples of the bounty of our land. We hope to strengthen the bond between our people through time, establish trade routes and boarders. As a practical people though, we must be prepared for the other vission. The temple of KI is being fortified, walls are being erected and is now the Citadel of KI where our base council and the Prophet Dessana presides. 
|
Contact Dessana The Prophet at budo_dude@hotmail.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Joss at extrajoss@bigfoot.com
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Contact Vengeance at pjw23782@glaxowellcome.co.uk
Farlinnin is the High King and Arch-Wizard of Astral-Digmar. He and his fellow Hill Dwarves, while they love a good fight, are also staunch allies and proponents of swift justice. As such, slavery is abhorred, and they will actively pursue all who practice such evils. A prosperous gem industry is one of the main features of the Hill Dwarf economy, If you're interested in trading resources for Gems, you know who to see! Messages are much appreciated - visitors are few and far between in the Astral Plane.
Contact Farlinnin at markkj@ozemail.com.au
Contact Faethor at guttorm@cs.auc.dk
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Kal Morgoth at danniel_thegel@yahoo.com
Contact Finnaidann at daethe@televar.com
Leventhal has has now begun his conquest on the heavens. He has found great ritches in the form of gems, but has not found food which is a bit desterbing. The city of Crossroad are boosting with joy and the morale of the citicens are high. Many wise wizards has allready offered thier great gifts for and alliance and in these days our messengers are going out to the respective wizards with a proposal of mutual benefit. |
The Kingdom of the Crossroad Dervishes bids all mutual
rewording
alliences welcome. If you are interested in being
allied with
the great wizard Leventhal, send you request of an allience to his
trusted advisor
and he will take a look at your proposal.
|
Contact Leventhal at forman@cs.auc.dk
The view from the royal spire of the Horned Castle, high atop Cornick Pass is breathtaking. The land can be seen for leagues around. In those high windows, a solitary figure can be seen looking out into the distance. The crown of a new Lord weighs heavily. We are fortunate to have broad shoulders and sharp horns with which to bear it. It is his duty to hold that crown high, it is his honor to walk in the footsteps of the Lord's before him. The people await his commands. They are fervent in their loyalty. The Minotaur are a proud people, but there is a sense of hunger in the scent of the people. Evil walks upon the Lands of Shadowmoth. And not in the form of the DreadLord. Chaos has been brought to the Lands, and the Minotaur do not tolerate Chaos well.
Contact Kellori at mminar@en.com
I am the wizard Garten.
Contact Garten at david@desjardins.org
The strains of a mournful ballad filter out over the moonlit hillside. >From a small round window set in the side of the hill warm light floods out into the night, a stark contrast to the cold light of the stars shining over the waves. Within the burrow a group of halflings, old and young, sit or spawl listening to one clad in the attire of a bard, as he sings the tale of the halfling hero of old, Fallo Wyrmslayer. The tale builds to its climax as Fallo lies on his deathbed, mortally wounded but victorious. It is a tribute to the bard's skill that even the young halflings, fancying themselves heroes, ask for no encore to the tale of tragic valor.
As the crowd disperse for the night, one youngster stops on the path back to his burrow. He looks out over the peaceful vale, quiet and still as it always seems. No Wyrms coil in the distance. There are no great deeds of honour to be done, only fields to be tended and friendships cultivated. The elders think this a blessing, but he does not see it so. The tales of old are not of fields and harvests, but of battles, mighty heroes and dire foes. No bards sing of quiet communities that never look beyond the borders of their valley! No, they sing of inspiring deeds done in the forging of great empires.
Why does it have to be so? Surely it is better to see the world and make a name for oneself than to hold to the dreary cycle of the seasons and never amount to anything! The dark elven traders of the neighbouring jungle sneer down their noses at halflings, and more than once he has been tempted to give those pointy eared gits what for. Halflings may be small, but size is no measure of valor! Why should this idyllic town not be the capital of a great empire?
He sighs, and turns back toward home. Hairy Hollow will never amount to anything. What sort of empire could be ruled by the jolly figure of Triman Wonkynose? The sad fact is that deeds of valour need a noble figure to command those deeds, someone for whom heroes would live gloriously and die nobly. The mayor was certainly not such a figure. If only there were someone who would make something of Hairy Hollow... But wishes are never heard.
As he leaves his wishes behind on the open hillside, a star falls.
Sometimes one must be careful what one wishes for, lest it come to pass.
The lights fade as the valley dwellers retire for the night. Dawn breaks as it has countless times before. The councillors gather for another meeting, always just like the one before, and doze through another of Triman's speeches, also just like the ones before. The patterns of life never change...
There is a sound of excitement outside the town hall. Voices raised in
wonder, tinged with awe.
"Who?"
"What?"
"Is he...?"
A figure walks through the crowd, easily visible, as he stands twice the height of those around him. The dark cloak about his shoulders does not conceal so much as enhance the aura of power that radiates from him. He strides to the head of the meeting table, and lays his black metal staff on the table. Without any explanation, the council are aware that, for the first time, council is truly in session. He turns to those who, no matter what they thought before, now know themselves to be his subjects, and speaks for the first time:
Contact Ozymandius at baillie@cs.mu.oz.au
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Fallon at dellis@aholdusa.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Miribalis at rschwintosky@hotmail.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Kaer Corval at s337186@student.uq.edu.au
To a casual observer, there might not seem anything different about Riansdel Plainsmen. Young warriors sharpen their weapons and brag about their exploits. Fires smoulder among collections of tents and huts. The occasional shaman gives advice and protection to the villagers. But rumor is that the plainsmen have been acting quite different lately. The various clans, once squabling and raiding each other have settled their differences and seem to actually work towards a common goal. In center of Riansdel it is said that actual building projects are underway as the plainsmen who once objected to civilization and all of it's trappings are now actually building various structures for the benefit of their people. It is said that these changes are the result of a great shaman coming to power. One who is powerful enough to overcome his people's natural fear of magic, and combine them into a unified force. Only time will tell what such a people will accomplish once unified.
Contact Walks With Spirits at niteshade6@aol.com
Zimbu stood in the open doorway. He tried to appear calm as he scanned
up and down the alley.
"Where is that fool!" he mumbled to himself as he looked down the alley
for the hundredth time.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a figure approaching
from the shadows. Instinctively, his hand grasped a concealed dagger,
then released it when he recognized the man strolling towards him.
"I bear bad news, Zimbu," the man began. "Tatiana is dead. It seems
she died in her sleep. The healers were unable to determine the cause."
"I see," was Zimbu's only reply.
The figure disappeared into the shadows, as quickly as he had
appeared. A small grin formed on Zimbu's lips - only for a moment, and
then it was gone. It was such a subtle display that only another
dark-elf would be able to perceive it and recognize it for what it
was. So, Tatiana was dead - and at such a young age. It was not too
surprising. Politics, especially dark-elf politics, is a dangerous
business.
Zimbu reflected for a moment on the last few months. So many others
had met a similar fate: Katarina foolishly falling to her death from her
own bedroom window, the High Priestess run down by a runaway horse and
carriage, and even his own mother dying from a spider bite the very
night she refused to support his claim to the throne. Indeed, politics
is a dangerous business. The death of Tatiana was different. She was
the last real contender for the throne. Zimbu knew that now his
coronation would go ahead. No one would dare oppose him now - no one
was left. He looked forward to seeing the looks in the eyes of the
priestesses as they crowned him king.
King! That word has never been said in the land of Xlazar before. It
is a word that will catch in their throats. The idea of bowing to a man
will give them many sleepless nights, he was sure.
But now was not the time to gloat. Tomorrow he would be king and he
must set about uniting Xlazar behind his crown. He would have to give
the people a cause, something to rally behind. He knew idle priestesses
were dangerous. It was time to expand the kingdom. Expanding might
start a war with neighboring kingdoms - and that would be even
better...a common foe.
He glanced down the alley one last time, before shutting and
locking the door. You could never be too careful. After all, politics
is a dangerous business.
Contact Zimbu at ferret1@airmail.net
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Manathor at braunj@hibp9.ecse.rpi.edu
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Orlanth at chin@skylink.net
Speak not to me of prayers, faith, and holy rituals. Speak to me of strength, wisdom, and cold steel. I am The Scowling InfiDel, High King of the Hill Dwarves, and while I hold malice toward none, those who trifle with my people will find a heartless, never-yielding foe. All peaceful emissaries are welcome. I will reply in kind. -- wyziwyg woziwyg -- Turn 1 update -- wuziwyg waziwyg -- For Salat and your benevolent solicitation to exchange home region numbers, thank you but that info is a little too loaded. I would counteroffer an exchange of all first-ring provinces, in order to prevent possibly needless bloodshed. If you agree, you go first. For all others, I extend the same offer. As we continue to expand, we are all at risk for blindly bashing each other to smittens. Whilst home regions are a little sensitive (and unnecessary to exchange, since no one will cross over to the other's home... at least, for now...) an exchange of either first-ring or second-ring (once known) provinces might well avoid needless loss. Let us not be widowmakers, um, needlessly. I will happily exchange non-threatenting map information, of equal value, with all who offer. Initial expansion of the InfiDel army has been completed without mishap. The hapless populations welcomed the providers of order. Now onto the secondary wave.... May all your enemies' blood congeal, scab, and rot at the mention of your name. The Scowling InfiDel ++ postit notit ++ Officious proclamation: The Scowling InfiDel, The One Whose Murmurings Cause Multitudes To Become Tremulous, The Being Whose Offal Is Considered Perfume, He Whose Halcyon Wisdom Shadeth Historians' Tomes, Rightsgiver, Painstaker, and Defender of the Faithless, Herein issueth the Shadowmothian dictate for religious and political freedom. All peoples migrating to the land of the InfiDel will be joyfully received, exempted from importation tariffs, and will be fully, unrestrictedly, and kinda just sort of all-purposefully free to exemplify any creeds toward which they feel compelled. This proclamation standeth without reservation, hesitation, and with fullest accreditation; unless, of course, the ire of The Scowling InfiDel is aroused, in which circumstance all such onerous offenders will immediately be put to death. So let it be circumscribed. So let it be, um, circumsised? All hail the InfiDel! All praise his farsightedness! Hurrah, huzzah, and hip, hip, hippoo!
Contact The Scowling InfiDel at delw@m7.sprynet.com
The pounding of hammer on metal echoes throughout the grand and majestic caverns of the underworld, bolstered and rendered by the skilled dwarven crafters of stone and steel. Encircled and entombed in their stronghold, Kha-da, for many years, they valiantly fought against a foe that choked the tunnel mines with their festering presence, the hobgoblin hordes. Then a powerful runesmith arose from among their number, and after many months, he managed to etch runes into the shafts leading into the stronghold, so that the hobgoblins wandered confused in the mines for many days if they e'er came near the gates of Kha-da. The dwarves used the time well, rebuilding their strength for the day they pledged to wipe out their presence for all time. Contact was made with the gnomes of ancient legend once again, and it was deemed the time to tally forth into the world once again....
Contact Snorri at stonier@deakin.edu.au
The High Priest lifted his bloodstained hands from the corpse and dipped them in a silver bowl filled with scented water. The blood swirled around the rose petals floating there, darkening them and glistening like oil. A young acolyte moved to kneel before the Dreadlord, a silver bowl outstretched. The Dreadlord leaned forward, placing a small finger-bone in the bowl. The acolyte backed away into the shadows. A second acolyte approached the High Priest, bowing low. In his arms he held the red ceremonial cape which he lifted over the priest's bald head. The Dreadlord clapped his hands twice and the girl's body was lifted from the marble alter and carried down the long hall to oblivion. "Well, Amazikka?" demanded the Dreadlord. The bald priest bowed low, keeping his eyes on the marble floor. "The omens are mostly good, Lord." "Mostly? Look at me!" Amazikka raised his head, steeling himself to meet the burning gaze of the Dreadlord. The priest blinked and tried to look away, but the Dreadlord's glare held him trapped, almost hypnotized. "Explain yourself." "The crushing of the rebellion, Lord, should proceed favourably in the Spring. But there are dangers ... not great dangers," he added hurriedly. "From which area?" Amazikka was sweating now as he licked dry lips with a dry tongue. "Not an area, Lord, but several men." "Name them." "Only one can be identified, the others are hidden. But we will find them. The one is called Salat." "Salat? I do not know the name. Is he a leader of men?" "No, Lord, not yet, he is a wanderer, a man of sudden violence. There is even indications that he is mad." "And why is he a threat?" "In every chart, or seer-dream, his line crosses yours. Karmically you are bonded." "Then Salat must die ... and swiftly. Where is he now?" "He is at present some months' journey to the east. We have some Dread Knights in the vicinity. I shall get word to them." "Keep me informed, priest." As Amazikka backed away from his lord, the Dreadlord rose from the ebony throne and wandered to the high arched window, gazing over his capital. On a plain to the south of the city the Army of the Dreadlord was gathering for the final defeat of the rebellion: ten thousand men under the banners of the Dreadlord, sweeping into the rebellious provinces and utterly destroying the populations that harboured the rebels. And they warned him of one madman? The Dreadlord raised his arms. "Come to me, Salat."
Contact SALAT at auckland@netactive.co.za
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Lich at licheron@megsinet.net
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Birn Hilgrath at gutz@terracom.net
Seek ye the secrets of the underworld? None know the secrets such
as me and my kind. Beware surface dwellers of such knowledge, for it
has a price. Those who would call me brother know not of the dark
elves. We make alliances 'tis true. But such alliances are only of
necessity. Look upon the face of darkness and shudder for it may be the
last face you see.
[Image]
Ah... So you see the folly of the Dreadlord when he so vainly
thought to hold dominion over this land forever. Perhaps power can be
held by many working together as one. We shall see. Only one shall
hold the underworld. Only the most powerful, only the most cunning will
conquer those who would call the underworld their home. Only those with
warriors such as these.
[Image]
Who shall it be? House Blazar and its army of fell creatures? Perhaps
Vlazar and its strong armed swordsman... The power hungry Xlazar shall
indeed bid for the lordship of the underworld. Or will the solitary
Thrushbile seek to rule the dark corridors. They may try if they will
but their efforts will prove to be in vain. The magic of House Klazar
will prove to be the strongest. Ye of the surface do not trifle with my
domain for Krythanus of House Klazar will thwart your forays against my
realm. Much wiser would it be to make a pact of alliance with me.
Together we will rule Shadowmoth in glory!!!!
Behold the terrible beauty of our the Dark Elves. Behold the power of
House Klazar. All of the underworld will fall before our might.
[Image]
Those who wish to form an alliance with me send a message quickly
lest you be crushed under foot.
Krythanus
High Mage of House Klazar
Contact Krythanus at darkone@dacor.net
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Quicksilver at michael.kelly@lmco.com
|
From the deepest caverns of Underdark,
emerged a race of superiors, race of wariors, race of conquerors. Hordes
created by gods to rule the Shadowmoth.
áá The Orcs Greenskined and redblooded, gifted with unhuman strength, and rage. They know no mercy, no pardon and no sorry. Strength and fury, the only virtues above loyalty. Wariors of night and day, wariors of hills and plains. Unbeaten over seas and sands, they bring death and destruction, slavery and punishment. And they bring Waargh! - the orcish magic of war. áá Waargh! The rites and runes, tatoos and shouts. Few only among Orcs are gifted to share their Waargh! But those few are well enough to use their emotions against enemies the way other then swordplay, to embode powerful spells of chaos and nature, death, necromancy and war into effects. To transform energy concealed in valuable stones into fearful weapons, used then to make Waargh! - war. On banners and shields. Wrote on face of every warior. Mean fury and rage, fight and duel, rivalry and challenge. Every Orc know Waargh!. They live for it. They want it. They make it. And they die for, in and with Waargh! of their leader. áá The Warlord The Hordes appeared. And before move on the grand fight settled the Hierarchy, the Name and the Sign of the Clan. It was Berrok who accepted and won all chellenges. It was Berrok who showed that he has potential to do Waargh! It was Berrok who through his own virtues gained Loyalty of all. It was Berrok who became a Warlord of the Clan. áá The Bonz' Clan Masses of greenskins are waiting here in Deep Malish. They multiply and work. For now, because every Orc here live only for a moment, when Warlord give order to the Hordes to arm and stream to the surface to flood the Shadowmoth. To fulfill the orcish destiny. To rule. |
Contact Berrok Bonz' at kazcy@polbox.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Psycoman at impsyco@hotmail.com
Sand Haven
Awakening
As the young Sandling emerged from his delicate cocoon and stared up to the skies for the first time he was amazed. What was this, so bright and vast, semingly endless. Above him there was a field of blue with a disc emanating light as was it light itself and below him all was a smooth shade of yellow and brown... So different from the small place in which his mind and body had been growing during the last 6 months.
He looked around noticing a spot in the sand that somehow didn't fit into the great dunes of sand surrounding it. He walked over there on unsteady legs, taking his first paces in this new world for him to conquer.
When he reached the spot the groud gave way. The Sandling did not react with horror or even the slightest feeling of uneasiness as the ground that had just supported his weight suddenly disappeared, this was a whole new world to him and he knew nothing of it's dangers or evils.
He fell for what seemed like another lifetime, the concept of time slowly steadying itself in his mind on his way down into the underworld. At last he came to a halt lying on a small platform on a high pillar overlooking something more beautiful than he had ever seen or even dreamed about during his short life.
It was the first time he looked out over the glorious Sand Haven with it's fountains and palm trees, it's beatifully ornated houses and it's broad, straight avenues.
It is now ten years since Krick opened his eyes and gazed upon the sun for the first time. Since then he has travelled the land gaining wisdom and skills from all corners of the vast Shadowmoth, finally passing the test of the elders and gaining the throne of the city and people he love more than anything else in the world.
Breaking free
Since his coming to the throne Krick had had a small and peaceful kingdom to rule. Even though it consisted of as different races as Orcs and Sand People there had been to major problems. The only battles in which his warriors had been involved were small skirmishes with Trolls coming out on raids from the nearby Bat Cave. Now, however, the mighty hero Duncan Idaho had rid the Troll infested Bat Cave of its inhabitants and revealed a route away from the safe haven the Fremen had so far experienced. Through the cave a narrow passage opened on new regions, never before seen by Sand Havens loyal substitutes.
The news about the opening to the world outside brought both fear and joy to the hearts of the Fremen. At last they would be able to venture outside, to meet other people and take part in the happenings of the world. But this new opportunity also brought danger, hence the fear. What would be found out there? Who might be there already?
This was definitely a new phase in the development of the Sand Haven peoples kingdom.
Setting out for war, going in for magics
The break out from the deeps of the earth had been a trumatic experience for the Fremen of Sand Haven. At first it had seemed that enourmous opportunity lay out there, only waiting to be seized. Once the first excitement had dissapeared, however, it was recognised that the new road had opened on as many dangers and problems as on opportunities.
Something had to be done. Somehow the people of Sand Haven had to get out from their corner of the world. This something meant war.
Once the decision had been taken the army set out immediately. Led by Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck they set up a plan of crossing many shires of allied wizards only to get to an evil foe from which to wrestle some shires. The goal was to obtain Wood and Food. But since the knowledge of the world held by the council of Sand Haven was as yet rather rudimentary a direction was choosen more from the omens and sights of the prophets than on the basis of hard facts. The important thing was more to do _something_, than to really do something optimal. :)
"Beneath the stars of Ever-Eve the future can be read in the sky."
Contact Krick at i95krian@island.liu.se
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Morek the Wise at g_bangert@hotmail.com
>From the land of Elemental Isles comes the Wizard Moonbiter, arriving from Old Michen to aid the UnderDwarves of Whibing Hall in their hour of need. "When an interdimensional rift revealed a linkage to this place, I felt compelled to step in and give my poor brethren some guidance and leadership. Under my tutelage they shall certainly begin to prosper." Reports of the wizard's origins remain unconfirmed, as the portal through which he visits our beleaguered land only allows him passage. The wizard has refused all further questions as to his background, saying only that "The past is the past. What I am interested in, fellow citizens, is the future." When asked about other Wizards in Shadowmoth, Moonbiter admitted to knowing little about them. He said "I will judge them by their actions. Friends will be cherished and defended, enemies vanquished by force of arms. Together with my companions, The Limper and The Faceless man, we will restore Whibing Hall to its rightful place in the world."
Contact Moonbiter at craigld@yahoo.com
Quetzalzachicin is my name and I bring greetings from the
industrious but diminuative inhabitants of the lovely city of Gothamer.
We would like to welcome peace and prosperity with all nations, but we
know such an eventuality is not certain, so we would like any nation
that would like to try to enslave us to know that we would resist
bitterly. But if you are nice to us, we might even send you some of our
fine brewed ales. So I smoke on my pipe to the day our borders shall
meet.
Contact Quetzalzachicin at anandaxpresley@hotmail.com
History of Life (part one) The day the triplets were born was like a nightmare for the town, the would never forget that day, not as long as they all live. It started as a normal day, the sun am up in the west, as always, The elders of the town felt that it was going to be a bad day, and told everyone to stay in there homes. Of course no one listened, it was a beautiful day, how could anyone stay inside on a day like this. Withery and Loren Satansheart where both world renowned wizards, called upon when all others were in trouble, they married due to this, and decided that instead of Tring to fight each other for business, that they would just forever shall it. They elders told them that if they were ever to have children that they would be more powerful of wizards then the two of them could ever imagine. So when Loren become pregnant(which she knew right away) they were both very proud, and relived that their child would be the strongest wizard of all time. As the pregnancy furthered, Loren kept growing and growing. By the time she was 4 months into the pregnancy she looked like she was already 9 months along. She decided to visit the Fairy Queen, and seek her advice on why this was happening, was she to have this child early, was this due to the magical power running through her veins? Upon the meetings conclusion, she had found that this was all due to magic. But things the Queen had told her disturbed her deeply, I wish she didn't speak in riddles so much. When she arrived home that day, she decided to tell Withery what had happened, and that they should discuss they riddles. They did this, and they did this for two days straight, upon completion they found that all the riddle were not god, not good at all. The riddles said that they both would perish very soon after the 3 were born, that's right Loren was pregnant with triplets. They day of the birth was very hectic for Withery and Loren, she had been in labor for 2 days and was nervous for what was going to happen. The birth it self was pretty much normal, the first to arrive was Quaan, a male, the midwife took him to the very large crib that had been built specifically for the triplets. The second to arrive was Korik, another male. The last to arrive was Llyynda, a female. Standing over Quaan, holding Korik, Withery started to cry, looking over his two sons, knowing that these two would run the world some day. The midwife arrived with Llyynda in her arms, sir please put the child in the crib, I need your help with your wife, she is bleeding, and I need your help to try to stop it. After an hour of bleeding Loren had died, loss of blood the midwife said, before Withery killed her with a fireball. Withery was crying and yelling for Loren to come back to him, when heard a voice. A young voice. Looking around, his gaze fell upon the three children, "Father you must prepare yourself, for what is about to happen will not be pleasant, but you will like what will happen afterwards." Witherly found that he was day dreaming. He looked again into the crib, but now it was empty. Someone has taken his children. The only thing that he had left. He ran around the house looking for any sign of someone there, he ran into his bedroom, and standing there, were three children around the age of 5, all standing there with no close on, and looking very intently at him. There was 2 boys and one girl, standing between the two boys. "Who are you? And what have you done with my children?" "Father, we are your children, can't you feel that?" yes he could he know that these were his children. "What is going on, how could you have grown so fast?" "Father, you have made us this way, you and mother, know now, that you have made the three most powerful wizards of all time, and know this, what we do now, we do because we have to." The three joined hands, Quaan and Korik pointed their empty hands at their father, and a enormous bolt of lightning formed, striking Witherly with such force that he totally disappeared. When the dust settled, the three walked out onto the streets, striking everyone dead with a pass of there hand. When everyone, including the elders, were dead, the turned to leave the town. Standing there were 3 old men, dressed in travelers wizards garments. The three children waved their hands at the trio and nothing happened. Children you can not kill us, for we have been sent by the gods to help you. You will become our apprentices, and we shall teach you to control your magic, and use it for good. That was the last day Quaan has seen his brother and sister. Until last week when his brother showed up offering his services to help me.
Contact Quaan Satansheart at sdw254@aol.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Arriekan at david.muir@cadvision.com
The gnomes of Hiabuvanywerzus are fantastical inventors. They have invented flying toasters, digging blimps, crawling butterflies, marching steamrollers, undersea spaceships, and other fiendish weapons of destruction. All these and more will be placed into service in the conquest of the universe. A brilliant Gnomish experiment has led to their main city being located on the edge of the Astral Plane, from whence they can gain inspiration from the pustulization of the void. Representatives from all the other inhabitants of this world, including Corwin, Tellurian, Dalinski, Merlin, Terano, Kaos, Dessana The Prophet, Joss, Vengeance, Farlinnin, Faethor, Kal Morgoth, Finnaidann, Leventhal, Nephilim, Ozymandius, Fallon, Miribalis, Kaer Corval, Walks With Spirits, Zimbu, Manathor, Orlanth, The Scowling Infidel, BuRn, Salat, Lich, Birn Hilgrath, Krythanus, Quicksilver, Berrok Bonz', Psycoman, Krick, Morek the Wise, Penguin The Great, Quetzalzachicin, Quaan Satansheart, Arriekan, Garten, Balinor, Poison Arrow, Dark Demoniak, Alma the Younger, Otto, Lord Fil, Gatin, Starfoot, The Nazgul, Archlord Syssigee, and Melmenelmir, are invited to join us in our conquest.
# END -- Barry Eynon eynon@thegrid.net
Contact Empyrion at eynon@aolian.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Balinor at frederic.duwez@nmu.alcatel.fr
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Poison Arrow at iq10000@hotmail.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Dark Demoniak at unicornio@impacte.com
Contact The Grandfor Council of Wizards at morrisbros@aol.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Otto at marceus@worldonline.nl
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Lord Fil at philrv@geocities.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Gatin at ed.die@lineone.net
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Starfoot at MorrisBros@aol.com
The portal, a spinning disk of absolute blackness greater in height than a tall man, crackled with energy as it formed above the dirt street. People rushed from nearby shops as it hummed, a deep sound that resonated through the bones of all who heard. A horse reared and tossed its head while its handler tried to control it, as a figure stepped from within the darkness to emerge into the grey light of the mid-day street. This man, of what race could not be seen, was slightly taller than normal. Dark robes covered him from head to toe, but did little to conceal the bulk of the armor beneath. In one hand he carried a sheathed sword, while the other was poised, as if with a gesture held ready. As he looked around him, the dim, reddish glow of his eyes could be seen through the slits in the iron helm he wore under the cowl of his robe.
"The passage is complete", he thought to himself and the portal flickered out of existance behind him. He looked around, at the small shops and cottages beyond, and at the dark swamp that encircled the town. He saw the many docks in the stagnant waterways and the flat-bottomed skiffs traveling into and out of narrow, overhung channels in the swamp. And he saw the strength and drive in the people of the town, even now overcoming their surprise at his arrival. And, on a small rise at the far end of town, an ancient keep, showing some signs of disrepair, but still standing strong and ready. "Such a small start." He spoke quietly, to himself. "But the seeds of greatness lay dormant here."
Then, as several men approached, he cast his second Great Spell. Motes of will, like tattered shreds of shadow scattered from his free hand, darting through the town, circling each person found briefly. 'Obey!', 'Hear me!', 'Your rightful ruler!', 'Your Leige!' they whispered into the minds of each they touched, weaving the threads of the spell of Dominion.
The first man reached the dark warlock and stopped before him. There was a brief pause, then he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "My Lord!" he called out. Along the street, others began to drop to their knees and repeat his homage. The warlock leaned wearily on the sheathed sword he carried, and watched as the town submitted itself unto him. First this town, then the rest of the lands of this world. But it would take many months to regain the power he had expended this day. And so, for now, more mundane methods would serve.
The first man kneeling before him looked up. "Sire, how shall we address you?"
The dark warlock looked down at him and answered. "I am The Nazgul."
Since my elevation to my current position as scribe for our Liege and Lord, my days have been long, but with much time for observation and consideration. The Nazgul requires that I be available should the records that he would have me keep need updating at a moment's notice, but even one as busy as he is cannot require every thought and gesture put down in paper, else he would do nothing throughout the day but dictate. And so I sit ready, always close by. This gives me much time, as I have mentioned, to consider. And now, to make a few records of my own.
Much has happened in the few short days since the warlock came to us. This old keep, long unused by my people, fairly hums with the activity of crowds of workmen reinforcing the walls, replacing the woodwork, and cleaning the accumulated dust and debris of years. I sit now in a large room that the Nazgul has made his main workroom. A balcony nearby is open, and along with fresh air to clear the stagnancy inside, the sounds of those busy without drift to me. If I were to stand, and take a few steps in that direction, I would be looking down directly on a newly cleared span of marsh, where stakes mark the foundation of the first of several buildings that will soon rise from the damp earth. Currently, from the voices I hear, the muddy channels into that area have been blocked, and lines of bucket bearers labor to turn the mud within into firm earth.
The Nazgul sits nearby. He has been studying a disk of some sort of swirling energy he has conjured. The disk is perhaps twice the size of a man's hand, and upon occasion resembles a map. But it constantly changes. I gather from his general demenor that the warlock is not pleased with his efforts thus far.
And it seems he is even less pleased with the series of interruptions that have visited themselves upon him in these past few days. As he told those of us he has set up to assist in his various endeavors, at the time of his arrival in our world, a large number of other wizards came to power. Most of them are, unlike the Nazgul, natives of this world and have risen from the people here. And several of those other wizards have sent messages, much to the annoyance of my master. Not four hours ago, one of the guards from below brought word of another such arrival. I will record the event here.
"And what message does this one bring," the Nazgul asked the guard, in a voice that told clearly he already knew the answer.
"Much the same as the others, my Lord. He offers peace and mutual benefits from an alliance with his leader."
The Nazgul looked up from his work. "Fools! Either fools or liars these wizards are. A time of war and conquest is upon us. The raw potential of this land must be controlled, or none of its peoples will ever rise above base savagery. Anyone who cannot see that is a fool! Or thinks I am one, to believe such hollow words. And neither type will I deal with."
"Yes, my Lord" the guard responded. He, like I, had heard this same tirade enough times before that he could have given it himself.
"Send this one away as the others," the warlock ordered. "Without a reply. And if he does not go quietly, feel free to encourage his rapid departure." Then he turned back to his work.
And as the guard departed, I was left to muse on the odd contradictions in our lord. So open and direct in some ways, never leaving any question about what he desired or what he planned to do, and yet so hidden in others. Although I had spent almost all waking hours in his presence since he had arrived, I'd never yet seen him remove armor or robes. For all I could say, there was nothing within his clothing save for a driving will.
Interesting times are ahead for us, I can see.
The light from a small fire danced across the surface of a small inlet at the edge of the swamp, a single point of light doing little to relieve the stygian darkness of the night. From a distance, the flickering dance of shadows across the light of the fire marked the passage of shapes between the watcher and the flames. The outline of a flat-bottomed skiff was visible pulled up on the shore near the fire. Across the still water, the quiet voices of men could be heard, discussing the day's travel, arguing about chores.
The watcher moved silently through the brush along the side of inlet, avoiding the light from the fire with deceptive ease. Nearing the camp, he moved away from the water's edge and into the jungle. Ahead, he could tell, a single sentry waited outside the circle of illumination cast by the campfire, facing the darkness, eyes adapted for the night and alert. The silent watcher advanced upon him, movements echoing the dance of shadows cast in the night. Barely a dozen yards away, the watcher paused, sheltered by the brush and the darkness, alert and waiting.
A night bird called, a shrill, distant whistle echoing through the trees. The sentry glanced towards the sound, attention diverted only for an instant. It was long enough. The watcher sprang, covering 30 feet in a single bound. The sentry spun, grabbing for a spear leaning against a tree nearby and taking a deep breath for a shout of alarm. But it was as if he were moving in slow motion next to his attacker, as a hand lashed out and struck him a sharp blow in the throat. Stunned, the sentry staggered back, then another hand struck him in the temple and he dropped.
The watcher froze, listening. The sounds from the camp continued uninterrupted. Carefully, he moved closer, almost to the edge of the clearing.
Roughly a dozen armed men were gathered within. They were grouped around a small fire, cleaning weapons, repairing equipment, talking. And next to the fire, a strange object stood. A shimmering sphere of black and violet energy about the size of a man's head rested on a small stand. The object emitted no sound, but still, somehow, drew the watcher's attention.
The watcher stepped back into the darkness, pausing briefly to effortlessly sling the unconscious sentry over his shoulder, before he vanished into the night.
******************************************************************
The sentry regained consciousness slowly, awakened more by the pounding pain in his head than by anything else. He groaned and opened his eyes. And then froze. He lay on his back in a small clearing. Crouched over him was a savage figure, a semi-human tribesman, more ape than man. Wearing only a scrap of hide around his waist, the one who had watched from the darkness now leaned over his captive.
"Who sent you?" the savage demanded, letting the starlight flash suggestively off the blade of a long knife he held ready.
"Our wizard...he wants..." the sentry stammered.
"I sent them." A calm, quiet voice spoke from behind. The savage instantly reacted, spinning and hurling the knife he held. A streak of silver, the blade shot throught the night, cleanly piercing the center of a ball of black and violet energy floating nearby. The knife flew through the sphere to vanish into the brush, while the energy globe drifted forward slowly. The image of a face, hidden within a cowl and shielded by a mask of iron, appeared within the globe and the voice continued. "I am the Nazgul. You have impressed me. If you are willing, I would have you serve me. What is your name?"
The savage relaxed, rising slowly to his full height, his muscles rippling in the glow from the energy sphere. "I am Mangani."
There haven't been many free afternoons of late, even for one as nonvital to the wizard's current plans as a scribe. I'd think, given the chance, I'd spend such time doing something else, anything other than hunched over my desk, scratching away with quill and ink, putting word to paper in the same manner as I serve the Nazgul each day. And yet, there is a measure of comfort I find in writing about events of interest to myself instead of the daily minuta of our growing kingdom.
Amongst the events of the past few months that has most made an impression on my memory, as that of most of the people of our formerly small village, is the coming of the one called Mangani.
Mangani returned with a small party of scouts sent out to the edge of our lands. Through his arts sorcerous, the Nazgul had found him as he in turn discovered our scouts and attempted to enlist him in our cause.
I was present when they met the first time. The guards had been warned that Mangani would arrive, and they guided him into the warlock's main workroom. The Nazgul was working at his largest table, floating minuscule shavings of iron in a bowl of quicksilver in intricate patterns, while weaving webs of flickering sparks above. As always, the wizard was clad head to foot in black armor and robes. His sword rested on the table within easy reach. The same sword he always carried, but never unsheathed. Someday, I'll find out why.
Mangani entered the room, followed by two guards. Mangani is a savage from the deepest jungles to our north. I don't mean savage in the sense of uncivilized and brutish, although they also apply. But Mangani is savage, as all men once were, an atavistic spirit of nature. I could tell the moment I set eyes upon him, Mangani would act the instant he conceived of an option, without consideration of the cost to himself. I must confess, as he entered the room, standing a head taller than the guards, a spear slung across his back and a gleaming knife thrust through his belt, I was somewhat afrightened. But not the Nazgul.
The wizard looked up as Mangani entered the room. "Welcome to my home. Have you an answer for me?"
Mangani studied the Nazgul for a long minute, long enough that I began to wonder if he understood our language. He did. "Why should I serve you?" the savage asked.
Nazgul gestured, and several bags on a bench across the room burst open, scattering gold coins across the floor. Mangani shook his head. "Trinkets." His voice was cold with scorn.
"Then do it because I represent power," the wizard said. "A time of change is upon the land. Those with might are waking to control your world. If you stand with them against me, you will be crushed, as will they!"
"You think I fear you?" Mangani grinned broadly. "I will fight you or any man!"
"No, there is a fate worse than being defeated for you. Those who do not take sides are fated to be nothing! To be never revered, to be forgotten, to have their names become meaningless! That choice is open to you now!" the Nazgul shouted.
"You dare!" Mangani roared, and in one motion tore the spear from its harness on his back and hurled it at the wizard. The spear flew across the room, straight and fast, then stopped, frozen in mid-air halfway between the two (must take a note of this, it is a very foolish thing to do, to attack a wizard in his home).
Another long, silent, and very tense moment passed, as the two stared at each other across the spear. But not even Mangani could face the unearthly red glow of the Nazgul's eyes for long. Grudgingly, he looked away, breaking the stalemate.
"Join me," the wizard said. He lifted one hand, and the spear turned, and floated back into Mangani's grasp. "Join me, and I promise that, win or lose, no one will ever forget your name."
Mangani nodded.
I did notice that when Mangani left, the gold went with him.
And so Mangani now roams the forests nearby, stopping back every few days to consult with the Nazgul. I am fully willing to believe that nothing will approach our capital without his notice.
And in the meantime, work on the new structures continues. Already, forges in the first complete building labor day and night, turning out the implements of war. The second construct nears completion, and the Nazgul has said we will begin to learn a new method of fighting when it is complete.
As I have said before, interesting times are coming.
Jaks was leading again this morning. It somehow didn't seem right that the highest ranking member of their patrol was in the fore as they made their way through the forest, but he preferred it that way, and, truth be known, a squad leader wasn't much higher in rank than a simple trooper anyway.
The forest through which he lead his men was a rugged landscape of thickly wooded hills, brush filled ravines, and small streams with steep banks. Travel through this land was slow, but no slower than through their native swampland. Still, Jaks couldn't recall when he'd walked as much as he had in the weeks since they had set out on this patrol.
Their orders were simple, and to this day there had been no problems in fulfilling them. Unconsciously, Jaks fingered the gleaming black amulet that hung at his throat, as on all his men, while he remembered the morning of the day he had left his home village.
The wizard who called himself the Nazgul had addressed them that morning, all half a hundred men, chosen from the strongest and most athletic of their people. Each stood newly clad in the black and grey of the wizard's colors, each wore an new amulet on a chain around his neck. And in each of fifty hands a newly forged spear was held ready.
"My most faithful," the wizard spoke, his voice echoing over the courtyard before the gate of the keep, "I have a task for you. The time has come for your people to step outside their long exile here and begin to take up the reins of power that rightfully belong to them. And you are the ones who have been chosen to lead in our first steps.
"Your task is to travel through the lands surrounding us and let all you find know that they are also part of our great future. If they welcome you, let them join with us and contribute to the great destiny that lays ahead. And if they are so foolish as to resist, I charge you all to enforce my will upon them, and bring them into our kingdom without fail.
"This is a mighty task I have placed upon you, but I am not sending you out alone. The mystic amulet you each bear contains a small spark of my sorcery within. Through it, I can speak to each of you and hear your words in turn. And if the need is great, I can send more of my power through each to lend you aid. But rely not upon that, for my reach is greatly weakened with distance. Count first upon your own wisdom and arms, and you will win through."
Then his voice continued, ringing softly from within the amulet and into the minds of the men gathered there. "Go forth, my faithful, and let none stand in your way."
And so far, Jaks recalled, it had been as the wizard had said. Several times they had discovered small villages and approached the leaders. Faced with an obviously determined, armed force, and offers of aid and support from the distant wizard, each had agreed to ally themselves and contribute to the cause. And in each, a single one of Jaks' men had remained behind, to relay the wizard's commands to the people there, and to aid in defending them from local dangers. And since Jaks' group had been only one of many sent out that first day, by this day, far from the wizard's keep, his group was left small indeed.
Although Jaks was in the lead, he was not the first to notice the attack. He heard a sharp intake of breath from one of the men behind him an instant before motion caught his eye, and that instant of warning served to preserve his life a moment longer. He reacted instantly, dropping to the side and bringing up his spear as a huge, white mass lunged through the space where he had stood an instant before. The sick crunch of bones was the only sound as the man behind him died, too fast to even cry out. Then the creature reared up, its limp victim held fast by armored jaws.
The creature gleamed white as marble in the light of the day as it shook the man's body in its jaws, and for an instant Jaks thought it was one of the albino serpents sometimes caught near his home, grown monstrous beyond belief. But, although the creature twisted over them in snake-like curves, the thick scales, ragged crest down the spine, and, as it crawled out of the ravine where it had lain in wait ahead of them, visciously clawed legs gave proof that the beast was no snake.
As Jaks scrambled to his feet, the creature tossed the body of its first kill aside and lunged again. With a sharp crack, a spear broke against its jaw and one man was thrown aside while the savage jaws torn through the chest of another. Jaks felt the hot spray of blood across his face as he thrust at the neck, thick as the chest of a horse. But the creature twisted and his spear point glanced off the iron-hard scales.
A mighty foreleg lashed out and another man cried out in pain as he was crushed. The beast spun, and smashed downwards with its wedge-shaped head, brushing aside a spear and battering yet another man into a broken mockery of humanity, and then Jaks stood alone.
Jaks stepped back as the creature turned sinuously to face him and lowered its head close to the ground. Jaks gripped the spear tighter in his sweat-slicked hands and braced himself. "Master..." he whispered.
"Be strong." the wizard's voice rang in his mind. "I am with you, my faithful."
The creature struck, its head lashing forward, jaws gaping with dozens of razor-sharp fangs ready. Simultaneously, a beam of black and violet energy lept from the amulet, splashing against the armored face of the beast. Stunned, the creature shook its head in confusion.
"Go!" the wizard's voice shouted, and Jaks dodged around the wide-spread legs of the beast and started for the trail down which they had come. Maybe he could lose it in the forest. Maybe he could... escape? He stopped running. Escape, leaving his men behind, dead and unavenged? Jaks turned back, again shifting his grip on his spear as the creature shook off the last effects of the spell and spied him again. "I cannot help you further," the wizard spoke.
Jaks nodded and started forward. "I was the leader," he said quietly.
Again, the beast started for him, but as it struck, an arrow shattered against its throat, and Jaks spun nimbly out of the way of its rush, his spear again failing to find purchase through the wall of scales along its neck. As he dodged the sweep of a claw, he caught a brief glimpse of an archer kneeling atop the trunk of a downed tree and speeding arror after arrow in a steady stream to shatter against the armored foe. He heard the man call out "Run, you fool!" as he struck again. The spear stuck for a moment, sliding into the joint between the chest and the treelike foreleg of the beast, and Jaks leaned on the shaft, bearing down on the shaft. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tail sweep around. And the fight ended for Jaks.
The archer fired one last arrow which shattered against the scaley eyelid of the monster as the final spearman fell, then turned and ran into the forest. The now completely enraged beast followed, so blinded by rage it shattered whatever trees it didn't happen to miss in its path.
Some hours later, the archer returned to the scene of the battle. Losing the beast in the forest had been easy for one of his skill, but curiousity had drawn him back afterwards. "What would so drive a man, to stay and battle hopelessly against a dragon?" He wondered, as he made his way to the battleground.
He drove away the scavengers who had gathered over the bodies. The least he could do would be to see them properly buried. As he worked, a shining black amulet that had broken free from its wearer caught his attention. The amulet seemed to reflect a light from within. As always, unable to resist the temptation, he picked it up. And almost dropped it, and a voice spoke to him. "Why do you disturb my honored fallen?"
"I meant no disrespect," he said politely, on the general policy of not offending anything he didn't understand. "I plan to give these men burial so they may rest easy."
"I thank you for that," the voice replied.
Emboldened, the archer asked, "Could you tell me why they fought that dragon, when by running when it was distracted, at least one may have escaped?"A long silence passed, then the voice from the amulet spoke again. "Come visit me when you have finshed here, and perhaps I can explain what cause some would be willing to die in service of. Perhaps it is a cause you would serve, also, stranger."
The archer thought for a moment, then nodded. "Perhaps. And my name is Sengir."
Contact The Nazgul at nazgul@jhu.edu
The Garashlint Orcs, a disordered collection of the worlds filth, a bunch of untrustworthy thieves and murderers, who's goalless existence serves only to spread chaos. Perhaps, but could they simply be a product of a ignorant and misguided world? Chaotic, certainly. The past "orders" of these lands have driven these unfortunate creatures into exile. Kings may have gloated of riches, prosperity and order, but for whom?, never for the Orc. Subject to a seemingly eternally raciest and prejudice world, the torments of an Orc are endless in every corner of the land. It is rare to find one in Garashlint who has not borne whiteness to pointless murders of family and friends, just for being an Orc. Naturally, the hatred and bitterness among the Orcs of Garashlint runs deep, and most now have been forcefully conditioned into a kind of xenophobia. Deep within the swamps of Garashlint, despite the somewhat "delicate" environment, Orcs can at least obtain some level of respect. They can almost considerthemselves citizens. The raids in the area have dropped in frequency recently, and there have even been sightings of organised Orc patrols. What seems most staggering, are the reports that they have NOT attacked and slaughtered everyone they come across, as of course the world would expect. This is naturally being put down to some sort of Orcish trick. It is undeniable however, that something odd is going on Garashlint.
Contact Archlord Syssigee at angryimp@pop.es.co.nz
The Divine City is under the protection of its ancient Gods, the Pentiad of the Segrethnothiazh, a family of deities decended directly from the Primevial Demiurge, the Creator from Chaos and Lord of the Darkness. The guiding hands of the Pentiad have preserved and prospered the City since time immemorial, despite the harsh environment in which it is set. Here is the Hymn to Lord Muthris, first of the Pentiad, which is incanted on the Day of the Gathering of the Worms: "We worship Muthris of the looming caves who bestows peaceful dwellings, good dwellings on our lands. May he come to us for victory, may he come to us for justice, he the strong, the powerful, to be worshipped, prayed to, not deceived, by all the material world. We worship Muthris of the looming caves with haoma mixed with blood, with skill of tongue and manthras, with word and act, with offerings and rightly spoken utterances. We worship Muthris of the looming caves, right-speaking, eloquent, possessing a thousand ears, well formed, possessing ten thousand eyes, tall, with wide look-out, strong, unsleeping, wakeful." Here is the Hymn to Mighty Khvarenah, second of the Pentiad, which is incanted on the Day of the Burning Fields: "We worship mighty Khvarenah, who for a long time accompanied shining Yima, possessed of good herds, so that he ruled over this earth of seven regions; in whose kingdom there was neither cold nor heat, niether old age nor death, nor demon-created sickness, before he lied, before he brought the lying untrue word into his mind. Then when he brought the lying untrue word into his mind, Khvarenah was seen to depart from him in the shape of a bird. Yima wandered sad, cast into dejection he hid from the earth. Khvarenah went from shining Yima in the shape of a hawk. This Khvarenah Muthris of looming caves, with listening ears and a thousand perceptions, laid hold of. Then the three-headed dragon rushed forward, thinking thus: 'I shall lay hold of this Kvarenah.' Then Fire rose up at him from behind, saying thus aloud: 'Back! learn this, O three-headed dragon! If you should reach for this Kvarenah, I shall blaze up, I shall flame up upon your jaws. Never hereafter shall you rush forth upon the Ahura-created earth for the destruction of the creatures of asha.' Then the dragon drew his forepaws back again, forseeing an attempt on his life, for Fire was terrifying.
Contact Melmenelmir at 73340.2453@compuserve.com
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