PLAYER BLURBS.
Hail Wizards of Shadowmoth,I am Xenephon, the newly appointed Mage-Kinght of Icecale.
I am a great historian, writer, and most of all a renowned military leader. Though we Hill Dwarves are open to any alliance, anyone trying to enter our realm under unfriendly terms, should be most certainly beware. Because xenophobia was named after me, my actions hold true to the word.
Anyone coming against me will be dealt with accordingly. Any wrongful or mistrustful act, especially in political matters, will also be dealt with accordingly. The Hill Dwarves are clearly one of the most fearsome races to face on the field of battle. Our culture revolves around the warriors and ensures only the strongest survive. We are not above pillaging you kingdom to accumulate an invaluable supply of resources.
In the words of my fellow dwarves "The time for peace has passed. The time for war is to come. In between we shall all find out who has the strength, cunning, willpower, and resources to name themselves competent rulers of the lands. In alliance is power; alone we are nothing more than bubbles on a Guidness". These words ring with truth through most of the dwarven camps. So all that would go against us will die, and all that would ally themselves with us shall be safe, for as long as they remain true allies.
Carved in Stone,
Xenephon, Mage Knight of Icecale, High Lord of Icevale.
Contact Xenephon at williamskl@yahoo.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Kalin at mark.gleicher@connriver.net
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Creslin and the Plainspeople of Goish Long ago, the city of Goish was founded on the island of Icelarna by the First Mage, Creslin. Creslin was the first, and most powerful mage to be born to the Plainspeople. His people flourished on the abundance of their island kingdom and many benefited from his enlightened rule. His fame as a just, but firm ruler traveled the world far and wide, but the world was not yet ready to accept his leadership. Many people resisted the rightful leadership of Creslin and his Plainspeople and many battles ensued. The stars shook in the sky, the earth trembled deep beneath the surface and storms swept across the land from the mighty magic's that passed between Creslin and his enemies. In a decisive battle at the end of the wars, Creslin was mortally injured. Just before dying, he cast his last and most powerful spell to ensure his return when the world was ready. The Plainspeople, devastated by Creslin's death and years of war, retreated into Goish and have since ignored the rest of the world. There, they have long awaited the rebirth of their champion. It has been many long years since the death of their Champion and yet they patiently wait. The island grows colder, and yet they wait. The once fertile plains become icy and barely sustain them, and yet they wait. Their astrologers consult the stars for signs, their oracles consult the gods and everyone looks for signs of the return of Creslin. The soul of the Plainspeople of Goish will be empty until the return of
Creslin the Champion.
The age of the return of the First Mage, Creslin will be an age of great renewal, not just for the Plainspeople, but for all of Shadowmoth. It will also be an age of much conflict and pain, to be mourned for generations. ~ Scurgolis, the First Astrologer
After many, many years of waiting, their patience is finally rewarded with signs of portent. The animals of the land, normally peacefully coexisting with the Plainspeople, are restless and uncooperative. The astrologers cower from portents in the stars of greatness and doom (although doom for whom is not indicated). Supernaturally cold winters seem to be persistent year round. Rumors start to spread that it is time to summon Creslin back from the heavens. The Council of 12 convenes at the Temple of Creslin, in the center of Goish and starts their rituals. 12 days of grueling ceremonies and spells go by, yet there is no sign of Creslin. During the ceremonies, the oceans become angry and waves beat upon the beaches. The skies grow frantic and lightning races through the city. The people are terrified and there is much concern that Creslin has deserted his people. On the last day, the ceremonies end and the oceans and skies become quiet. The sudden silence is quickly filled with the sounds of a mighty flood as a nearby river quickly swells and fills its banks. Homes and crops look like they will be swept away, but the flood quickly subsides. In the wake of the flood, a young girl notices a tall man walking from the river. She immediately recognizes his black hair, silver eyes, pale complexion and strong features from the many portraits and statues around the city. " Creslin has come!" she cries and she races ahead of him proclaiming the news. As the city celebrates the his return, Creslin is disappointed by the progress his Plainspeople have made during the time he was gone. He calls all the current leaders and mages together and plans are immediately laid for the expansion of the Goish Empire. Existing armies are whipped into shape and sent in all directions to explore the changes in the land since the Plainspeople last ventured forth. Local Plainspeople are directed to the construction of new buildings to provide resources needed in the campaign. Raw recruits are drafted into the armed services to swell the neglected ranks of the militia. The influence of Creslin spreads to include the animals of the region, long time partners of the Plainspeople. Horses, wolves, deer and birds appear in unprecedented numbers to join the Plainspeople. All through Goish there is excitement and enthusiasm. And to all other leaders, a messenger is dispatched with this simple announcement:
Creslin the Champion has returned. Ally with the Plainspeople of Goish and benefit from our wisdom. Or oppose us and suffer the consequences. - First Mage, Creslin |
Contact Creslin at djanson@microsoft.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Sharkishi at e9126593@student.tuwien.ac.at
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Contact Merlin at wow_merlin@yahoo.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Morgenes at rips@ahrens.de
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Greetings, traveller. Welcome to the castle of the mighty wizard Lord Steelmind. Behold the splendor of Ki, and find joy in finding true beauty at last. Let the world know that a new power has risen, and that is friendly yet harsh. Lord Steelmind is not a man to be trifled with. Let me tell you some of myself. I come from a country far away, magically teleported here by my father, the great Archmage D'Ascunxion. I was sent here to unite this war-torn continent, and to bring peace and prosperity to all races in the realm of Shadowmoth. My means are primarily diplomacy, but I have been granted the right to use force if needed. I shall grant entry, with open arms, to any emissary that seek to enter my lands. Potential allies need not fear, but strive to make haste here and seek me out. I am hard but fair. Never cross me, if you wish to see tomorrow's daylight. I am more than willing to trade, with all races and all leaders. Under dwarves, Dervish, High Elves, come to me and we shall make our trade a profitable one. Being the Regent of a desert kingdom, gems are a constant surplus for me but I would be surprised if I cannot offer you something else if that is what you require. I am already living in peace with my closest neighbours, seeing that they are honorable people and that they work for the good of the sandpeople. Honor to you, Rockbreaker and Jacekim. Let the world know I am here. Only in harmony we shall prosper. - Lord Steelmind - |
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Contact Lord Steelmind at marcus@jacobs.pp.se
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Trade with the Dwarves of Kalintal |
Storiesby: Eliza the BardIf I say the word 'Dwarf' in Kalintal, I hear the words 'beard', 'stout' and 'small' Well, there are other Stout and small creatures but they consider Dwarves to be their teachers
Why then? What is strange about our folk?
Other Races lack these skills
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Contact WarLore at warlore12@hotmail.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Yorl at brianis@home.com
My name is
Merlin. I have been summoned by the
great GOD's to lead the Orc's of Bastion out of the
swamps and onto the dry lands. They are
to rule (with ally's if they find some) the world of
shadowmouth. To all Wizards that oppose
the Orc's of Bastion, may we meet on the battle field.
To those Wizards that wish to make
ally with 
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Astral Digmar...
Digmarian scholars, stubborn as dwarves do be, insisted for centuries that the way back down the mountains had been merely lost, until the day a now famous drunken dwarf fell off Digmar, and through some quirk of the astral planes ended up falling back through the roof of an inn in Digmar Dwarven scholars began a bustle of research into all things astral, and as a result, magical. The city was renamed Astral Digmar. Just in case any of the original Surface Digmar had been left behind. Exploration was difficult however. Twas often said the clouds outside were as thick as the head on a Gidnness (a Digmarian beer), and to venture forth was to become surely lost. Recently a dwarf called Ash, one of the greatest dwarven greybeards ever, has found a way to part the clouds misting the path on the astral plane, and has determined to lead the hill dwarves of Digmar from their solitary existence into the wonder of the world beyond. And a quest to perhap find the lost remains of Surface Digmar. |
Contact Ash at stonier@deakin.edu.au
Hear me, hear me my friends, lean back and let the servants refill your tankards. Listen to the tale of my adventures among the mysterious inhabitants of Dalibar - the grim sandpeople and their leader Jacekim Snow. Ah-yes I seem to got your attention, even Yours -Oh great Wizard. Yes …..I have seen Dalibar and lived to tell the tale.
I was dragged along as the crowd moved into the hot, glaring sun and seated
by a brusque push. Here on two steep dunes that created a natural
amphitheatre sat a larger crowd then I ever could imagine (remember I was
still young and had not been around very much and certainly not been in
this great city). Where all these sandpeople came from was a mystery to me
since I could not see any buildings nor tents even after my eyes had
adjusted to the bright light. I was anxious to see my benefactor and
naturally I wished very hard for him to win. And as he entered, my hopes
rose to the Astral Plane. He was huge. At least the size of a large
minotaur warrior clad in a chainmail so beautiful it must have been dwarf
smitten. He strode into the circle drawn in the sand with long, confident
steps and the crowd cheered. My spirit rose higher then it had been for the
last days, until I realised they were chanting " Balthor ,Balthor , Balthor
". And then a lanky figure strolled into view and I heart sank like a fat
dwarf in sweet water. It was clear that it was Jacekim -my defender.
He was tall (but not huge as Balthor ) and seemed very young and it was
easy to see why he was called Snow. He was completely and utterly white. No
I mean his hair was white, his skin whiter still ( as if it never seen the
sun ) and even his lips were white. What he lacked in colour by nature he
made up by his clothing.
He was clad in a green elfen tunic with long arms, black plainsman hoses
and red soft sandals ( hardly what one could call a warrior's outfit ). But
the strangest thing of all , was that he wore what the gnomes call
spectacles, on the tip of his nose and these were made of some kind of
black gemstone. Look I have seen my share of gnomes and they are strange
but I have never seen - or heard - of this large and black spectacle. And
when the duel began he just stood there, not even unshealted his kahri.
This clearly infuriated Balthor who moved cautiously in a battle stance,
his frightening curved dagger held low. Jacekim seemed barely aware of him
as stood in the circle, not even moving to face his circling opponent This
lasted for a period of time that seemed like a century to me but the
conclusion was swift enough. The wizard pushed his spectacles up to the
bridge of his nose and looked upwards toward the sun, Balthor- who was
behind him charged., with his dagger ready to strike. But just as his arm
moved to plunge the weapon into the back of the green tunic, Jacekim
twisted away with an incredible speed. A punch, fast enough to shame a
viper, almost stopped the huge warrior dead in his motion then my defender
stepped in close to the warrior. What happened next, I still do not
understand, Balthor flew through the air and landed head down some good
three paces outside the circle. ( Later Jacekim tried to explain to me he
had used Balthors motion and size against him , but although he showed me
how it is done I still think it is magic).
Several accused Jacekim for using magic but he and Balthor assured them
that he had learned this method of fighting from a book. Later that
evening, while dinning with me and my saviour, Balthor asked about the
unique way I would have died if he had won. Jacekim didn't look up from the
scroll he was reading and answered absentminded " Have You ever heard of
anyone being drowned in this desert by sweet water?" Balthor exploded into
a booming laughter but I found it far less amusing. I discovered soon
enough that the wizard had a strange sense of humour.
The entire next year I was a guest at Jacekim´s house and got to know him
really well.
The legend tales that he was born one day that two very strange things
occurred in the desert - it snowed and the sun disappeared - that and his
whiteness -got him the name Snow. But it could as well have been Steadfast
or Wideread. He is a strange man with strange ideas - he would have fitted
right in with the Gnomes. A strong leader that is pacifistic .. oh it is a
person that does not believe in violence as a problem solver and forces the
entire population to learn how to read is a unique occurrence.
Jacekim is a man of very strong sense of honour and loyalty, once he gives
his word it is set in stone and nothing can make him break it and once You
win his friendship, it is up to You to break it - he never will.
Once him and I encountered twelve raiders..oh the time has flown and night
has gone far, I can tell more of my adventures, tomorrow. That is if you
can peruse me to stay. Do not be cheap and pass the hat along.
Tales told by the bard Eraphion, member of the entertainment Guild.
Contact Jacekim at mikael_roth@hotmail.com
I am the minotaur Lord Garet Jax, leader of the minotaurs of Riza. How I got to rule them that is another story for another time.But for now I will tell you that They are the great astral minotaurs of legend, and They will remain, well all others fail. Only those who are our allies, are going to survive our wrath. All others will die so the minotaurs of legend, become reallity and survive. They have stood by for to many years, while all others have taken advantage of them, so I have promised my people, "No more". We shall rule this realm. This is not the end...
Contact Garet Jax at stonierd@janus.cqu.edu.au
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Valerien at jay.griffiths@expeditors.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Windy Raven at hmwow@hotmail.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Grimslade at rpgbo@hotmail.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Kyrlyn at danders@ameritech.net
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Mithraen at josemiguel@mail.telepac.pt
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Nephilim at cpeder@online.no
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Drizz at jamesbaum@netscape.net
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact K'ngen at niklas.bjorkegren@bigfoot.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Magius at magius_10@yahoo.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Slystar at yousufb@usa.net
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Raolin Dragonbane at carpenjl@river.it.gvsu.edu
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Lycor at bigg5@hotmail.com
The clans of Mistlevain have warred for as long as any can remember. There were tails, told by the old and the imaginative, of times with peace, trade, even co-operation, few believed and many ridiculed these suggestions. For centuries the clans have been content to fight amongst each other, hate gave a purpose, cause and passion in the cold mountains. Death was not the only trade between the clans. The tradition of competing in the skill that was the heritage of the dwarves was unbreakable. The clans warred all year but the competition was a sacred time of peace. The skills at the forge and the competitions equipped armies, armies involved in wars that the Dwarves always considered immaterial. Never had such a heritage and lifestyle revolved around war, and not the death of war, but the mechanics of war, the passion of war and the love for war. The birth of Jangen was unremarkable, some say too unremarkable and few remember him as a child, although he was always there.. As he grew in age he too grew in power. Strong was his arm, but stronger was his mind, and quickly he grew to lead his clan. With diplomacy and skill he increased his power base and extended his following, but with rage and hate he would extinguish the lives of his enemies. With (surprisingly) little competition he grew in power, with a strange will pushing him to grow and expand, for he new a time was coming, and no longer would the race he loved be funding wars, but they would be forced to fight them. The product of war from his very birth, Jangen new he must succeed, he was making friends, learning new skills and developing a reputation. Already the legend was growing. The friendly assassin is born. Take heed for time is short and war is at hand.
Contact Friendly Assassin at Rand_Grim@yahoo.com
UnderThain Araxus
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"... And he shall rise from the depths of the Underworld with the wealth of the earth which is his, and his coming will lay waste to the surface as the world is reborn. In his fist he will wield the Mighty Axe of the Clans, and his sweeping stroke shall rule for centuries to come..."Horamma the Mitsalonian Chronicler of the Ascension, 356 M.R.
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Contact UnderThain Araxus at jeffv@microsoft.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Triss at predator@nbn.net
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There was once a great city in the depths of the underworld, whose great beauty bewildered many a traveller and whose enormous wealth brought the finest merchandise, and the most respected merchants. To many it was a marvel of beauty and wealth, as well as a safe haven for honor, and righteousness.
~~ReNar Xleno, Chief Scribe of Vlazar
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Greetings,AS WELL AS A DIRECT CONNECTION TO OUR OVER-SEER OF THE DIPLOMATIC CORPS AND OUR CHIEF ELDER OF THE TRADE COUNCIL  Chronicles of Time |
Contact XenLorn of Zimjaqt at sirhair@mail.utexas.edu
Hail Wizards of Shadowmoth, I am Rand Grimstone, Leader of the Displaced Dervishes of New Flashmar. While I would prefer a peaceful coexistence with the many other wizards of Shadowmoth, I am vengeance driven to retake what was so wrongfully stolen from my people. The city of Flashmar, from whence my people were driven by the minotaur nation now residing there. The time to march on Flashmar will come, but first I must make my nation strong through grow and diplomacy. My word is my bond and I am honor bound to follow it. I look towards others who can strengthen my cause and their own to join me in a mighty union. In this turbulent world we live wouldn't it be nice to have an ally you can trust? For those who would take advantage of this trust it will be remember for generations to come. Once again I welcome you to this world and hope we can work together to reach our goals. Rand Grimstone Leader of the Displaced Dervishes of New Flashmar
Contact Rand Grimstone at rand_grim@yahoo.com
The Dark Elves of Klazar
He had come out of the depths of the Underworld, and walked straight into their city, Klazar. He had given his name as Osan'gar, and ordered them to serve him. The city elders feared him, and served, for they had seen what had happened to those that disobeyed.
The former ruler of Klazar was no longer recognizable as such. A steaming lump of something that was once flesh was all that remained. When he had opposed the newcomer, he had died, slowly and painfully. This, more than anything else, had served to make the populace give in. They all knew, that given a reason, he could destroy any one, any ten of them, worse, he probably could destroy the entire town if he truly wished. Also, there was still hope that he would leave one day, just as he had told them when had entered their city, "My name is Osan'gar. I have come from a world far different from this one, and been sent here, for a ... mistake I made. When the time is ready I will return whence I came from, but until then I will live here. Serve me, and you will live in prosperity. Oppose me, and you will die."
However they feared him, they could not deny that their new ruler brought their town prosperity and wealth. Under his guidance, Klazar rose to a position of power in the dark lands far from the sun. Behold, look at the town of the Dark Elves, Klazar, Jewel of the Underworld, magical lights and fires gleaming and shining from the mighty towers, gates of adamant and mithril undreamed of by surface dwellers! Look at the palaces, the temples, the magical wonders that are commonplace in this town! See the dark elves, the epitome of beauty, and the embodiment of deadly grace! Here, at a place far from the surface, where magic is still alive, where thoughts can create beauty and destruction with equal ease, at the centre of the earth's power, here the dark elves do live and prosper in the eternal night. Behold Klazar, home of the graceful, and forever deadly, dark elves.
Contact Osan'gar at gorlin@freibier.htu.tuwien.ac.at
Greetings Fellow Wizards of Shadowmoth! We are the Sand People of the Desert City of Mivsalar. Our prophets warn that great change is in store for our previously peaceful world. It is foretold that one day, a day sooner than we could expect, only one of the societies of our world will ascend to a position of leadership over the others. Only the culture of that one, victorious, society will live on and all others will be relegated to the dusty historical tomes of the great libraries. We of the city of Mivsalar have come to the conclusion, although I am sure that many of you do not agree, that only our culture, of the myriad that exist on Shadowmoth, is sufficiently enlightened to be the model for the whole world. For the city of Mivsalar to rise above the others, we will need many allies and to these allies we will be true. Our city and its people have eeked out their existence from a harsh landscape for millennia. Only a society that relies on others for it's very life can truly understand the nature and power of friendship - and the hazards of turning your back on a friend. Those that stand with us will not be forgotten and will stand triumphant beside us. Maybe the ordained future that our prophets speak is not set in stone? Maybe there is a possibility to create a greater civilization from the best , the brightest, and strongest of Shadowmoth? Let the desert storms rage and beware what they hide. Our mighty warriors will sweep across this land and contest for the ultimate prize - survival! Gilandra, Grand Sultan and Archmage of Mivsalar
Contact Gilindra at davemo@microsoft.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Rhuagh at ztippy@cairns.net.au
In the mists of ages long forgotten, the dwarves of Astral Digmar
once
lived amongst their cousins upon the sprawling planes of
Shadowmoth's
surface. An
overwhelming obsession for mining gems saw them delve further into
the mountain
ranges, until their pursuit found them dwelling upon the tallest
peak
in the land.
Twas then that strange and indeed marvellous things happened to the
Digmarians
of old. The magical spectra possessed within every gem subtly
influenced the dwarves in every manner. And it came to pass that
they
became masters of
arcane arts, as magic became an integral part of their lives.
The transformation began with the engineers. In time, they
utilised the power contained within the gems
in constructing their fortresses, and slowly
the capital of Digmar became infused with the power of the astral
plane.
Then one fine day on the rooftop of the world, Digmar, and much of
the mountain,
left the mortal planes and became fused with the astral plane.
I come into the world with a cry, the cry of an exploding
volcano. I am
survival.
I am Melvin Ambrose and I am GNOME. I am the embodiment of
survival
for the gnome people of Jungolimbols. I came into being by the psychic
emanations let loose by 300 gnomes as they fled from their homeland
while a rain of fire killed their families and destroyed their homes in
a gnomish experiment gone wrong. I am dependent upon the survival of
the Gnome people that have brought me into being and my powers seem to
grow as they grow more numerous and advanced. What a fragile
existance. In order to survive I will surround myself with as many of
these people as I can and try to find allies in this world to serve as
co-protectors of my existance.
I seem to be able to control all of the gnomes as if they were
extensions of my body, or is this just the way it feels to me? Maybe my
feelings are only a reflection of what the gnomes already plan. I do
not know which is true, to believe I do not control my own actions
would cause me to go mad so I will assume it is I who do the
controlling.
To any who can hear this voice I offer alliance. If you do not wish
to ally with me then you must remain at a distance, for any that are
not allied with me are threats to my existance.
Contact Melvin Ambrose at IvanMc@xtra.co.nz
" ... I was standing on my viewing area, looking around on my kingdom. I couldn't see much. The mist from the waterfalls and natural dark in the underworld limited my sight. There wasn't any ray of sunlight, it just couldn't be here. But time came to take out my nation beyond, and to remind them how sunlight look like. "After the Sunlight" diary of Selimar the Sandworm-Singer Book I Chapter IV |
Contact Selimar at smok_76@yahoo.com
The Dwarves of Mudvale
Greetings!
I am Arkhan, High Wizard of the towers of sorcery of Mudvale. The great King Lowbeard has appointed me acting emissary, and general of all the military might of Mudvale.
We dwarves are a peace-able folk if left alone. But be warned! We defend our lifestyles with Vigor! You may visit our town any time, no riff-raff allowed. Threaten us, and our army will visit your town!
All seriousness aside, good cheer to all, and may Dumathain bless your beer!
Arkhan - High Wizard of Mudvale.
Contact Arkhan at q9102577@topaz.cqu.edu.au
After Long Slumber We Have Awakened
Delirious Scents of Sorcery and Battle
Summon Us to this Deep Demesne
Mighty Dwarves of Whibing Hall
Versed in Axe and Sword
Once Again Toil with Purpose
Together We Shall Taste Victory!
Contact AdmKdmn at mtoepke@microsoft.com
The Cronicles of Time |
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I was a taunted halfling at youth. No one wanted to be asosiated with me for I was "special". From my birth the overseers sead agian and agian "You are the choosen one." They knew exactly what would happen to me and what would happen for me. Still I will sit awake in bed at night wishing I could have somehow had some friends back then. But it would never have worked even if someone wished to be a friend, that would soon end for I was hardly ever let out of the "great towers of old", studying mindless bletch over and over. Well it all payed off, twenty years of trianing from the greatest trianers in the land got me ready for this! But was it enough? The sands of time and the great gods, only, know! |
I "land" on this planet of shadowmoth today but am given a very bad region to start, TWO SIDES TOWARDS THE SEA uggg! I barly have room for the slitest grouth and then I am blocked by a foe. I only have 15 shires but I shall do my best with them. Well at least the food suply's good. After two years I am content with myself for I have gianed #1 in magic and have already built a magic college and fownd a secret place! I have also researched: Sorcery, Will, Construct, Summoning, Fire, Water, Air, and Earth Level 1 alog with Spellcraft Level 10 and Construct Level 3!!! I also have 100 something apprentices, Twelve heroes, Docks, Paths, Librays, Sages Guilds, Magic Coleges, Wells, Inns, Taverns, Blacksmiths, Barracks, Stables, Stonehenge, Aquiducts, Walls, Arenas, Roads, Lumber Mills, Archery Ranges, Jewlers, Stone Masons, etc. built wile single handedly fighting off: Vallerien, Steelmind, King Joffy Jafar, and Gilindra who backstabed me in a close alliship, but I shall still win! I hope! |
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With advanced gem and spell function I am able to see peaces of my future. For one I see myself defeating an enemy's capital city and taking control of there nation. I see Highly advanced spells and buildings in my capital city which is virtually untouched. I also see power in my allies, sadly above all I see the destruction of my Capital by a huge allience agianst me, in fact these last two may be linked for my former ally has formed and large allience agianst me and it has the power of being earlierly allied to me! |
My agriculture is at an all time high, this probably has to do with the fact that my average moral is 5.000 so I don't need to waste food to make people pay me top doller! Because of this I can also have alot of teretories on high taxes wich means more money which means more apprentices to recruit which means more research points which means more research which means more spells which means a hihger magic rating. Wow that was a lot of "which means" agriculture's pretty complicated. As for other resources, my wood and gem stockpiles are tinny wile my stone and iron deposites are record high. I have some of the greatest quarries and iron mines in the world. I also have some of the greatest farms in my capital, espesially with the grainery and bakery built. Gem mining is usually OK wile my teritories have only the fewwest trees. |
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This section of my news is dedicated to recruiting allies!
If you wish to ally me OR at least consider allyment please fill
out the bellow form, Thanks for your time.
What be your name, Wizard?
Your email address: (e.g.: you@your domian.com)
What be your race?
Any Comments?
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Contact Shawn at ligocki@excite.com
 Hail honorable wizards.... The name be Dramo, and I be the new ruler of the Underdwarven people of Vope Hall. Down in our 'ere underworld, dwarves are a bit different than they once used to be. We mine precious metals, sweat blood, and fight with pride, honor, and loyalty -- just like our surface dwelling cousins; But now our purposes have changed. No longer do we take pleasure in the beauty of nature as we once did, nor thrive for the precious warmth of sunlight on our beards -- We have become one with the darkness and the endless terrain of rock upon rock, and have thus come to accept this new life as our own. Inevitiably such living conditions have scarred us in ways we might little notice any more, but never we it be known that the Underdwarves of Vope Hall show disdain for any of the surface races who so selfishly put us here. We have found peace amongst our tools and our toil, mining stone, gems, and mithril without any knowledge of day or night ~ Here our struggle to be stronger, brighter, and more productive than our surface dwelling neighbors is non-stop. We shall not cease in our efforts to be anything less than perfectionists, and to remain always on top. Unlike others of our people who have grown restless and contemptuous of their once friends in the overworld, we of Vope Hall strive to work once again towards unity. We believe that in alliance, that ignorance and hatred, which has separated all our peoples from that race which the Gods all intended us to be, shall be overcome and forgotten. We can not acheive these goals alone, and do not proclaim to be able to do so. The efforts of diplomacy with all the races and peoples of Shadowmoth has been a high priority for Vope Hall of late, and that is why we have a new Thane. I do be him...and may all the rulers of Shadowmoth know that wisdom and justice abounds when they do speak my name, heh.  You can contact me, through any of my numerous diplomats, who even now roam the lands of Shadowmoth in search of worthy allies, beneficial partners in trade, and possibly, future subjects of the merciless wrath of Dramo. |
Contact Marcil van Dramo at jones.hb5@mail.utexas.edu
The Rise of RockbreakerCloudwatcher climbed the dunes knowing his life's dreams would soon be shattered. Even before his naming day, his desires were different. He always sought greater mystery than his brother Sandpeople. Named for his fascination with the rare clouds that drift from the northern regions, he had resolved to explore beyond the tribe's domain. He remembered the excitement of his only meeting with the distant elves. A child enraputred by their trilling voices and startling features. Cresting the rise, amidst the slaughter he watched those dreams vanish. Not the first time seeing his people dead, but the worst. Stepping through the wrecked camp, he searched for the one face that would finalize his doom. And there, where the blood had permanently stained the sand red, he found him. His older brother, chief of the tribe. His easy smile and ready friendship forever stilled. Cloudwalker gazed with regret and sorrow, a single tear coursing down his cheek. The rage and bitterness having faded with each savaged camp. "Rockbreaker, What now?" his clan brother called. Cloudwatcher grimaced at the childhood nickname. A relic from his youth when his boast that he could split a boulder with a single swing proved surprisingly true. Yet, he resolved, this name would be known. A fitting challenge to fling to the world. Now chief, he needed to become the hammer against his enemies. His skills is skills and intellect now devoted to the mastery of the arcane and leadership of a threatened people. Turning from the empty dead, he felt nothing but loss for the joy life should have offered.
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The Oracle VisitsMalen Cloudwatcher and his brother Hadek Bladesinger eagerly approached the elven caravan. For the first time their father let them roam unattended, each with a few small gold coins in their pouches. The traders were a small group from the southern forests, but to the boys an immense novelty. Malen openly goggled at the foreign faces while his brother tried to hide his awe behind an arrogant swagger. Their manerisms characteristic of their futures in the tribe. Being eldest, Hadek would lead the clans and Malen would be a trusted advisor. As rarely happens in leadership, the youths were well suited to their destined roles. Hadek, larger and well muscled, excelled at combat skills. His charismatic nature earned respect among the young men and elders. Malen's avid curiousity had already earned him a place with the shamans. The goods offerred were of high quality typical of the elven craftsmen. The prized hardwoods of the forests fashioned into cunning beautiful tools. Hadek remembered seeing the an elven longbow for the first time, it's slenderness making it appear as a toy. His face flushed red finding himself unable to pull and knock an arrow. Today, bigger and stronger, he was ready to purchase such a weapon. Malen had no firm intentions, being content to wander in the carnival atmosphere. Together they paused to watch the horses brought for sale. Worth far more than their few coins, they could only gaze at the magnificent animals. Then, out of the corner of his idea, Malen saw a tent different then the others. Lacking any indication of its purpose, the fabric seemed to shimmer under the desert sun. He was drawn forward, absently pulling his brother along. Entering, he was faced with an old elven woman. He stared, amazed to see wrinkles on such a fair face. She glance at the solemly. "Two for the future", she said, quickly grabbing both their palms. Looking first at Hadek's hand, she intoned" I see the rising sun, stars glittering about. One by one the stars blink out. The sun stops at noon shining crimson. A cloud passes across the sun and a raindrop falls to the desert." She pauses and says, "A glorious dark future" "Now you", glancing at Malen. After I long pause, "It's dark hard to read. Water quenches fire that rages unabated. Wind scours the desert, raging against unfailing walls. Beasts and men battle together and apart." She looks up, "Too much turmoil, your path is uncertain, your choices too many. You may leave now." p> Shaken, both boys stumbled from the tent wondering what such dire predictions could foretell.
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Writ of the Sandpeople
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Contact Rockbreaker at braunj@hibp9.ecse.rpi.edu
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Helmaster at WILLIAMSKL@NETSCAPE.NET
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact King Joffe Jafar at marcus@tdw.se
The minotours have roamed the Astral Plain alone. Now, new leaders have gathered different groups of minotours together and reside in different places. They have trained there people, the minotours, in the use of weopons, until they are as skilled at the war vetereans. One of these leaders is the GREAT WIZARD FISTANDILIUS. These are his goals in life. 1.) his first priority is to unite and form alliances with all the other Minotours for they are his kin and wishes not to kill them. 2.) To set up well guarded trade routes between cities and countries. 3.) To seek dominance over all races and rulers apart from those who are his allies. 4.) to have unity everywhere. 5.) Destroy the troublesome humans and dwarves. For all those who want to trade or ally with me, contact me or ally to player 42 on your next turn. May the Minotours help you.
Contact Dierdriu at luk.vandelaer@village.uunet.be
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Thom Bombadill at puh@tdw.se
High atop the mountains lies Grandfor. And from my throne I can see many lands; those that are mine and those that will be. Yet I must observe cuation. There are those who would topple me from my throne. But first you have to climb my mountain, and my axe waits for you at the summit.
Contact Garnornomor at khumfeld@andrew.cmu.edu
 Hiya All! My name is BigFish, mayor of Finton Heights this season, and this is our lovely city. Don't ye like it? I know we do!!! You know we halflings aren't used to castle walls and the such, as we all live in burrows on the sides of hills normally...but it seems all we have out here on this coastline is ocean, and cliffs, and....well we've kinda had do with what we've got, ya know? Halflings don't normally complain much anyhow...s'long as we have our share of sweetcakes and wood to keep the hearth buning during the winter, we'll be just fine. You know it is all kinda strange how I came to be mayor of this lovely city, and how we halflings came to be here in the first place. Unfortunately, none of us living remember that story, and well, our records are kinda soggy at best what with the seawater and all always gettin into the scribes workshop and...it's a long one I promise. The most I can tell ya is that most of what you see before ya wasn't here when we arrived. No sir, ya see we used to live across the great waters out on the continent of Mooncrest centuries ago, but we had to flee our peaceful burrows when the dragons came. Never have a halfling people been so afraid for their lives, and yet so resolute when it came to defending their homeland ~ against something they could not fight. We lost everything back then, and the last of our ancestors dies on the shores of Mooncrest. Or so the enemy thought. Seems they forgot about little old BigFish who during the panic had been snoopin' around in his great uncle's magic chest. Heh. While I guess while I was lookin' around in that big old trunk of his, I stumbled upon this funny sphere thingy. Turns out it was a mystical orb that not only protected me from the fear of the dragons, which had drawn all my people out from their burrows and to their eventual deaths, but it somehow teleported me to the very spot that we now call Finton Heights Town Hall. Upon my arrival I was nothing less than shocked (mostly cause that orb can pack some voltage!), but also because I had come upon a tiny village. And this village was inhabited by none other than....Halflings! All of them claimed to have been stranded here for years due to some strange shipwreck, while they were trying to return home to some other part of Shadowmoth. WHen I asked them why they hadn't just built a ship and headed home, they said they couldn't because the magic castle had them locked inside. Never before had these halflings had any interaction with the forces of magick before, so I offered to help them out. Somehow with the powers of my Great Uncle's orb (and later I found out because I was born with an incredible amount of innate magickal potential), I unlocked the secret to the castle walls, and the spell was broken. The people of the village were overjoyed to say the least, but much to my surprise, instead of running to grab their things and set out for their homeland that had missed for so long, the superstitious folk proclaimed me to be some all-powerful being sent by the gods, and decided to build a great city upon the village and name me their leader. There's a lot more to the story, but like I said, it's kinda fuzzy in my mind and I'm not quite so sure any of it is real anyways.  So here I am, and here we are ~ Peacefully living amongst the quiet lapping of the waters and the soft breeze through the trees...one could ask for nothing more. And the orb. Well it sits in a chest in my attic until its powers are needed once again. |
Contact King Weis at action111@hotmail.com
 Plainsmen
of
Zantiar
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 reetings,
fellow
wizards
of
Shadowmoth.
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Slayde Dragonheart, ruler of the Plainsmen of Zantiar. We have neutral attitudes towards all the races in this world and are happy to accept any messengers bearing news. You may contact us by sending your pages to our city, or by magical means. News of alliance and trade are most welcome, but we coose our friends carefully. I have taken over from the recently departed wizard Magian, and hope that I will be able to carry out my duties as well as he did, if not better. I would like to request all wizards that have communicated with Magian to get in contact with me, so that we can continue the talks, whether it be bad or good. That is all, for now,
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 In
the
Beginning...
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 ne
by one, the figures marched on into the darkness. Each step was with a
purpose, with a single goal in mind. To conquer the wilderness, to enter
the new frontier. These Plainsmen are not well known to be hardy travellers,
but travel they will. Driven by the forces of darkness, they were forced
on this journey into strange lands, in search of a new home.
Plainsmen are a fabled race of humans who occupy the great Jungles of Kil-Hite on the great continent of North Mooncrest. They are famous for their ability to defend their homes, no matter what the cost. The news of their courage and tenacity travelled far and wide when they temporarily drove back the forces of the Dread Lord from their lands. The Dread Lord commanders and their foul troops were of no match for these warriors, even though the Plainsmen were out numbered five to one. The thick jungle where they lived in provided the cover needed as the Plainsmen blended in with the surrounding undergrowth and picked off the enemy from a distance. When the dark forces were upon the city, the mighty Plainsmen engaged them with such ferocity that the battle only lasted for a few hours. Victory was theirs, but short lived. Unfortunately for them, the Dread Lord sent in a host of Vampires to assassinate the Amazon warlords and they were successful in their mission. Lord Kanror Lionsbane was silently murdered in his sleep, while the generals were butchered in the war room, where they were planning on their next move. The dark forces silently descended upon the city from all sides. Panic spread through the city like wildfire. News of Lord Kanror’s death shocked them all, for he was a much loved and respected leader. The shire garrison tried their best to defend the city, but they were demoralized and outnumbered. Eventually, the last of the remaining brave troops were cut down in cold blood. Whilst the battle raged on around them, the peasants quickly grabbed what they could and fled silently into the night, fearing for their lives, and the lives of their children. Not knowing where to go, they ran towards the horizon, and did not look back…
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|
 his
is a proclamation, of sorts, given by the people of Zantiar.
Any military presence, be it in the form of ground units, flying units or tunneling units, found in or near our lands will be considered hostile. We apologize in advance for any blood-letting in our zealous quest to build the greatest empire, but further hostilities resulting from these small skirmishes will be considered an act of aggression. Upon engagement, we advise you to establish a communiqué with us, by sending your messengers to our city or by magical means, with news of an immediate ceasefire or with insults to escalate the conflict to We are not a warring race, but no quarter will be asked nor given, once the battle begins. General
Kuardiz
Knightsbane
Commander of the Zantiaran Army. 
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Contact Slayde Dragonheart at boomsta@hotmail.com
Everything was black. Black and untouched. Infinite.
Time and space had no meaning here and oblivious of these strange concepts
an entity came to awareness. The Infinity Entity.
Thus the entity was. Knowing of it self, of its' self, it probed
deeper inside, only to find itself. The entity was all alone inside and
concluded where there is inside there must be outside. Intrigued by the
prospect of outside it wandered to the very border of itself. Only now it
realized the concept of space and being infinite, it knew.
Thus the entity was space. Within an instant the blackness was the
entity. Crawling it filled the infinite space. Puzzled the entity grabbed
and lounged but couldn't cross its' own confines. Painstakely it withdrew
from the border of infinity, deciding to trail one step behind.
Thus the entity was time. After another aeon it got bored of
following behind its own infinity and decided to accelerate time. Grief fell
upon the entity as it realized, time wouldn't bow to the infinity entitys'
whims. Terrified the entity raced after the border of the blackness but with
each step closer the darkness grew one step. Tired of the endless chase the
entity decided to rest. Soon it fell asleep.
Thus the entity was the elements. In the restless slumber the needs,
hopes and fears of the entity manifested and became physical bodies. Soon
bubbles of fire, earth, water and air drifted in the blackness, attached to
the entity through fine nearly invisible strings.
Thus the entity was life. Still asleep the entity grew more restless
and still more dreams emanated from it. More complex and fragile these
dreams needed a fixed environment to exist and clung to the bubbles. There
were infinite numbers of bubbles and the new creations became creatures
within these bubbles. Soon, in infinite scale, all bubbles were crowded by
creatures but still the entity was asleep.
Thus the entity was sentience. More and more vicious were the dreams
of the entity and the results from these dreams led to a constant struggle
for dominance over the bubbles. First creatures tried to hide or run from
the new, vicious creatures but eventually they tried to resist. And in some,
by far not all, bubbles they succceded. They established their own order of
life and the thread holding these bubbles to the entity got even thinner.
Thus the entity was the spirits. The free bubbles grew in themselves
and without the entity's input they developed and diversified. Only the most
wise of the creatures in these bubbles remembered a time when there was
another, a bigger, a far more powerful being and through ways only vaguely
mundane they were able to contact this being.
Thus the entity was magic. The wise creatures, the sentient creatures
finally were able to contact the entity and with a sudden jerk it awoke. In
this moment several of the thin strings were cut and in great tumbling fires
and bursts these unfortunate bubbles were destroyed. It quickly became clear
that the bubbles were dependant from the entity. Once the thread was lost,
the bubbles inevitably died. The infinite being, the entity, knew it was
chained to these bubbles as these bubbled were chained to it.
Thus the entity was death. Carefully and without haste the entity set
itself up to maintain, to holdfast, the existing bubbles. Not only saw it
its' duty but also the beauty of the bubbles. It tended each and everyone
with great care and was fascinated by the quick change in the bubbles. Soon.
all too soon, the bubbles were crowded with creatures and the elements
started to decay, to rot and to wither. Existence was miserable and never
would the resources suffice for all. After long and serious thinking the
entity decided to end some creatures' lives. And the dying begun.
Thus the entity was good. Though killing the entity was caring. Only
creatures who suffered from seriously damaged or broken bodies were killed.
In the first millenias the death toll was high but with time the
circumstances grew better and all creatures were provisioned. Unfortunatly
the most vicious creatures realized there advantage and damaged bodies on
purpose. The entity, deeply involved in its task, simply removed them from
the bubbles and carried on.
Thus the entity was evil. After some time it realized the abuse and
the deeds by the vicious creatures and acted in anger. Quickly it severed
the threads to those bubbles where the vicious creatures prevailed. All of
them died. But soon it realized the falseness of its actions and groveled in
deep sorrow. Never again should its' unawareness lead to death.
Thus the entity split. Concluding the ways and deciding on a way the
infinity entity split itself. Each bubble should be monitored by one of its
manifestations. And as the infinity split occured the powers of infinity
split also. Each shard of infinity remained in power of the elements, the
spirits, the life and the death. But it lost control over the two newest
traits, good and evil. No longer could it judge and see the truth.
Thus there is a champion. To maintain a guard nontheless the infinity
split opted to crown a champion of order and chaos, a master of luck and
death. This champion should act as representative of the infinty entity. As
each bubble has a portion of the entity each bubble has a champion of the
infinity split. To this day.
Awareness is a strange thing as one must realize the state of awareness
before being truly aware. The entity, well occupied with itself, eventually
got aware. It took an aeon or two but that didn`t matter; time had no
meaning.
Whenever these bubbles collided, new, bigger and more diverse enclaves
emerged. Colorful and bristling with energy the biggest of all enclaves
stabilized, drawing smaller bubbles into them. This took another aeon, but
the infinity entity didn't notice.
...was not all that hinted the speciality of the place. As if a thousand voices were constantly mumbling secret verses into the void and the air itself hummed with energy, magical energy of unknown quality. This dark place was filled with unfullfilled promises of aeons and the long dead wishes of even longer deceased. The sheer presence forced little showers of fear down the spine of any unknowing visitor.
The two men wandering into these terrible halls were well aware of the history of this place and even the small yellow ball of magic light did little to soothe their discomfort. With the hurried step of afraid people they scuttled through the darkness and the yellow light illuminated spots that weren't meant to be seen. Frozen horrors screamed silently from black crystal and in the corner of the eye faint movement hinted an mystical terror beyond description.
Clad in dark red robes they emanated a sense of urgence and determination. Nontheless their faces were striken with fear and small drops of sweat showed themselve on their foreheads. They knew very well where they were.
The grove of the dead and rebirth was a mystical and shunned place, and some said it was haunted and perhaps they were right. Things, events of unearthly nature took place in this cave and this was the reason why these two men dared their soul against the darkness. Long ago, it was said, a mysterical link to the netherworld and the demons living there existed in this cave. It was possible to open an entrance to this sphere but great dangers lurked there and only the very brave or the very foolish ever tried to enter. Even less returned.
Exactly this entrance was the goal of the two men, the reason to be here. They knew of the dangers as they have read all the books and they knew of the risk as they have heard all the legends but still they were coming to this place. To be very brave or to be very foolish. The men were no jesters and not stupid either, no they were among the finest minds Dilma had to offer but still they entered this cave. Old and wise they still shivered like children in this place. The yellow ball was getting weaker every second.
But the men were finally there and soon small sparkles of natural light flew through the darkness and torches lit the darkness around a small circle of stone. Dark symbols were engraved into the circle and indicated the magical nature of the place once again. Silently and concentrated they worked in complete harmony and after some minutes a faint blue light started to glow from the symbols and from within the circle itself. The glow turned into light and soon a huge bright blue cone of magical energy shone through the darkness. Awestriken the men watched.
After a few moments the cone reached its full height and the low whisper turned in a high pitched chorus, tearing at the men's minds. But they resisted with their will and forced back the unholy terrors from the netherworld. Slowly one man undressed and showed a skinny and scarred body. Standing naked and shivering from fear and cold the other man started to paint the body with runes and symbols and a faint golden glow appeared on the man's body. The other one was finished quickly and looked up to the naked man. Unspoken words traveled and the golden one nodded once and with a huge step he jumped into the blue.
Pain! Burning pain edged its way through the eyes into the mind and exploded in the head of the golden, the one known as Harastar. He screamed and clawed at his head in a desperate attempt to hold his identity. It did not help. Loosing his consciousness he saw the black shadows of demons hunting for his body, ready to indulge on his corpse. Just before he passed out he thought that a huge radiating shadow formed a bubble around him. Slowly he regained his mind and as soon as he was he again a low but pleasant voice spoke in his head. Little human it said, why are you willing to sacrifice your soul and come to the netherworld? What do you seek?
I seek help the golden said. You have come to the wrong place, no help awaits you here, only pain. Return now. Wait the golden screamed, you don't understand. My people, they are in need of help and we will die if we don't get it. A weak man, the Grey Mage, cursed be his name is leading the dervishes of Dilma. They suffer and will die because of him! We know the legend, the legend of the Infinty Split and we know there are entities who take an interest in our struggles. Do you know one, can you show me the way?
Yes. But do you know the price? Are you willing to pay it? Can you imagine the pain? I doubt it. The golden sighed and pulled together all his will and said I will pay. My people must live. Then you are willing to pay the price... i will guide you to the centre. Slowly the shadow shifted through the netherworld and his purple light threw bizarre shadows over clouds of unearthly stature. With a serious and sad face the golden one watched these clouds but he was not seeing. His mind was elsewhere, out of here and back home. A laughing child and a smiling woman. So far away.
Slowly the cloud shifted through the murky darkness and the golden could see the universe collapse, getting thinner and thinner and suddenly he felt it, the entity. Deep in the middle of everything the golden became aware of the sleeping presence of something incredible powerful. The low voice announced this is the infinity entity, it is sleeping and cannot be awakened. But you can get to it if you are willing to pay. The price will be your soul and you must live in darkness among the neverresting spirits for ever. Are you ready?
I am ready. I will sacrifice my soul for my people. How must i proceed? Instead of words invisible claws appeared and they started to rip and tear at the golden and he grunted in pain. Eternity was in his mind and then he felt it slip, his soul was lost and in agony he screamed a beast's scream. It was gone and all that was him was gone also. Tearless eyes scanned the darkness and a faint green glow hovered in front of the soulless hull. Bring me back it commanded and the hull carefully took the glow between its hands. Slowly they floated through the dark.
Backwards was the travel but the golden hull did not notice, it simply followed the command. They traveled and traveled and they passed endless clouds and encountered countless demons but none cared or dared to meet the golden with the green glow. Thus they reached their destination untroubled despite the troubled time. A hint of blue signed the otherworld, the real world, one of so many and with ease they slipped through. The meditating man looked up abruptly and started to speak but quickly silenced. It was no longer his friend.
Oh Harastar he cried. I didn't know the price was so high, i didn't know. I'm sorry, i'm so sorry. Please forgive me, please. The golden extended the hand with the glow and like through shallow waters a voice came from his mouth. I'm the essence of the champion. Your world has seen much trouble and the entity is asleep. So i bring myself, to help you. No champion has been born yet but i will assist you until the day comes. Bring me to the body of the host.
The naked golden one, the glow in his hands, followed the bishop in robes through the cave and all the terrors living here covered and hid in the darkest corners such was the might of the essence. With a strong walk they trailed the path through the arctic wastes and soon they saw the lights of Dilma, beautifull Dilma. They were at the gates before sunset and the guards let them pass unquestioned such was the presence of the essence. They headed directly to the tower of the Grey Mage and they gained entrance by magical means. Nobody even noticed them.
The man in the finely crafted bed awoke as the two entered. What to the Dark Lord do you do here, Garusharp? And is this you, Harastar? What do you want? Get out or i will command you into the prison tower. Garusharp shook his head and whispered, your days of abuse are over, all your whoring and partying while the people starve, your glutony all is finsihed. We have sent for help and we have received it. With that the golden released the green glow from his hands and it speeded towards the Grey Mage and vanished into his eyes. The Grey Mage dropped to the floor.
Convulsions ran over his body and a low moan escaped from him and foam sputtered from his mouth. After a few seconds the shaking stopped and slowly the body erected itself. Where am i? Looking at his hands he started to speak but decided differently. Who are you? Where am i? Answer me. Garusharp bowed deeply and finally spoke. Emminence, you are on Shadowmoth in the beautifull city of Dilma. We have sent out for you and my poor friend Harastar sacrificed himself to bring you here. Welcome.
Dilma? Are you sure? I remember Dilma being overrun by our allies, the Port Harlington dervishes. Poor Dilma, ruled by the maniac Ali Akram. But as this isn't my body and i don't know you, although you look like dervishes, i asume you are right. So fill me in. You are the essence of the championm og the Infinity Entity, don't you remember? Harastar sacrificed his soul to get you here and now look at him, an empty shell. We brought you here to help us. We have been betrayed by fate and a incompetent wizard claimed rule over us and lead us to doom. We have replaced him by unleashing you on his body, you now occupy his frame. You must lead us, show us the way to the future.
But i am the Arc Welder, ruler of Crossroads and known and trusted all over Shadowmoth. You say this is Shadowmoth but another one? Then the legend must be true, you know the Infinty Entity and you know the legend of the split? So it is true. Amazing. Quick, fill me in. What is the situation?
Please, your emminence, can't you do anything for poor Harastar? The Arc Welder sadly shook his head, no this is beyond my skill. I can give him a life but no soul. This is beyond any being. Do you wih to be granted a life? You will be soulless and you will stalk at night, only zombies and vampires will be your companion. You will remember everything but you will never ever be able to feel anything, all your emotions are null and void. Do you want this? The golden stared long into the nothingness only he could see and finally nodded, yes i will. My existence is eaten away by the second and i have made my first sacrifice, now i will do my second. For Dilma. For my wife and children.
So be it. You shall be known as Harastar the Golden and you shall command the undead forces of Dilma. You will always be remembered as the hero you are and you deserve to be. Now, as you are turning from life to dead, from mortal to immortal, from limit to eternity i have to send you away from Dilma. The people will fear you as much as they love you but your presence will be unbearable. I am sorry but so i have to ask you the third sacrifice. Leave Dilma.
The golden left the building and soon you could see the golden glimmer wandering northward from the town, raising undead zombies and vampires from their graves. I pity him, for he has left his soul, his life and his future. He must have loved you and the city very much to do all this. I will remember him, always. So, Garusharp right? Introduce me to the board or council... i think we will have some fun down there.
Contact Arc Welder at arcwelder@gmx.net
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Snorri at stonierd@janus.cqu.edu.au
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact ElRick at jphill7579@aol.com
The stagnent smell of rotting bodies hangs over the swamp of
Garashlint, home to the most ruthless of all races the orc
brotherhood.
Survival is all that matters here and each passing day just
ensures that only the strong will survive. Generations of this has
forged the orc clan into a fearsome war machine, bent on the
destruction of all others, however no one orc possessed the all
important leadership quality, intelligence,.....until no!!!
Uniting the clan an orcen prophet who some say was sent from the
pits of hell to rain chaos upon Shadowmoth, arrived and proclaimed
himself Warlord of Garashlint.
This awsome figure some seven feet tall also brought with him a
thirst for conquest surpassed by none and the master wizardry no orc
had ever seen, with a flick of his fingers entire villages lay in
ruin.
Rumours quickly spread throughout the clan about the power that
this prophet possessed, such that entire races had already aligned
themselves to him, willing to die in the conquest of Shadowmoth.
Led by this 'Mystic' prophet the orc clan soon found a new purpose
in life than just surviving, destruction!! This rage filled thier
blood and souls and awoke the inner demons long ago trapped.
The power is with this clan and the gods of evil and destruction
are watching closely, eager to aid their demonic followers to a
bloody slaughter of all who oppose 'Mystic Woop Ass'
Contact Mystic Woop Ass at ARTEESKA@MSN.COM
Gnomes
Without doubt, gnomes are the wisest of the races of New Moon and their longevity is surpassed only by the elves. Inquisitive by nature, gnomes are great hoarders of information and are steeped in the history and lore of New Moon. The majority of gnomes reside deep underground in the natural subterranean caverns of New Moon and in the intricate tunnel and cave complexes carved out by their master rocksmiths. A few gnomes have ventured above the surface to set up small towns and villages among the "big people" but usually they shy away from the aggression of the "bigger folk". Small, weak and fragile, gnomes aren't much use in a fight, but their exceptional wisdom and above-average intelligence means they are powerful wielders of magic and faith.
In the darkness of Erth, after the death of the Foundation, a stout group of Taern humans hid in the mountainous southlands, in what the Taerns and gnomes called the Andes. In a world torn by the wars of the two great races of Orc and Taern, the land they chose was at least untouched by the direct effects of the battle. No battles were fought over uninhabitable ice and rock. Only slowly did the poisons of war creep into their bones and bloodlines, and they survived. The Deep Dwellers
Tinker tink, and splatter and splink
crash bash, tatter and trash
many sounds fourth did comes from the gnomes
inventing and creation they did in there homes
for throughout there many years
the gnomes thought up of many ideas
technology was to there liking you see
just as watching tv was to you and to me
-Elvish song of the Gnomes
The gnomish race was born of ice and darkness, and of fire and rock. In the southern mountains, they survived only by dint of careful maintainance of the resources they had, and by hiding in the cracks in the rock and glaciers that warped over the millenia. As other races headed south, the gnomes headed deep; into rock and ice, building life around the geothermal ventings of an earth rent by war, and cultivating the few living things that survived in and under the ice, fungi, fish, and the occasional hardy alpine plant all became grist for the gnomish mill.
They were aided by their heritance, for those who went south went armed with the latest technology of the Foundation days, which wore out only slowly. And the survival of this southern race depended on its maintainence. They lost the robust height of their Foundation forefathers, being compressed by the dual demands of their tiny living space and minimal resources. The poisons of the great war helped, and the end product was a race much smaller and lighter than humans or dwarves, designed for living a life constantly on the edge of starvation, supported only by the production of their feverish, technological minds. In those quiet, dead times in the north, they had much time to work and think, and the gnomish race become one of manipulators of ideas. They kept a compact strength, necessary for tunneling through the constantly shifting and twisting ice and rock.
In the slow millenia that followed, technology began to fail, and populations pushed to the limits. Other forces began to appear; first the Valar, providing sustenance and light as the sustaining fragments of technology began to fail. It is said that even the Valar did not know the gnomes existed, until Mayflon, the Laughing One, found himself bedeviled by small humans while hiding in the northlands (as his tricks often forced him to do). He took them as his own, these little tricksters, and gave them access to the clerical powers. His bretherns soon found out about these new humans, but Mayflon, for obvious reasons, remained chief in their hearts. The long dark had refined the practical joke to a fine art amongst the gnomes. The strangely reticient Taern religion, weakened by time and the long night gave ground to the more visible Haruchai pantheon, and other Valars and Maiars found their ways into the gnomish life. Camber's healing touch was high in their pantheon, whereas the need for Haekar's trackers was minimal. A gnomish criminal had few places to run. The communities were tightly knit and small spaces, and to leave them was often to die.
Of course, crime was a relative thing. Much could be (and had to be) forgiven in the gnomish holds. Property was common, necessities were shared where needed, while luxuries changed hands with a rapidity governed only by the gentleness of gnomish hearts. A loaf of bread would never be stolen, but might be freely given between three families. But gemwork and other products of idle hands would be stolen repeatedly in the dark night, only restricted by the elaborateness of the guarding traps and the sentiment attached to ownership. An old lady might keep her husband's last work, but her heirs would soon find it taking wing in the night, unless they contrived an elaborate plan to protect it; usually an alarm crafted from the sparse resources of the hold and family.
Causing harm to the hold was the only true crime. One who caused the injury or death of another would soon be hunted out of the hold. It is said that some of these formed holds of their own in the lowlands, becoming the races of goblins and kobolds, detested by gnomish kind to this day. Of these warped races gnomes speak little. Their heritage is twisted by their background, by their exposure to the poisons of the lowlands, and possibly by affiliation with the Orcish folk.
Within the holds another force made itself known. Living close to the rock, and spending long nights in close company and deep thought, the gnomes were amongst the first to discovery the coursing flow of magic through the rock and earth beneath them. They quickly realized and mastered this strange new form of power, although by this time their minds had twisted enough that they best mastered the sorcerous arts of illusion and deception. Such trickery lent itself to the convolutions of their dark and and twisty passages.
It was many years before the humans found their far southern brethren. Their first encounters were with the twisted valley rabble of goblinoid and kobold races. The battles between invading humans and the resident goblinoid races waged for many years, as the first exploratory groups of humans began heading south, looking for new sources of minerals. These forays were largely doomed to failure, the goblinoids and gnomes had been mining and fighting in these peaks for millenia before the humans arrived, but man did not know that.
First contact occured after almost a decade of running battles between heavily armed prospectors and the goblinoids. A group of humans manged to penetrate the lowland ring of rabble, only to be pinned in a cul-de-sac against the looming blue-ice foot of a glacier. They faced an overwhelming force of kobolds who seemed strangely reticent to attack. That fear was soon explained when the second attack on the faltering human forces was greeted with a blazing show of pyrotechnics, both technological and sorcerous, that effectively eliminated the attacking kobolds.
That night, humans and gnomes met again for the first time in millenia. The former were slow to accept the gnomish folk, fearing that they were another of the small and vicious races that they had been fighting so recently. The gnomes, for their part, were fascinated by their new allies. A heavily guarded combined caravan, loaded with years of wealth accumulated from the gnomish mines, soon began wending its way north. It returned intact, aided by a few kind humans, and laden with the riches of the northern races.
Gnome-human relations proceded apace. The avarice of the humans was stilled somewhat by the hostility of the intervening forces and by the incredible treachery of the gnomish homelands. The gnomes learned enough about their new neighbors to recognize their danger quickly, and humans seeking the legendary wealth of the gnomish folk soon found only miles of twisted glacier ice and rock tunnels, too small to move comfortably through, and replete with traps designed to drive even the sanest human wild with claustrophobia and frustration. Centuries of fighting the wiry little kobolds and goblins made defending the holds against much larger humans a relatively simple matter.
A stable and comfortable relationship soon developed. The gnomes maintained their mountainous holds, dispatching heavily armed and guarded caravans to trade with the humans. A few hardy gnomes headed out, mxing slowly with the human races, and sending a steady stream of information back, but assimiliating well with the other races. Most races quickly saw the futility of messing with the gnomes in their holds, and maintained a fairly polite diplomatic relationship.
Before long, small groups of the technologically oriented gnomes began to set up outside the human towns, trading their skills. A few humans, fascinated by the vestiges of technology still held by the gnomes, began to venture south to live amongst them. And the two races grew to know each other. A gnome, while an unusual sight amongst humans, was typically more of a curiousity than anything else, while a human amongst the gnomes was typically bombarded endlessly with questions about the southern races.
The loss of a caravan in Thurdis, and the intransigence of the government in dealing with that crime, has made the visitation of gnomish folk a rare event indeed. Only a few loners now walk the streets of Thurdis, and the race has pretty much faded from the public mind, except as an idle curiousity. Those who know more of the events leading up to that day typically do not speak of it, for it is mixed up in large part with the present politics of Thurdis, never a pleasant subject.
Gnome Legends
Three WishesIn a small house in the middle of a dark, sprawling forest lived a poor woodsman.
He had a wife, six children, and a black cat with one eye who kept the rats and mice at bay. The children had to walk two hours to get to school. Beside the little house was a vegetable garden and even a little flower garden; in the barn were two skinny goats and a pig.
But the family could hardly manage on the meager earnings of a woodsman, even though the father left the house before dawn and arrived home--exhausted--long after sunset. Though they had plenty of firewood and a clear stream nearby, the wife often sighed to her husband:
"How can we possibly bring up all our children?" And the woodsman would shrug his shoulders and say he couldn't work any harder than he already did, and this was true.
One day as he was arriving home in the twilight he saw in the distance the cat leaving the woods with a rat in its mouth. But something was strange: the rat had no tail. Filled with curiosity, the woodsman approached the cat who was sitting under a bush. She hissed malevolently as he came closer, but the woodsman wasn't afraid. He grabbed the cat by the base of her tail with one hand and with the other pressed against her jaws until she opened her mouth and let the thing fall.
"Well, I'll be," said the woodsman. Because what he had picked up was not a rat, but a gnome woman. She was dead.
The woodsman had seen a gnome once, but never a female one. He took her inside and wiped away a few drops of blood on her cheeks and legs. His wife and children stroked the doll-like little being and laid her on the window seat in the living room while they ate their meal of potatoes and bacon fat in the kitchen. When they came back, the little gnome woman was gone.
"Maybe the cat has got her again," the wife said, but the cat still sat sulking under the bush outside, showing one angry eye. The family gave up searching and went to bed, as everyone had to be up early in the morning.
The woodsman woke up in the middle of the night. Something was tugging gently at his ear. Beside his head stood a gnome. "You saved my wife," he said. "What can I do to reward you? .... But she was dead, wasn't she?" the woodsman asked, sleepily. "She was only pretending to be dead. Luckily, she's still full of life oh, a scratch here, a few black-and-blue marks there--but she'll get over it. Just tell me what you want as a reward. Here is a little flute. When you blow on it, I'll return." And just like that--he disappeared!
The woodsman and his wife discussed the matter the rest of the night. They finally decided to ask if they might have three wishes, just as in the fairy tales.
The following evening the woodsman blew on the flute, and shortly thereafter the gnome appeared. "I'd like to have three wishes," said the woodsman, somewhat timidly, while his wife poked at the fire behind him.
The gnome looked a little glum but finally said: "Well, go on then--what is your first wish?" "I want a nugget of gold so I won't have money worries anymore."
The gnome shook his head. "You can have it, but gold seldom brings happiness."
"I don't care," said the woodsman. "And the other two wishes?" "We haven't decided yet." "Well, just blow on the flute when you want me again," said the gnome with a sigh.
Next morning, there on the front steps of the little house lay a gold nugget as big as an orange, sparkling in the sun. The woodsman grabbed it up and yelled, "We're rich, we're rich!" And then he carried the nugget to the village to exchange it for money. But no one in the village had ever seen a gold nugget before and no one knew what it was worth. The blacksmith advised the woodsman to take it to a jeweler in the city. The woodsman set off at once; but instead of going the long way he took a shortcut through the swamps that he remembered from the days of his youth. As he danced along the way, admiring his gold nugget, he slipped off the path and plunged into a quagmire and immediately began to sink. He tried to reach out for firm ground, but couldn't make it. In one hand he clutched the gold nugget, and with the other he struggled to get the flute out of his pocket so that he could signal the gnome. He was barely able to reach it and blow a shrill blast.
He had sunk up to his neck in mud when the gnome appeared. "Get me out of here," cried the woodsman. "That is your second wish," said the gnome. He then stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly--and in a few minutes he was surrounded by six other gnomes. Using their little axes, the gnomes chopped down a nearby tree so that it fell across the quagmire right next to the woodsman. He was able to hoist himself up onto it and get back to the path from which he had fallen. When he looked around, the gnomes had disappeared.
But still he had the gold nugget in his hand. He went on his way, muddy and shivering; eventually, his clothes dried and his courage returned. He found a jeweler in the city and entered his shop. The jeweler was a distinguished-looking man in a white smock; he wore gold-rimmed glasses: Frowning at the enormous nugget of gold and at the woodsman's bedraggled appearance, shop through the back door to notify the police. A half hour later the woodsman found himself in the police station.
"And now tell us where you stole this gold," said a fat police sergeant in a fatherly fashion. The commissioner of police asked the same question an hour later--but in a less fatherly fashion. "I didn't steal it," cried the woodsman in despair, "I got it from a gnome." "Of course, from a gnome," said the commissioner, who had never seen a gnome---and would never, because he was such an unpleasant person. "Not even one grain of gold has ever been found in this country in a thousand years--but that doesn't occur to this gentleman, does it? Lock him up!"
During the days that followed, the woodsman was questioned again and again--and threatened with dire consequences if he did not reveal the source of the gold. Finally, he was examined by a doctor, but even he could cast no light on the matter except to report that the woodsman kept babbling away about gnomes.
None of these people had ever seen a gnome because they all had ugly souls. Meanwhile, the gold nugget was kept in the vault of the city council. After a week went by, the woodsman became so miserable that, one night, he blew the flute. After two hours, the gnome appeared. "My wife and children are starving," the woodsman said. "I want to get out."
"That is your third wish," replied the gnome, "but I have already taken care of your wife and children." The gnome went that same night to consult a lawyer in the city who had a house gnome. Next day, the lawyer visited the police and succeeded in having the woodsman freed, owing to lack of evidence. But the gold remained behind for safekeeping until its theft could be verified.
The woodsman gladly went back to his work. The forest had never seemed so spacious and free as it did after his stay in the stuffy cell in the city; he was happy and satisfied even though he often thought of the gold.
From that time on, things improved for him in all sorts of ways. First, a rich foreigner bought all the logs the woodsman had cut for twice the usual price. Next, the same man asked if the woodsman would become his overseer.
The happy woodsman was given a cheerful house at the edge of a village, and close to the school. He earned much more than before and his troubles were over. A few months later he came across the gnome in the woods. "And?" the gnome asked, "Have you got your gold back yet?" "Not yet," the woodsman said, "It seems to be a criminal act in this country to possess gold. But even without it, my troubles are over."
"So, there you are," the gnome said--and disappeared into the bushes.
Weeping WillowThe old writer sensed that his death was approaching. He lived in Norway, in a low cabin with book-lined walls in the neighborhood of Lillehammer, beside a mountain slope.
Next to the window, overlooking the valley, was a large table bearing paper, magazines, volumes of verse, inkpots, pens, candles, and more books, carelessly stacked.
One evening, just at sunset, the writer left his bed and went to sit at the table. He looked out over the peaceful valley with its lake in the distance, and recalled how he had lived here quietly for many years, and thought of how many books he had written and that soon it would all be over. Suddenly, a gnome jumped onto the table, seated himself opposite the writer, and crossed his legs. The writer greeted him happily.
"Tell me another story," he asked the aged gnome, who was holding his silver watch against his ear. "I can't think of any more, I've become too old."
"I don't know any more," the gnome said. "You've already written all the stories about this country. You've become rich from them."
"Just tell me one more. My hands are so tired, I can hardly write anymore," sighed the writer. (Nevertheless he placed pencil and notebook within reach.)
"All right then," the gnome said. He changed his position and stared outside. "Do you see that big weeping willow in the distance at the edge of the lake? The ends of its branches always hang in the water. I'll tell you why."Long ago, one dark night, mountain trolls switched their infant daughter with the daughter of a rich farmer, kidnapping her when everyone was asleep. Next day, the poor parents couldn't understand why their daughter's skin had suddenly become so dark or why her eyes looked like black currants. But deep in the forest the trolls exulted over the blue eyes, blond hair, and soft skin of the stolen child--and they performed a joyful, thumping dance in a circle.
"The troll child grew up to be a dark, wild tomboy and did only naughty and ugly things; she loved no one and no one loved her. One day she disappeared and was never seen again.
"But in the forest, the farmer's daughter became sweeter and lovelier every year despite all the crude and rough things she saw about her. When she was seventeen she was discovered by Olav, a strong farm laborer. (Olav slept below me in the stable of a farmhouse in the valley.) He was bringing in a few lost cows from the high mountain meadow for the winter when he saw the farmer's daughter. She was sweeping the ground in front of the troll cave under the watchful eyes of the old troll mother. It was dusk, but Olav thought he had never seen anything so fair and beautiful. He immediately fell in love. As he attempted to approach, the troll mother pulled the girl inside and locked the door.
"Back in the stable, Olav asked if I would help him, and we set off that same night. Reaching the troll hill, we saw a stream flowing from it. (Water flows through the middle of every troll hill; they use it for drinking.) Using a divining rod, I found the spring on the other side of the hill from which the water flowed. We dug a hole, and when we reached water, Olav put me into a wooden shoe and I floated into the stuffy troll cave.
"I hid myself and the wooden shoe in a dark corner of the cave and waited until the trolls left to perform their nightly crimes in the forest. Before leaving they shut the girl in a side alcove and finally locked the main door behind them. Only the girl and I remained in the somber, stinking lair. As soon as it was safe, I released the girl and said to her: 'You're not a troll girl! Outside there's someone who will suit you much better than a troll.
"She looked quite astonished and hesitated, but finally came along with me. Outside she saw the blond giant of a man Olav; at once she fell in love with him, as he had with her.
"The three of us ran for home. But we were still deep in the forest, and before we could make our getaway the trolls learned that we had stolen their prize. They caught up with us, beat Olav until he was black and blue, and took the girl back. I couldn't do a thing.
"A week later, we tried again. This time Olav took along a horse that he had borrowed from the farmer he worked for. For the second time, I drifted along on the underground stream into the trolls' domain. But this time the trolls had left their old mother to stand guard. When the old mother troll turned away from a bowl of porridge she was making, I quickly tossed a good dash of sleeping potion into it. Ten minutes later she was snoring away". (I had signaled the girl not to eat the porridge.)
"Again the three of us raced through the forest for home. It was much quicker this time, on a horse. But in spite of it, the trolls caught up with us, just as we were almost out of the forest. Again they beat Olav until he was half dead, then took the girl back with them--and the horse, too, of course. There was nothing we could do; no matter how strong Olav was, the trolls were stronger.
"Three weeks later it snowed. This time I managed to get two reindeer to help us. In the trolls' cave I had to wait half the night, because not only was the troll mother on the lookout but the troll father as well! Eventually I was at able to sneak enough sleeping potion into their porridge to put them fast asleep.
"The reindeer transported us quickly on a small sleigh along little-known paths in the direction of the lake. The trolls pursued us, but in the snowstorm we were lucky enough to reach the edge of the lake. I knew where alt old fishing boat was moored and we got to it quickly. We cut the sleigh loose, thanked the reindeer, and sent them back to their herd. The lake was still not entirely frozen. Olav and the girl climbed aboard the boat and began rowing; I skied homeward along the bank of the lake. Nothing could happen to me. Trolls have no power over us once they leave their cave. It was almost sunrise. The last snowflakes fell; the sky opened up and, in the east, took on a yellow and red hue.
"When the boat was already a good distance across the lake, the trolls finally reached the dock. They ranted and raved, but Olav rowed with big strokes toward the other side, and the trolls couldn't reach them. The trolls didn't have much time left: when the sun shines on them, they turn to stone. Suddenly, the strongest troll seized a gigantic boulder and hurled it at the fleeing pair. The boulder did not hit the boat, but it fell so close to it that the boat capsized. The suction dragged the girl down to the depths of the lake and she drowned. For hours, Olav dived in search of her, but he had no luck. Deeply depressed, he finally swam to the bank of the lake.
"After this, Olav was inconsolable. Every day he went to the edge of the lake and stood in one spot, staring at the water. He never looked at another girl. And when he became so old that he couldn't work any more, he continued to return daily to the same spot. In the end, he stood there the whole day long. Branches grew out of his head and roots from his feet. And then he stood there forever. He is that weeping willow you see there at the lake's edge. Even now its branches feel about in the water in an attempt to find the drowned girl."
The gnome looked around. The old writer had grown still. His snow-white head lay upon the notebook on the table. He was dead. The gnome smiled and went over to him. He closed the writer's eyes and read what was on the paper. The last words were, "And then he stood there forever."
And the gnome pulled the notebook out from under the dead writer' s head, carefully loosened the pencil from his stiff fingers, and wrote the remaining sentences of the story.
Contact Tyranthraxus at gor@hem.passagen.se
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