PLAYER BLURBS.
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Contact Juzam Djinn at solver@ctv.es
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Contact Fourth wise man at ken-webster@hotmail.com
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Contact Tarvin at b.smeets@stud.tue.nl
Ynk stands on the ground made of of hard packed dirt. He has been standing here for many hours in order to get a view of the great leader. Maybe he will also manage to hear what the leader has chosen to say to the people. Actually Ynk doesn't care what the leader has to say, but he was really thirsting for the sight of him. It was nearly a year since Ynk saw him the last time and he was wondering if the leader would look exactly the same as the last time.
He was jerked back from his merry thoughts by the sharp and familiar pain of a whiplash. "Out of the way, boy!" a large minotaur said and pushed Ynk to the ground. Ynk make no deal about it (his oppressor being 5 foot taller and all) and when he rises he forgets it instantly as Tulsa Doom appears on his balcony.
"Harken my words! They are the most important once you will ever hear.", Tulsa Doom's words reached the ears of Ynk. "Many nations have started to prepare for war. They will try to defeat our civilizaton. But we shall prepare and we shall defeat them all, this I have forseen.".
Tulsa Dooms rules his kingdom with a fist of iron and whole bunch of brainwashed kobolds. Tulsa Doom fears no army, because only one man can destroy him... Conan!!!
Tulsa Doom
Alignment: Neutral Evil
In Lair: 100%
N.o. appearing: 1
Treasure Type: a,b and f
X.P.: 230000 (*10 if killed in his native plane)
Contact Tulsa Doom at jhkarlsson@yahoo.com
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We won't start any quarrels between the peoples in Arragoth, but would be preparing for the coming of the Evil God among those whom may join our forces. And thus we have decided to propose an aliance
for all of the races willing to join us in seek of prosperity of our
peoples. Ally!, magues of Arragoth, let's crush the evil forces of Arragoth and his doomed minions... After all that, when the danger is gone, we'll see who is able to master the Ilands of Arragoth |
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Contact Arbastos el Mago at warifwizards@email.com
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Contact Kenneth at jerrim@alphalink.com.au
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Contact Feanor at hagrax@hotmail.com
The dry yellow landscape cracked and steamed from the previous heat, red spots mixing itself into the golden colour. From the cracks fatty liquids and vapours, sweet and spicy, arose to muddle the brain of anyone getting to close to the surface. And yet it was in the pleasure of that smell, the expectance of tastes to come that stirred some exaltation in Ab Salon. For a moment he let his eyes rest on this perfect little world of pleasure before his fatty fingers tore it apart. This moment of introvert indulgance was disturbed by a most respectful cough, and slowly Ab Salons conciousness rose from the culinary delights his chef had prepared and unto the world around him. With the drumstick of the chicken wielded as were it a sceptre he gestured for the two figures that had enetered the throneroom to come forward. Looking up he could see the familar garbs and shapes of the members of the council who usually came to inform him of his decisions. The woman was broad in shoulders and with a pudgy face that hid a stern mind under a mask of joviality, much like a tavernkeeper in a bad neighbourhood. The man was an image of worry, all frail and twisted, his skin was like the parchment of an old book, tightly fitted onto a tense face. Every bone and angle of the face were visible through the thin yellowish skin, and one could not help but fear that it would eventually crack open. "Hrm", another cough from the woman announced that the two coucil members wanted to speak with the Satrap of the Derviches. From the pile of pillows a greasy face emerged, a face that seemed to be undeceded weather to be bothered by the intrusion or to return to the half devoured chicken. Jatra the council woman listend to the silence of her ruler with growing impatience, but a life at court had thought her the art of besieging patience, sooner or later the Satrap would have to yield, if nothing else so only to make them leave. Being the room next to the kitchen the throne room would be unbearably warm in the summer, and already a strong mixture of fragrances and odours seemed to fill the room. The smell of saffron and roasted chickens from the kitchen mixing with that of burning incense by the idol of Chubu made the air almost to thick to breath and stressed the warmth in what must already be the warmest room of the whole city. Finally the Ab Salon the Satrap nodded as if he wanted the delegation to speak. Manuel, oldest of the council, started to account for the happenings of the city and the world in traditional verse. After a long epic on the grain prices in the western isles, he felt obliged to to bring the words of the books regarding next year, and what the law obliged the Satrap to do. It was said that one year from now the power of Arragoth would rise once more.He hesitated for a few minutes before bringing the last news to Ab Salon "...and so tradition bids that the Satrap shall lead his city in the defence against these forces or be sacrificed for the wellbeing of the city.." Jatra quickly added that the militia outside the throne room were there to provide for his safety, so that he would not be fooled by anyone to leave the ciy. Sacrifice, the word spread slowly through his body with a deadly chill to it. Ab Salon looked around him as if there wold be a way out in the roof or through a window. Obviously, there wasn't, the whole palace seemed almost built to keep the Satrap in rather than others out. He could feel small beads of sweat gather on his forehead, and as he wiped it off with the back of his hand he tried to calm down sligthly. A silence as heavy as eternal was broken only by the Satraps heavy sigh, he slowly nodded and answered reluctantly with the traditional phrase "I shall serve the dervish people as did my ancestors before me" Jatra and Manuel nodded, ad handed the Satrap a few parchments "Your first orders, Sire. Just add your seal to them." After he had done what he was told the two councellors left Ab Salon to ponder. He knew that he would be blamed for any loss or disaster and the first to be given to the stones of Chubu. Still in a daze he ordered up a jar of datewine and retired into his own chambers. From a large wicket chest he got a dusty old book and some blank parchments. Ab Salon cast a glance at the book, read the title "Thine First Book of Magicke" and put it to the side, determined to continue his studies in the magic arts at some point soon. Instead he poured himself the wine, and when unsober enough he started scribbling on the parchments, letters to the neighbouring cities.....
Contact Ab Salon at daniel.serra@2.sbbs.se
There had been ill tidings, the winds spoke omnious portents, the skys heralded death. The conclave convened. The first speaker raised his shrunken limb, made a shrill piping noise from beneth his cowl and proceeded to speak. - Oh, children of the dunes, terrible times are upon us, the dust swirls in disturbing patterns and remnants of the ancient cities are once more showing the bones of their buildings above the sand. It is as was foretold, the Son of fire is to be born again. - That is not dead wich endless lies, a tremelous voice whispered. - Indeed. - Ia Ia Shub Niggurath, another filled in. - Indeed. - So my fellow members, brood mates, and hatchlings, we must journey out to those eldritch places and parley with that wich must not be mentioned. - Osmod? - Indeed. - Ah. - What shall we offer that great and terrible being wich must not be mentioned? asked the tremelous voice again. - We shall offer the unmentionable one our fairest drones and hardiest workers, loveliest brood mothers and our most precious gems. Gems wich we shall gather from the sacred dunes. - And shall we bring that accursed book written by that mad Dervish Al Azred? - Indeed that dread book wich must not be opened, we shall bring with us so that the proper proceedings might be undertaken. The sun shone down through the windows, illuminating the swirling dust. The cowled ones sat silent, one could almost see their mandibles tremble. - Let us proceed then. And the conclave rose from their ancient thrones, and left the hall of gathering to bring forth those unholy instruments wich had come from the stars, the flutes of bone. And they brought with them the book written by that demented dervish whose mad ravings still haunted the dark and forlorn places of the desert. And so they came to the city that had been hidden under the dunes, the city with angles all wrong and inhabitants all dead. And the star formalhaut shone down upon them, and the fungi from youggoth grew in the dark places. And they commenced their pipings and performed the required rituals, opened the book wich must not be opened and sacrificed their larvae so that the unmentionable might issue forth. And they mentioned the name unmentionable. - Osmod, the first speaker said tentatively. The sand stirred, winds whipped, and coming forth through the storm was Osmod, wrapped in the cowls of the dead crowned in splendour of races long gone, heeding that call to wich all beings high and low must anwer. And he consumed them all, making many a strapping young larvae fatherless.
Contact Osmod the Orphanizer at jposterman@hotmail.com
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Contact The Nameless One at gbcons@acsworld.net
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We, the man and women of the hills. The close coming of the fearsome and ancient god of these islands, Arragoth, forces us to take drastic decissions and to forget old quarrels between the inhabitants of these lands .. We have to be united to achieve a higher goal, the total destruction of the God, if we don't, he will destroy us all, because his power is much higher than we, mortals, may think .. With the hope that the peoples of the islands would unite against the tyran, we the Hill Dwarves offer a helping hand to everyone, in whatever way is possible; we will trade, aid with troops, and discuss diplomatic points with all of our allies. Arragoth will perish under our boots!!! |
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Contact Dendra Tul at wow25@email.com
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Contact Ba'art at ianwalterjames@hotmail.com
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