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Contact Silan at sand_demon@buffymail.com
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Contact Lyhan Miller at the_psycho_people@yahoo.com
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Contact Taurus at lordkamjin@aol.com
In the beautiful plains of Granola, there it stands, a town and a great castle the remains of the last human lords that ruled Granola before the wars. The castle seems a little bit decayed as it has not been used for many years. But things have changed in this town. The Council of Elders meet in their private house to decide the future of all the plainsmen. They have a annoucement to make. The oldest of the Elders stand up facing a huge crowd and speaks " Plains men of Granola we have seen a vision of the future events that will befall to our beloved world. Arragoth, the Spawn of evil, will be awakened in exactly one year from now. We need a leader that will lead our nation into a strong position so that we may overcome this evil. We therefore have chosen Chief Alquitran to lead the people of Granola.Here thereafter Chief Alquitran shall be adressed as Lord Alquitran. Lord Alquitran stands up and the people hail and cheer him as their new leader he speaks " People of Granola we must open our nation and our culture to others. In this dark times we need allies so that we maybe able to defeat this new evil that our elders have forseen. We must seek allies and trading partners even if those allies are not human. We must be open to treaties with all the races and all people. I leave you we that thought".( The people cheer frantically) Lord Alquitran is now in his castle staring at the town. His seats at his throne and he summons his new advisors. He talks towards a tall strong Warrior " Arthur Bladeswinger you are the bravest and most powerful warrior in all Granola city. I have chosen you as my Military Advisor and the commander of my armies. Your first mission will be the unification of all the Granola plains into my leadership. Take my Armies North, South, East, and West and tell tthe plainsmen that they have a new leader. Go now my faithful follower. He turns to an old man, a wise man. " Ios the Conjurer wisest and most magical of the Elders. You will be my Magical Advisor Go now and try to recover all of our ancestor writings and teachings of Magic. He nows turn towards two men who are hooded. " My trusted Advisors Kephal and Doughel I will name thee my Foreing Advisor and my Ambasadors to the other nations courts. Your first task will be to go to the Gnome Tower and speak Kanamorf leader and wisest of all gnomes and tell him that I want to open a Channel for communication. I will like him to consider us friends and allies. The second task is to go and talk with the Iluminated Ibrahim beni Sulfahan leader of the Devish people and tell him that I am willing to follow his religious ways if I have the Honor to consider him an ally. Go now and fullfill your mission. He turns to a young man " And now I speak to you my very best of friends. You are my most trusted Advisor Mackalister Mcreme. You will be the Interior Minister, Economic Advisor and Budget Planner. You shall also become my Senechall. In the absence of myself you will be the ruler. " Now with my Cabinet assemble I wish to extend a friendly hand to all races, but those who serve evil and Arragoth shall be prepared to be smitten. Shall the light shine to everyone of us" __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Talk to your friends online with Yahoo! Messenger. http://messenger.yahoo.com
Contact Alquitran at f_aguilorock@yahoo.com
Untitled The prophets foresaw a time when a great challenge would confront the Amazons of Varossa Jungle. They saw in their auguries and divinations vast upheaval as the son of the Fire Gods, Arragoth, strove to throw off the shackles of his imprisonment. In order to prepare for this time the Amazonian oracles gathered their talents to call forth from the void a leader whose powers would be equal to the challenge of the spawn of the Fiery Lords. They channeled their energies and drew from the beyond just such a man, Dyrexis. Enthroned in Varossa City the Lord High General has begun to marshal our forces and mobilize our workers in more efficient and valuable ways. His Highness has ordered that a flame be erected to guide all who wish to converse with him regarding the coming troubles. Know this fellow inhabitants of the Isles: Dyrexis has vowed that the devil, Arragoth, will be defeated and peace will return to our lands. The Amazons extend their hand in peace to all races and peoples.
Contact Dyrexis at japst59@pitt.edu
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Contact Jessa Jucular Jester at nerv63@hotmail.com
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Contact The Wanderer at jchacon@intelnet.net.gt
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Contact Mykrul at mykrul@hotmail.com
Welcome to Farawayfromorlthoznastyorcsandbeastindidlezarfimanilogobutomalikmabil, the most beautiful city in the lands of Arragoth. Here is the seat of Kanamorf, the Towering Gnome.
Contact Kanamorf at ian_spink@hotmail.com
Hear ye all the word of the Mouth of Arragoth's Right Hand! My great lord Sauron, the Right Hand of Arragoth, master of death and life, great captain of the legions of Mordor, commands your attention, for your doom is at hand! Know you that millennia ago, my lord and master sat at the right hand of the mighty fire demon Arragoth. He was his eyes and ears, his sword and shield, and my master Sauron took as his symbol the lidless eye, blazing all about with his Lord Arragoth's fire! All fell to their knees before my Lord Sauron in those years! All trembled at his passing! None could hide from the eye that never closes! The nine rode the earth, scouring my masters enemies from existence! A legion of fire demons were at my masters call, mighty Kings bowed to him, and the tribute that passed beneath his gaze could not be counted by mortal hands! Surely he was the favorite of his Lord Arragoth above all other servants, and his Lord Arragoth's heart was filled with joy at my master's savage deeds. But time passed. The world cooled. Lord Arragoth waned, faded, grew weak. In this time of need my master Sauron rose once again to his Lord Arragoth's service. Rather than await his doom my master prevailed upon his Lord Arragoth to accept a lesser death - hibernation, deep within the bowels of the earth, warmed by the world's molten core, quiescent, perhaps for centuries, perhaps for millennia, awaiting the turning of the world, and the great warming foreseen by my Lord Sauron in his peerless wisdom. By magics the like of which had never before or since been attempted was the deed accomplished, but at a great and terrible cost to my Lord Sauron. He was broken asunder by the powers he was forced to invoke that day, his soul all but flailed from his body by the impact of the great waves of raw magic unleashed by his Lord Arragoth's bondage. Those few who witnessed the deed thought him blasted from existence, body, soul, all. But my master did not die. He hovered for an age, suspended delicately in that place between life and death in which only the dammed are permitted to go. He did not see the cataclysm that swept the world, caused by the great powers he had invoked to save his master. Neither did he see the frozen cold that swept the isles, the great sheets of walking ice which closed like a maw from both North and South. He was not aware of the turning of the glaciers, and of the slow return to civilization of the mortal races of the earth, emerging from their deep burrows and lodges to once more bask in the sun, and raise their rude towns and villages over the face of his Lord Arragoth's isles. And Sauron considered his formlessness as he lay upon the void. He remembered a time of glory, when he was mighty of its race and beloved of its master. Armies fought at his command; nations arose and fell once more into the dust of time. Men were born; grew to greatness, fell in glorious battle, coughed their lives away with disease, or withered with age; it mattered not. All returned to the earth; Sauron lived on. Sauron remembered life. Once true life, emotions and memories vivid with colour. Now...still life. Of a sort, anyway. After one hundred thousand years, fragments of thought, emotion, had penetrated the black shroud of his spirit. Voices....dwarven voices. Without a pause, without even concious thought, Sauron turned them to his will, searching, digging, excavating. So subtly they knew not that they did his bidding. So subtly and instinctive was the effort that it barely knew it controlled them at all. Rather - he shared with them its desires, and they knew them only as their own. In time, he was uncovered. Once evil beings had come who ignored its bidding. Armoured in bright mithril and swords of flame, they had slaughtered those who served and did its bidding. Then they had turned their attention to the Nameless One. The Nameless One remembered death. Of a sort, anyway. Its form rippled in the agony of remembrance and all over his realm the dwarves clutched at their temples, feeling in some small measure the agony of what had been done to Sauron aeons ago. Once, it knew, it had been considered good. Wise, even. It had been a lord of magic, ruling a realm of vastness, but coveted by many. Too many. The invaders had come. He (a strange word, now) had.....died. Mortally wounded, he had run with the last of its blood-draining strength to its secret chamber. There, he had siezed the ring of legend, and placed it on his finger. He had awaited salvation; the healing of his wounds. He had waited in vain; vision had dimmed, the room grew dark, still, the floor red, slick. Not even the sound of a heartbeat remained. One hundred years he lay undiscovered. His body decayed and fell away, but the spirit remained. Formless he was....IT was. But now it knew its true master. The master of the rings. Little by little, year by year, decade by decade, it learned and reshaped itself. The centuries that followed had been.....good. In their way. He had served his master well, for ten thousand years, until the day his master was cast down and once again its shape was cast formless upon the mists of time. The Lord of the Rings, he had been called, but he knew that to be false. His lord was greater by far. Now it was time. His essence gathered, filled him. Reintegrating itself. Soon, Sauron would walk again, in service as the Right Hand of the master, on the face of the isles. Butt slowly did my master Lord Sauron return to himself, his grievous hurts healed by the force of his will alone, though it took a thousand years. He was found in the mortal plane, in the underdeeps, his shade perhaps seeking the proximity of his master. But he was physically weak, no trace of his former terrible power yet remained to him. The dwarves that found him could have killed him easily, but his unblinking eye's forestalled them. The vestige of psychic empathy was enough..the merest touch on their minds was all Sauron was capable of. But that was enough. Instead, they took him to their master, the Hill Dwarf chieftain Lithewan of Camp Jollymount (such a pathetic name...), who kept him, first as a pet and jester, but later as a trusted adviser, as my master's powers became more plain. Oh how Lithewan came to regret that mercy! How he gibbered and howled as his flesh crisped and blackened under my Lord Sauron's hand! Imprisoned in his agony he wished a thousand times that he had exterminated out of hand the sniveling being dragged before him those years ago! From winter to winter did Lithewan's pain provide sport for my masters pleasure, before even he tired of that most pleasant of labors! My Lord Sauron took the vacant throne of Lithewan. Through whip and sword did he subjugate the unruly dwarves, filled with foolish notions of "goodness" as they were, and with promises of blood and fire and gold did he weld them into a mighty tool, subject only to his will. But, though he ruled with an iron hand, and forged Camp Jollymount in the flames of a thousand atrocities into one of the great cities of Arragoth, truly my Lord Sauron's power was but a thousandth of that granted by his Lord Arragoth. How he longed and dreamed of his master's return! And now listen well. This tale is no simple amusement for the petty princes who grub at the soil of the Isles of Arragoth and think themselves great. Know you that the time foreseen by my master is at hand. The portents are plain. The land warms, and the earth trembles with the restless turnings of Lord Arragoth in his deep prison. My master lord Sauron rejoices, for soon his master will awake, to find his trusted lieutenant of millennia, my Lord Sauron, again by his side! Once again the nine will ride! Once again will Kings tremble! All will rue that day when my master's power and glory are finally returned! Know you. Mark these tidings. A single year is all the time allotted to you. Four seasons in which to enjoy your earthly pleasures before your petty empires are cast down in blood and fire and pain. Twelve short months before Lord Arragoth eats your soul. And of these, five are already past. But... perhaps... there may be a choice for you. It is not too late. Join with my Lord Sauron. Worship his Lord Arragoth just as he does. Defend his Lord Arragoth's citadel with your puny mortal forms against those who would seek to thwart his glorious return! Do these things and you may be rewarded when Lord Arragoth walks the isles once more, my master at his side. You may be permitted to live. In submission lies your one and only hope. For should you dare to resist, .....you.....will.....surely.....die.
Contact The Right Hand of Arragoth at mcintosh@brookfields.co.nz
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Contact Dallandra at sonia_dynes@hotmail.com
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