PLAYER BLURBS.
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Lord Steelmind slowly opens his eyes. The room is spinning. Quickly. He sighs, and closes his eyes again, trying to recapitulate yesterday's events. "Last night I sat on top of my throne, deep in the deserts of Ki, enjoying the pleasant company of several lushious sand women. I had a few drinks, and then a few more, but nothing untowards. After all, who could threaten me there? I recall going off to bed, but after that all is blank. How did I come to end up on these infernal plains, in the middle of nowhere?" He draws a deep breath, and sits up. He winces from the pain in his head, and feel the skull for lumps. Nothing. He takes a quick look about and decides that this place is not made for any sane person. Suddenly there's a nock on the door. In comes a lushious icelander woman. - "Lord, may I enter?" - "Why of course...just tell me who you are." He can't quite hide the grin that wants to surface. - "I am your servant, Lord, and she who tends to your needs." - "Excellent. Just the answer I was hoping for. What is thy name, pray tell?" - "Sigma. I am the sum of all your dreams." He ponders this for a second, and accepts it as the truth. He turns to Sigma again to further inquire as to how she might serve him, when yet another knock on the door is heard, though this one far more brutal. - "Enter!" Steelmind growls, not happy with the intrusion. In steps a dwarf, his silvery beard all white with frost. - "I bear news from your ally and comrade-in-arms, Marcil van Dramo.", the dwarf announces proudly. "That figures", Steelmind thinks..."I get the girl and he gets the dwarf, but his timing is as horrible as usual." - "What news bear thee?" - "He wants you to come visit his castle and help make battle plans for the imminent battle with foul Belgarath and ghastly Greyhawk. Until then, he has sent you some matters to consider." In comes an unusually small dwarf with huge spectacles, carrying an enormous pile of books, binders and parchments. - "Here you go, Lord." He squeaks in a totally un-dwarf-like manner. Steelmind sighs, and dismissed the fair woman with a nod of his head but with regret in his heart. - "Well, come to my study, honorable dwarves, and we'll take a look at this." Lord Steelmind and the dwarves exit through the door slowly, the light of conquest already evident in the greedy Lord's eyes. "I have a few pointers for my friend", he muses. "Let's show those rookies what they are up against..." An especially cold and evil gust of wind makes the door slam shut...all the while Steelmind's laughter echo across the plains... And so it begins.
Contact Marcil van Dramo at jones.hb5@mail.utexas.edu
Greyhawk looked around in beaming approval. Everything was going so well! The hall was magnificent; the food smelled superb; the marriage ceremony had gone off without a hitch. There was a tug on his arm. He turned to face the irritated visage of his chief advisor and sage, Patrias. Surely even Patrias could find SOMETHING pleasant to say on this of all days.....the day of peace between all the iceland realms. Greyhawk tried another smile, expectantly. "Stop grinning like a vacant halfwit" hissed Patrias. "They already suspect you're a complete moron; why must you continually insist on proving them right?" The smile quivered and died away. "You really are the grumpiest man I have ever had the misfortune to meet, Patrias. Why can't you enter into the spirit of it all?" "Bah!!" said Patrias. "I'll be happy when the first child is born and not before! That is what consumates the treaty; not all this ........crap" he said, rolling the word off his tongue with relish. "Only then will I cease worrying that you will manage to think of some new and ingenious method to ruin five years of negotiation." "What are you talking about" said Greyhawk, slightly miffed. "If it wasn't for me, there wouldn't be any peace. After all, I couldn't see the Trigolde princess wanting to marry an old fart like you". Greyhawk paused for a moment to laugh at his own cleverness. Patrias rolled his eyes. "Whatever my lord. Doubtless you make a fine show-pony. Just do your job and get her pregnant." "Oh....no problem with that, my friend...no problem at all. And....speaking of my lovely bride, here she is. Darling! Darling!! Come here, my dear.....I have a new magic trick to show you..." Patrias blinked to attention. "Magic trick? What trick? You didn't mention anything to me about any magic!" Greyhawk beamed contentedly "It's no problem Patrias! I did ALL the homework you set me. Any child could do it." "But you're not a child!" said Patrias acidly. "You're far worse than that." "Oh come on...it'll be fine. The fair Valona, princess of Trigolde and now the new Queen of Fralde, approached Greyhawk and Patrias, trailing a retinue of admirers and hangers-on. About as empty headed as Greyhawk, in Patrias' opinion, she was undeniably incredibly beautiful. The apple of her fathers eye, the marriage between her and Greyhawk and consequent expected production of children from both houses, was the key to the negotiated settlement of over 200 years of inter-racial conflict. "What is it, my honey-bundle" she said sweetly. Greyhawk smiled back, completely infatuated. "My little lambkins.....my beautiful sweet-cheeks....I have a little treatie-poo for you...." "Oh pooooo! I've had enough of treaties! Can't anyone talk about anything other than treaties and killing people and stuff?" Greyhawk looked hurt momentarily, then caught her meaning. "Oh no, sweet-cheeks! Not "treaties". A "treat"! I have some magic! A new spell - Patrias here just taught it to me" "Don't blame me!" said Patrias, thoroughly alarmed. "I was made to do it against my better judgement!". "Still", he thought, "I've only taught him a few cantrips. Just how much harm can he do?" "This is a flying spell". Gasps of admiration spread through the crowd, Valona gasped excitedly and clapped her hands in approval. "I'll be just like the little birdies" she gushed. Patrias stiffened in puzzled unease. He inclined his head to Greyhawk's ear. "My lord......my lord.......I don't recall actually...ermmm.....teach ing you that spell. Are you sure?" "Of course I'm sure Patrias. And you did teach me...it was in the homework reading last week" said Greyhawk brightly. "OK....here we go". Greyhawk began gesturing wildly and chanting sonorously, focusing his gaze on Valona. A few feet away Patrias wracked his brains feverishly.....a flying spell? Where on earth could Greyhawk have seen a flying spell. The only reading he had prescribed was.............. Greyhawk reached the climax of his spell. His arm shot out. His finger pointed straight at Valona. The crowd held its breath. A yellow beam extended from Greyhawk's finger to Valona's impressive bosom. "HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!" shouted Patrias. Valona turned a lovely shade of golden brown. Her clothes went black and fell off. Her body thumped to the ballroom floor, steaming slightly. Greyhawk looked a picture of incomprehension. "But I did it all right...even though that was my first time. I wanted to keep it as a surprise for sweet-cheeks..." Patrias sank to his knees, appalled beyond conscious thought. With an effort he roused himself to speak. "You.....you.....you........MORON!!!!!!!! That wasn't a FLYING spell you learned last week" He slapped his forehead. "You always did have trouble telling your l's from your r's!!" One of the Trigolde and Kelna ambassadors stepped forward, an expression of faint concern evident. "My Lord Greyhawk...we are enjoying the magic of course, but tell me.....at what stage does the Princess Valona start flying? And.....at what stage does she cease to look like....that? Was that strictly necessary for the spell?" Greyhawk considered the man; a noted former gneral in Trigolde's army and even now twice Greyhawk's size and impressively muscled. A bead of sweat formed on Greyhawk's nose, dripping conspicuously to the ballroom floor. "Well......ahh...........I........it appears that there may have been....ahem......a sort of, well, MISTAKE." The general looked once in incredulous disgust at Greyhawk, once at Princess Valona, medium rare, and erupted into a blur of action, arms and legs pumping furiously as he headed straight for Greyhawk with a speed that Greyhawk would not have given him credit for. "Eeek!" said Greyhawk. "Save me!" "RAAAAARRRRGGGHHHH!!!" said the general, not slowing down in the slightest. The entire hall erupted into a frenzy as Trigolde and Kelna guests screamed, fought, yelled, cursed, threw things or did nothing as the mood took them. Mostly a mixture of all of the above. it took close on half an hour before Greyhawk's fifty icelander militia could bring things under control. "WELL, FOOL" snarled the Trigolde ambassador with withering contempt. "Have you got anything to say for yourself before we return to our masters and tell them that your living entrails deserve to be staked out over an anthill?" "Ermmmmm......umm......well.....I don't suppose you have any more princesses you could spare" said Greyhawk hopefully, holding a protective hand over his broken nose. The enraged ambassador tried once more to reach Greyhawk, but was held back by several guards. Spitting and swearing, he was unceremoniously dumped outside, followed by the remainder of the Trigolde and Kelna guests. "Oh dear" said Greyhawk. "He wasn't very happy with me, I'm afraid." He turned to Patrias. "I need your advice, I think. I'm concerned that what just happened may not be well received back in Trigolde." Patrias stared at Greyhawk alternating between a glassy-eyed expression of helpless frustration and black hatred. Greyhawk continued on obliviously. "Do you think the war is still cancelled?"
Contact Greyhawk at ivanmc@xtra.co.nz
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Belgarath at AnninBen@earthlink.net
Lord Steelmind slowly opens his eyes. The room is spinning. Quickly. He sighs, and closes his eyes again, trying to recapitulate yesterday's events. "Last night I sat on top of my throne, deep in the deserts of Ki, enjoying the pleasant company of several lushious sand women. I had a few drinks, and then a few more, but nothing untowards. After all, who could threaten me there? I recall going off to bed, but after that all is blank. How did I come to end up on these infernal plains, in the middle of nowhere?" He draws a deep breath, and sits up. He winces from the pain in his head, and feel the skull for lumps. Nothing. He takes a quick look about and decides that this place is not made for any sane person. Suddenly there's a nock on the door. In comes a lushious icelander woman. - "Lord, may I enter?" - "Why of course...just tell me who you are." He can't quite hide the grin that wants to surface. - "I am your servant, Lord, and she who tends to your needs." - "Excellent. Just the answer I was hoping for. What is thy name, pray tell?" - "Sigma. I am the sum of all your dreams." He ponders this for a second, and accepts it as the truth. He turns to Sigma again to further inquire as to how she might serve him, when yet another knock on the door is heard, though this one far more brutal. - "Enter!" Steelmind growls, not happy with the intrusion. In steps a dwarf, his silvery beard all white with frost. - "I bear news from your ally and comrade-in-arms, Marcil van Dramo.", the dwarf announces proudly. "That figures", Steelmind thinks..."I get the girl and he gets the dwarf, but his timing is as horrible as usual." - "What news bear thee?" - "He wants you to come visit his castle and help make battle plans for the imminent battle with foul Belgarath and ghastly Greyhawk. Until then, he has sent you some matters to consider." In comes an unusually small dwarf with huge spectacles, carrying an enormous pile of books, binders and parchments. - "Here you go, Lord." He squeaks in a totally un-dwarf-like manner. Steelmind sighs, and dismissed the fair woman with a nod of his head but with regret in his heart. - "Well, come to my study, honorable dwarves, and we'll take a look at this." Lord Steelmind and the dwarves exit through the door slowly, the light of conquest already evident in the greedy Lord's eyes. "I have a few pointers for my friend", he muses. "Let's show those rookies what they are up against..." An especially cold and evil gust of wind makes the door slam shut...all the while Steelmind's laughter echo across the plains... And so it begins.
Contact Lord Steelmind at marcus@jacobs.pp.se
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