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Game 59 Blurbs.
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  • PLAYER 1 - Valerien


    Valerien's Report on the Icelanders of R?le

    Once Again:

    A bright flash of light ripped through the night, revealing the surrounding towers of rock and rolling hills. Quickly Valerien stepped through the portal and took in his new surroundings with a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes. While he had run into some hard times on previous worlds, perhaps this world was meant to receive him as its Lord.

    Valerien had learned many things from worlds past. First of all, it seems that despite Valerien's dedication to allies even under the most depressing odds, other allies seemed to turn on him whenever profit was to be gained. The temptation to succumb to such cowardly tactics is strong, yet in this odd new world it is not a concern. I come into this New World knowing that the people I've been chosen to lead have allowed themselves with our Icelanders neighbors to the West, in the region of Fralde. It is with my brothers and sisters there that we will make our stand against the brutal oppression that lies to our south.

    Valerien surveyed the Capitol that was beginning to emerge. The Icelanders appeared to be incredible laborers. Buildings were popping up in incredibly short periods of time. Perhaps there was hope yet. Across the city, young men who had taken up the sword and javelin in preparation for their Wizard's arrival,marched and trained vigorously. What other military forces the Icelanders could assemble would be discovered in time, when military might became a more significant and relevant factor. Valerien had already heard rumors of the might of the Sacred Hunters, whose mystique was obviously of great importance to the people of this land. Their reverence for these elite warriors was something to remember.

    This was a cold, harsh and unforgiving Land. Yet the people who populated it were firm in body and mind. The people were uplifting, singing songs of long forgotten ages, moving in complex dances. What fortitude these people must possess, to brave such miserable conditions, and do it without turning their backs on their brethren. Yet their spirits are hard as well. They know that to relax and take things for granted means the end of their way of life. You do not thrive in the Arctic being soft. They will need all of this toughness in the upcoming battle, as we take to the icy fields against our enemies to the South.

    The First Waves

    Waves of Scouts were immediately sent off to the neighboring lands, in search of fertile soil for growing the crops and the majestic forests needed to sustain a bustling economy and growing army. In addition, prospectors were ordered to explore the surrounding countryside and to begin mining the precious minerals and gems that lie within the hills and mountains of this world. What lies around us is unknown, for our civilization has not expanded beyond this dry arctic plain.

    Diplomacy

    Diplomacy has no place in this harsh world of unforgiving consequences. We know our friends. We know our enemies. Vile Greyhawk and Torak would once again attempt to spread their filth across our glorious world. Let their armies march forth unto their doom. Let our brave and stalwart people pick up the banner of war and charge our cowardly foes on the field of battle. They will surely scatter like the vermin they are, unable to stand against our united power. Even now I can scry the foolish peasants that Greyhawk and Torak are assembling into a cruel mimicry of a real army. I see the fear on their faces, the trembling in their knees. I see their wives crying at home. They all know what I know. That their future is death, despair, misery. Through the cold dark night, I can hear them calling to us to save them from this unalterable conclusion.

    Magick

    Most important of all to Valerien was the state of magical research in these lands. It appeared that everything that had been developed on a previous world had been forgotten, and must be begun anew. Seeing this, Valerien called his Master Builder, Sutan, and ordered the construction of vast libraries and gathering places for those inclined to the mystical arts. Magic is what wins the wars, my friend. Mighty armies without magic to back them up are but stalks of grass against an army bolstered by the powerful magicks I have seen.

    Alliances

    A friend from past worlds, mighty Araxus, has joined in alliance with me here. Together we strive to crush those who would enslave our people and mercilessly slaughter our children. Let those who would oppose us know the fear of a coward. For even though you may consider yourself brave, you will tremble like a child at night when you awaken to find yourself looking into the face of the Devil himself.

    Armies

    I've called together the War Council of my finest Icelander warriors. We are determining the best course of action to meet our destiny. My warriors herald the power of the mighty Dark Lordsaand and advise me to harness their power at the soonest opportunity. My powerful Heroes, capable of sucking the life from their foes, even now are beginning to roam the countryside. I must make sure these heroes are wielding the magic of death before they come into contact with the enemy. Then with chants of death, they will mow through our enemies front lines and emerge victorious on the other side, leaving a wake of carnage. My leaders obviously have been born in a land rich with an alcoholic heritage. Smirnoff, Tangerui, Meyers, Kahlua, Grenadine, Vodka and many of my other leaders are off recruiting other Heroes to our banner. We're currently accepting resumes for spellcasting-capable heroes. Please apply at the capitol. Enemy Rogues, Spies, Thieves and Saboteurs are not allowed to apply, and will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law should they be detected in the capitol.

    Contact Valerien 

    
Contact Valerien at jay.griffiths@expeditors.com

    

  •  PLAYER 2 - Greyhawk
    

    
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.....teaching 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 general 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, generally speaking 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.  "Just one would do....I PROMISE
I'd be more careful this time...."

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

    

  •  PLAYER 3 - Moonface the Cruel
    

    No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

    
Contact Moonface the Cruel at warren.mcintosh@linklaters.com

    

  •  PLAYER 4 - Lord Araxus
    

    

    

    
  
    
    
     
    
          
    
          The Icelanders of Kelna Dale
    
          
    
          
      
    
        		
  
    
  
    
    
      
    
      
    
    		
    
      
    The
People
    
      
    Ruled by the =
Yeti
Clan
          Chieftain, Lord Araxus, the Icelanders of Kelna Dale inhabit
the
          bitterly cold and remote northerly region of Shrel'na, deep in
the
          Arctic climes of the world Guzzak.  A harsh life surviving in
          arctic conditions, the Icelanders are well adapted to hunting
and
          food gathering.  A strict diet of whale blubber and seal meat
is
          balanced by generations of subsistence eating, enabling the
          Icelancers to consume far less nuirishing foods than their
warmer
          climate kin may be accustomed to.  Hunting this food has
become a
          ritual of religion to the people of Kelna Dale; warriors dress
up
          in fine furs and decorate their faces with pigments of smashed
          sea urchins, utilizing walrus bone spears and javelins in
canoes
          of shark skin.  Long, arduous journeys are then made into the
far
          reaches of the Artic oceans where winter's chill is ever
relentless
          and opporessive to the determined hunters.  The hunting party
may
          spend up to a week on such expeditions with the supplies they
can
          take, dragging back large hauls of kills for the entire
village
          to utilize in their subsistence living; sharks of course are
not
          a concern this far to the north due to the frigid waters; they
          are hunted separately for their skins to fashion canoes
further
          to the south where the water is warmer.  To ensure their
tribe's
          survival and the availability of this food source and the
ongoing
          hunting rituals, these Icelanders fiercely patrol and protect
their
          homeland and its far reaching borders, nearly to the point of
          paranoia; however, they share a mutual bond with other
religious
          Icelanders of the area who share their views; more
specifically the
          tribe led by the honourable Lord Valerien.  Otherwise, they
have
          little or no contact with any other cities in the arctic
wastes
          of Shrel'na.
    
      
    The
History
    
      
    Originally a
nomadic
          tribe, the ancestors of Kelna Dale grew religious and revered
          various animals as gods.  The greatest of these was the Polar
          Bear, which the tribe followed as spirit guides throughout the
          arctic wastes during their migrations.  Eventually, to become
a
          man of the tribe and prove oneself worthy, one had to wrestle
with
          the Polar Bears for a given period of time and survive, a
custom
          shared with the other Icelanders of the south.  This
eventually
          established the clans of the Sacred Bear, and the tradition
was
          passed down from father to son, and son to grandson.  When in
          combat with their enemies, the Icelanders are typically
dressed
          as polar bears; they are covered from head to foot in their
snow
          white fur, wield their claws as weapons, and paint their faces
          white with a mixture of whale blubber and a paste made from
          ground albino sea slugs.  Thusly dressed in combat they are
          quite fierce and nearly feral to fight, rending lethal wounds
          with their claws in the hides of their enemies.
      
    Recently, the
          appearance of the northern lights was taken by tribal shaman
as a
          sign from the animal spirits that a great destiny awaited the
          Icelanders of the Sacred Bear clans.  This has led to the
          formation of warrior castes selected from the best of the
hunters,
          and they have been surrepetitiously expanding their domain in
the
          south in preparation to challenge the heathen Icelanders of
the
          north who value commodities over animal spirits.
      
    Deeply =
spiritual,
          while at first apprehensive towards outsiders, early mistrusts
          can be overcome with the Fralde Vale Icelanders if the
outsiders
          share similar beliefs in animal spirits.  Given the previous
          cooperation between these peoples and their now-known kindred
          dogmas concerning the spirit animals, they are strongly united
          together in the opposition of the heathens which reside
elsewhere
          in the world.  Together, they will deal the virtuous blow of
          righteousness, and scatter the commodity-lovers to the four
          winds upon the teeth of their ancestor's spirits.
    
    		
  
    
  
    
    
      
    
      
    
    		
  
    
  
    
    
      
    
      The Guardianship
    
      
    Recently,
excursions
          by the more northerly tribes of Icelanders, who are viewed by
the
          clans of the Sacred Bear as heathens who value commodities
over
          the animal spirits have drawn the attention and ire of the
          northern clans.  Northerners have been caught poaching and
          killing animals, not for sustinence needs as approved by the
          animal spirits, but for sport and the value of their fur coats
          and the oil of their blubber.  The clans of the Sacred Bear
have
          thus become more wary and nervous, and they now regularly
patrol
          their lands for the invaders and kill them ruthlessly on
          sight.  Animal guardianship is considered a sacred obligation
          to honor the tribal ancestors and ensure prosperity for the
          peoples into the future.
    
    		
    
      
    
    
       
    
  
    
  
    
    
      
    
      
    
    		
  
    
  
    
    
      
    
      
      The Preparation
    
      
    However, the =
clan
          elders have been communing with the spirits of the Polar
Bears,
          and the spirits council that the clans of the Sacred Bear can
          not remain complacent.  Action is called for to heal the
wounds
          of the land and appease the spirits of the wrongly slain
animals.
          These wronged spirits are reawakening and taking the shape of
          huge ice drakes, with the promise of encasing the infidels
from
          the north in a tomb of ice and snow forever.  They are
amassing
          in large clutches out of their ice caves deep in the frozen
          north, and are stretching their wings in anticipation of the
          destruction they shall wreak to come...
    
        		
  
    
  
    
    
      
    
      
      
      jeffv@microsoft.com
    
    		
  
    

    

    

    
Contact Lord Araxus at jeffv@microsoft.com


    

    

    
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