PLAYER BLURBS.
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No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Hazaar at jhenson@calpoly.edu
Greetings to all Wizards on Arragoth II .
Fistandantilus, new ruler of the Sandpeople |
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Welcome traveler to the area that has been designed to establish Contacts of all kind with my Empire:
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Contact Mordeth at mor.deth@gmx.de
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Slurr the Coward at dave.romanzin@entero.com
Ages ago the Sacred Forest stretched for what seemed forever. The swiftest elven scouts could not cross it in less than a fortnight and ancient trees stretched their branches towards the sky. Unicorns, pixies, fairies, centaurs and many other mystical creatures found shelter in the Elven forests. It was a time of peace and prosperity. Then Arragoth came..... His fiery minions torched ancient trees and slaughtered all they encountered. It seemed that the demons killed for the sake of killing and seemed to enjoy it. The elves mobilized and fought back against these flaming devils. Many demons fell to the elven arrows, but many elves fell also. Slowly but surely the elves fell back to the final elven fortress in the center of the forest. As the demons advanced, they burned all in their path. Desperate and cornered the elves struggled for survival. Thus far the situation is tenuous but stable. The elves do not have the force to push Arragoth's legions back but the lava legions also have not been able to push past the final elven defenses. Elven seers foretold that a champion would appear to save the Elven people and the Elven forests from the fiery demons. That champion has now appeared in the Elven Court. A tall stranger wearing sparkling elven chain and a forest cloak appeared out of the forest and requested a meeting with the Elders. Speaking with great wisdom, he told of his struggles on another world against Arragoth. He had sensed the Elven need and came to offer his services. With unanimous acclamation the Elders and the people declared him, Lord of the Forest. I am Silverthorn, Lord of the Sacred Forest and ruler of the elves. I pledge my life and my talents to fight the demon, Arragoth, and challenge the other leaders of this world to do the same. We welcome emissaries from other realms and hope to forge lasting alliances against the evil that threatens us all. Should no one join our cause then the Elves will stand against Arragoth alone. We will drive this evil from our forest or die in the attempt. No longer will we cower behind our fortress walls waiting for death to come for us. The elven host gathers and we prepare for war.
Contact Silverthorn at toddandjanaeclapp@worldnet.att.net
Thus, I decided to leave that world where
my brutal Orcs already had mercilessly ripped off most body parts of all
opposition util a time where no human opposition was left at all (except
for me of course, so I left before they realized). I finally removed my
presence from that
world with the newly researched transformation spell (not the dimensional jump spell which
is for weaklings only). This new spell is a nice tool
because it enables to jump directly to a by the caster
preselected world. But that is not everything. It also
allows the caster to choose which race he wants to rule...
Well, after I
reflected about my past and how the Orcs had
changed my character I finally came to the conclusion that I would like to rule
a race that is as different as possible to an Orc.
I chose the Sandpeople on a world where the cruel
Arragoth is tormenting the citizens of the cities and towns for the
third time (G61, G63, G105). I chose the Sandpeople because I had to repay
humanity
something good after I ordered to kill so many Human Beings with the Orcs.
And choosing the human Sandpeople and helping them to remove
Arragoth from this wolrd is in my opinion a very good way to make good
for the evils that my Orcs committed on the other world.
So
after the final incantations of the Transformation Spell were done, I
easily materialized in the desert. And just as I thought, the Humans here are a very
friendly race of graceful beings that absolutely have no desire for war or
boasting (nor ripping). They are one of the most ancient and noble races on the
face of this world. The Sandpeople are a mysterious race of desert
dwellers. Few know how the Sandpeople survive in such a barren
environment or how their society functions but it is rumoured
that immense water reserves are kept in secret caverns far
below the surface. The only contact others seem to have with the
Sandpeople is with the help of caravans that are frequently 'contacted' under
the cover of sand stroms. the Sandpeople then seem to appear
from and
disappear into the sand itself. Anyway,
now that troubled times approach with Arragoth's lava
guards tormenting the good natured races the Capital in the
Desert has been totally closed even to these recent visits of
caravans. It will only be opened
again to rulers that are good in heart and intend to fight Arragoth's
evil at our side. Your race is unimportant to us Sandpeople as everyone deserves a chance.
Just unlike the Orcs the
Sandpeople have a very relaxed life style although they are
always prepared for everything. The harsh surroundings in which
they have to live provide that no sandpeople man or women ever
becomes a weakling. Especially Arragoth's Lava Guards have
noticed that to enter the Desert means sure death. Furthermore it is
said that Mithril Guardians, Desert Raiders and even giant Sand Wyrms could be quickly recruited to repel any unwelcome
visitors that stand under payment of the evil Arragoth. The
problem is that after the decades of slavery under Arragoth nobody has
dared to leave the desert and bring back the war to Arragoth's
lands so we are not sure yet if we will succeed. However, we
will try to leave our desert soon...
Anyway,
as said, needless brutality is
something that is very far away from any Sandpeople's favorite daydream (or
dream in the night). In need to make their living in the desert and
the few oasis the Sandpeople have developed a high agricultural
skill. Only the many burnings that the green, blue, purple
or red lava legions did to
the watered plantages whenever they are raised again has caused lots of frustration in the
population (not to speak about the lost water).
But a real Sandpeople man or women would never give in to the evil that is Arragoth in
person!
The Town Hall in the
Desert is where Muad'Dib sat in office for many years till
he gave over rulership to me last month. During the first week
after my arrival I described to him in what a mental dilemma the Dark Cavern Orcs
had brought me into. However, by this time the Sandpeople already
had integrated me into their noble society. I needed
assistance and they gave it to me and after three
additional weeks the shadow which had been laid upon my
soul by the Orcs was driven away by the sheer light of
the friendliness and honour of my new friends.
Yesterday, my mentor
Muad'Dib gave the Pipe of the leader to me so that I could
fulfill my own destiny as leader of the Sandpeople. A destiny that will bring the long lost
glory back to my People and will hopefully bring doom to the evil
Arragoth and his fiery legions in the end. And just as the shadow on my
own soul was driven away by the honourable Sandpeople way of living I
intend to bring this Honour to every corner of Arragoth's domain so
that all races sometime in the future will be able to do
nothing else then peacefully smoke their pipes under the tree of
their choice.
*grmph* Here I go again (but which I... ?) - my uncle TOLD me not to fiddle
with that 'clone self' spell back on my first homeworld until I was absolutely
sure I had mastered it... Well, I _thought_ I had, but somehow I got stuck in
an endless loop, and now I find myself in the strangest of worlds all the time,
and long ago I lost count of which me is really me, and which me is a clone of
a clone of a clone... Not that it matters much anyway, whether my memories come
from 'me' or from a (or any) clone, any memory is as good (*chuckle*) or as
bad/weird (*shudder*) as another...
So no point in brooding over the past mistake of the original Alodar the
Super-Dilettant, let us go exploring this new world... Somehow I seem to sense
an odd familiarity in the vibrations of magic - I really get a feeling of deja
vu (or deja clone...) Hmm, no, this is more than an odd familiarity - it feels
even more than an even familiarity?! Let me think - where and what could I
(well, one of my I-es, at least?) possibly have experienced something like this
before? {*thinking deeply for 42 seconds*}
No, this doesn't work - I guess I must try the 'identify source of current more
even than odd familiarity feeling' spell after all, despite its terribly long
and uninspiring name *sigh* {*incantating for 42 minutes*} *ZAP!*
Heh, one of my spells actually worked - this must be my (which me?) lucky day
after all! And now I (or maybe my previous clone?) remember the whole story
again - I am on one of the dreaded Arragoth II worlds again, where green, blue
and purple lava guards do their best to turn you white with fear - a world
where the only chance to survive is for us wizards to forget about petty
disagreements amongst ourselves and unite to fight the forces of Arragoth the
mighty (though fortunately not the almighty - I remember at least his first
cloning {heh, seems it is not only me who am cloned...} was defeated by an ally
of one of my - presumably - previous clones)...
OK, so I know where I am globally, now I'll only have to identify the same on
a local level, and fill in the local chair of wizardry, which presumably should
have just been vacated due to an accident of some sort - repetitiveness can
sometimes be somewhat amusing, somehow...
-Halt, stranger, en garde! We are Gnathos, Gnorthos and Gnaramis, and we are
looking for a certain d'Gnartagnan, who is supposed to be almost as good a
fighter with the epee as we are - let's find out if you are the man we're
looking for! Here, take this epee and prove your worth, or your life isn't
going to be worth a gnickel...
[Oh, holy cow! No, on closer thought, unholy cow!! A couple of annoying gnomes
seem to be what I am stuck with in this clonecarnation - more fond of creating
useless gadgets than fighting lava guards, and even less fond of creating
useful gadgets than of fighting even Arragoth himself...]
-Now listen to me you little rascals... err, gnomes, I'm not in the mood for
stupid games just now so back off, or else...
-Hah, coward, neither Gnathos, Gnorthos nor Gnaramis have ever backed off, and
we won't do it now - en garde, stranger, or you will meet your death on the
tip of our epees!
[Grr - that's what YOU think, you little gnats, take THIS!]
-OK you asked for it... {casting quickly, in said order, the following spells:
'turn epee into toupee', 'turn epee into goatee' and 'turn epee into a tee'}
*zap* *ZAP!* *ZAP-A-KA-BLAZOOM!!*
(Of course, when casting these spells so quickly, it couldn't be expected that
they'd work, so - on a scale from absurd to abhorrent the result was closer to
horrent than to surd, causing the three Gn's to drop the former epees with
various degrees of disbelief and/or disgust...)
-OK, and now for something completely different {casting the spell 'Monty
Anaconda'} *thunk*
-Hi, I'm Kylie Minogue - who the are you, and where the
am I ??
-Welcome to the world of Arragoth II, miss Minogue - I am Alodar the (cloned)
Apprentice, and I'd need your help against these annoying little pests - could
you please sing one of your favourite tunes?
-Why, with pleasure, you cloaked apprehensive... (starting to sing)
{42 milliseconds later}
-Hey, where did they go - I never thought something could disappear so fast?
-Never mind, Kylie, that was the help I needed from you! And now, I can either
send you back to where you came from, but since you are actually a clone and
not the original, that would be to oblivion, or you could join me in my fight
against Arragoth - your voice might be just the secret weapon we need...
-Hey, so you mean I don't really exist - I merely am?
-Something like that, yes... {Who said clones where just copies of the original
this one can actually think a coherent thought...}
-In that case, could you... (*whisper, whisper* *blush*)
-With pleasure, that might turn you into an even more formidable weapon *ZAP*
-Welcome to this world of Arragoth, Dame Te Kanawa! Do you like singing for
monsters?
-Hmm, don't know if I _like_ it, but that is what I do all the time anyway, so
why not?
-Excellent, let's move to nearest chair of Wizardry and set out to work, then!
[One hour and some miles later]
-"Magick College of Darnfiasbernenus" - that must be the one... These gnomes
must be somewhat degenerated, the name of their village can actually be
pronounced... OK Dame Te Kanawa, now let's see how powerful a weapon your
voice is - go ahead with one of your favorite arias!
-"La donna e' mobile"...
{LESS than 42 milliseconds later...}
-Thanks, MORE than enough, Kiri, now let's move in and take control over this
magick college! Let's see if I can find the library - ahh, here it is!
This looks surprisingly well stocked even if gnomes are renowned for liking
useless pastimes, like reading fantasy books... Now where do I start - well,
this title looks promising:
"A Short Introduction to the Foundations of Magick in the Lands of Arragoth".
"A short introduction" - that sounds good! I like them short and snappy - wait,
what says the fine print...
"Volume I of XLII"...
*curse* Why did I never bother to learn the 'speed reading' spell back on my
homeworld?! Now THAT would have come in even handier than all the epee-turning
spells combined...
Contact Alodar the Apprentice at rwikman@ra.abo.fi
Mila
City Eternal. No one knows how long the fabled city has stood. The ancient stones that form the walls outdate even the oldest of tales, and the knowledge of their building has long passed. Once they were proud and strong, standing up to even the mightiest onslaught. Now, they are overgrown by the thick jungle, unable to beat it back without the aid of magics that built them in the first place. As Jhava-Ghad surveys the crumbles of his lost city, he quietly says to himself, "We WILL build again, and we WILL be free".
In mockery of his silent vow, a phalanx of lava legions parades by his palace, a host of Amazon slaves in tow. How long has it been since Arragoth enslaved the races of the world for his use? Jhava-Ghad cannot remember. As he watches the slave host march by, one of his subjects falls to the ground out of sheer exhaustion. One of the legions whips the poor soul, trying to force the vassal to his feet. He valiantly tries to regain his footing, but fails. Finally, the soldier tires of the debacle and lifts his hand high, and a burning fireball streams from his fist. In a scream of agony, the poor slave incinerates into a pile of ashes, and is no more.
Jhava-Ghad watches the event, and a raging fire burns in his heart. With a spin on his heel, he flees from the window, and rushes to his desk. Pulling out an official parchment, he begins writing.
HERE YE, HERE YE, All able bodied men are hereby called to come together boldly to retrieve our home and heritage. This pestilence has continued for too long. All men brave of heart enough to heed the call shall receive twice the normal pay of those with military obligations. All military personnel shall immediately receive said increased pay. All men shall meet at the town hall in their respective regions one week from this writing. At that time, I shall offer more information. Together, we shall recover that which has been taken from us.
Your Lord and Sovereign,
Jhava-Ghad
Jhava calls his messenger and places the document into his hands. "Be swift about it, Mercurius. But also be discreet. Any knowledge to the legions, and we are all dead." With that, the courier was off, and Jhava-Ghad retired for the night.
Contact Jhava-Ghad at johneverette@yahoo.com
, , one and ALL!
Ït is I, Owen Deathstalker, returning once again to explore a brand new world... a world that I have yet to encounter. I for one have been bored trying to play the normal races, in other words, the race that live on the surface of distant worlds, so now, I am the leader of the Dark Elves.
Don't let this race fool you, they aren't as bad as they sound... they are actually quite a peaceful lot! They may love their sword-play and backstabbing skills, but they have shown to be a fairly diplomatic and forgiving race... one most suited to the likes of me!
For those of you who have joined me in the fields of battle will know that I would make a good ally, as I have been known to keep my word (most o the time... more times than most wizards!), whether it be a promise of a trade, or to join forces in the face of a common enemy (and in some cases, even enemies!).
However, I also make a better enemy! One simple rule that I usually follow:
NO QUARTER GIVEN, AND NONE ASKED!
Aye, cross me once, and I will forgive, cross me another time, and I will still forgive... but beware, there is a line that you want to cross. Once crossed, there is a possibility that I will decapitate your soldiers and send their heads back over the line as a message to you... but hey, I'm also a forgiving sort.
Just send a messenger (one that is EASILY identifiable as a messenger.... don't be sending any of your Barbarian champions armed to the teeth... because my frontline troops have a real bad eyesight. If they think your messenger looks mean, I won't take any responsibility if they decide to shoot your messenger!) and talks may resume.
Having said that, I am a peaceful sort, wanting nothing more than a quiet existence in this dreaded world of Arragoth. I know that this may be just a pipe dream, as the Dark One does not believe in letting peace loving races alone... but one day, I am sure, we will have to defend our home (quite possibly to the DEATH!) and we will be ready for it.
We Dark Elves will be prepared... and we hope and pray, that you wizards do too!
Until we meet in the field... under the blankets of peace... or the chaos of war....
the choice is yours.
-=[Ôwèñ]=-
Leader of the Dark Elves,
Underworld - Darthnil
Contact Aralin at aralin@zg.cz
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Enik at brianandkathy@worldnet.att.net
Greetings from Free Marton . The Under Dwarves of this underworld metropolis welcome all peaceful traders and wanderers . We offer shelter to the needy against the vicous Lava Legions of Arragoth . Our leader Thorin has jouneyed to the lair of the Troll King and reports he will soon rid the land of his minions . Balin Longhammir has sent a messenger of peace to us and we rejoice and feast at there arrival. Again we welcome contact with all peaceful wizards .
Contact Bellaraphon at cellis@fcc.net
The Minotaurs of Fort called upon an ancient legend. In the old ballads, minstrels sang about the battle of racemates living in a city called "Bulls Canyon", and their struggle against Arragoth. With the help of an immortal Wizard called "Jegron", they were finally successful banishing the Lord of Fire from their domain. As recently the people of Fort were again suffering from the moods of the Dark Lord, the priests decided to call the old ally and leader of their people. Calling onto the Blades of Creation and upon their bearer, the Champion of the Small Path, Jegron, the Warrior Lord of the Minotaurs, the Master of Fire. After hours of incantations, he finally appeared through a rift between worlds, to help his people in the never ending battle against the ursurping gods and their evil mood. Once again, he would build a church and teach his people the ways of the ancient one, the rebelling gods' creator. With his help, they would finally banish Arragoth again. Before he could send out messages to the neighbouring wizards, he already got three offers of peace that he gladly accepted. The enemy was called Arragoth, there was no use of fighting the other wizards, unless of course they would fight him. He would accept offers of peace, unless of course someone would disturb the rest of the dead.
Listen, people, that Jegron had not always been a wizard. Once upon a time, there was a wandering ministrel, just like me. He was visiting distant countries, always looking for challenge and adventure. On one of these travels, he explored the ruins of an ancient temple, a temple of the Small Path, serving an unknown god, called "the ancient One". In this temple, he found old writings, books, scrolls, and an old altar, on which two shimmering blades were resting. Inscriptions were warning anyone from touching the blades, as anyone who would try would be rated, and who would not found worthy would surely die. However the ministrel decided to accept the challenge, and picked up one of them. He seemed to be worthy, however, as the blades accepted him to be their bearer, The golden Warrior-Lord, the Campion of the Small Path. After the blades converted him to their faith, he rebuilt the temple and accepted followers. Over the years, he studied magic skills that were thought lost by magical colleges. Again, he ventured the worlds, fighting the evil, making progress on his new task: ridding the worlds of the rebelling gods and their undead minions. One of his greatest deeds was fighting Arragoth, the Lord of Fire. And this is why he is here again.
Contact Jegron at jegron@hotmail.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Cartouche VII at kmgraphiks@aol.com
 I have been chosen. My Father has weakened since Arragoth has left our realm. Age and the strain of uniting our Clan while defending our homeland has taken its toll on him.
Contact Balin Longhammir at dasmudge@ptd.netContact Balin Longhammir at dasmudge@ptd.net PLAYER 13 - Cardinal Teplin
The day was bright and clear. The sun shone starkly over the mountain kingdom, the air crisp and clear, the few plumes of smoke from the foundaries quickly chased away and forgotton in the vast immensity of the vault of the sky. Looking out over the snow-crested peaks, to see the land stretching away to meet the horizon far beneath him, Teplin thought that those who lived here might think that they stood on the crown of the world. As it happens, he was wrong. The inhabitants of this mountain realm had other things on their mind. "...FFFFfiiiity three a jar. I saaaayy ffffifty three a jar! You won't find a better bargin this side of the great forest! Step right up, don't be shy, slip me a penny and you can have some to try! Ffffiitty three a jar!.." Teplin paused for a moment, and then seeing that this great oration wasn't intended for him personally, tried to move on. The crowd was packed tight, bustling hither and thither, carrying, wearing or driving their bargins ahead of them, while around them the streets were filled with hawkers, mountebanks, peddlers, tinkers, purveyors of the exotic and strange, pipers with snakes dancing from baskets at their feet, jugglers, troubadours, street corner philosophers. Shouldering a elderly couple aside, he made a break for one of Boforth's larger roads. Here the miscellany of street people made way for the more orderly displays of the great merchant companies. Spiced woods from the jungles and forests of the Amazons, strange glazed pots and tiles from the Isle of War, where an enterprising young rader had found that the Minotaurs had more than a single talent. He paused by an impressive display of coldfire, imported from orcish lands, but soon began to feel the chill of the blazing flames, and turned quickly away. His mission was not going well. Unlike some of the other races of the Isles, the Dervish seemed too busy to really care about their lot. The oppresion of Arragoth was being ignored quite nicely. How was how going to instill revolution in a people who's main concern was being paid? Worse still, there didn't really seem to be anyone in charge. Apart from the minions of Arragoth, that is. He stiffened as the blazing form of a legionary appeared at the top of the road. It moved slowly, dangerously down the road, eying the stalls on either side as if it could sniff out some trace of treason from amongst pots and fabrics. Teplin resisted the urge to duck down out of sight, a move that would draw instant suspicion, and instead deveopled a burning interest in a display of local carpets, brightly woven patterns that should excuse him any need to face towards the blazing soldier of his enemy. Unfortunately, this put him face to face with one of the more voratious local predators. There would be no escape. "Ah, you like the carpets, yes?" the beaming face of the merchant informed him. He carried on without waiting for a reply. "That is a fine work, you have a good eye. I can tell I would never be able to fool you with low quality merchandise." he oozed in sincerely. Teplin wanted to pull away, but saw the legionary bearing ever closer, and took a step forward instead. "Um.. ah, yes." "Ah then, a real man of taste and discernment!" The merchant clapped his hands twice, and flunkies moved to shake out a larger brighter example of the rugmakers art. "This is perhaps more to your taste. Genuine Barcondy weave, a little more expensive of course, but quality never comes cheap." Teplin nodded inanely. Glancing over his shoulder he saw the legionary, a strange rocky lumpen figure, who's smouldering exterior was merely a taste of the great heat contained within. But there was nothing wrong with its senses. It looked in his direction, and a slow frown rumpled across its face. It moved more quickly, gathering momentum in its slow pace, moving directly towards him. Teplin looked around desperately. He might not have been recongised, but if it came too close he soon would be. Hide! He had to hide! He looked back at the merchant, who had so far not commented on his strange nervousness. "Do you perhaps have something special, in there?" Teplin gestured at the dark recesses of the shop. "Well, that is where I keep my rarest treaures. Few people buy them now of course, because of the great cost, but..." he smiled and gentley took Teplin's arm to guide him into the shop. Too late. "SSSSSStop!" the legionary hissed. "Sssstop that man!" Teplin froze, not knowing what to do. The merchant's reaction was explosive. "NO! Nononono! This is too much. The best customer I see all day and you want to arrest him!" The merchant seemed quite emotional. "You can't have him, not until he's bought his carpet!" Teplin took advantage of the confusion to make a break for it. He dove behind a pile of richly woven rugs as a plume of flame seared past where he had been standing. He kept moving, using the hanging carpets to hide him where he could. The displays began to burn all around him, and he dodged his way to the moneylender's stall next door. He found himself face to face with a clerk, a smile quite out of place on his face, and the inevitable armed guards all around him. "Ah yes. I understand Acmed's carpets are likely to be more than you have on you at this time. We arrange good credit - of my goodness!" The last words came as the legionary burst through the display of carpets, several still wrapped aroun him, blazing away, which it ignored with all in human indifference that Arragoth's legionaries commonly displayed. What happened next is disputed, but everyone agrees that mistakes were made. For example, while it was quite natural for the moneylender's guards to level their pikes at someone who bursts in unexpectedly, in the case of one of Arragoth's legionaries, it was probably a mistake. Similarly, the legionary's first reaction to the have a row of pikes leveled at him, which was to incinerate the nearest guard, was probably quite a reasonable move from its point of view, but was still probably a mistake. Particularly when outnumbered ten to one. Seeing their compatriot go down in a wreath of flames, then pikemen hardened their grip on their weapons, and then moved in. From there there was no turning back really. The legionary patrol that saw one of their number being butchered by a group of pikemen probably should have asked questions, rather than simply attacking everyone they saw. They certainly should have realised that the moneylender wasn't the only one to keep armed men about. Keeping a bodyguard was only good busines sense, but noone had realised quite how many there were. Or how few legionaries. Acmed and the moneylender stood togeather with some of the other higher ranking merchants, and watched as small fights and fires spread across the city. There was little doubt as the outcome. "Well now what?" said the clerk testily. "When Arragoth finds out about this, he'll burn us all alive." "Have to keep on fighting him." said a pottery trader morosely. "This is going to be bad for trade." "Fight him?" said Achmed incredulously. "What do we know about war? We'd need to band togeather under a single leader." "Yes, someone who's done this kind of thing before." said another "Someone who has fought against the minions of Arragoth and won." said another. "Someone with magical powers, to protect us against his wrath." said a third. All their eyes suddenly turned to Teplin. "Tell me stranger" said a tall tailor, "do you know where we could find such a wizard?" Teplin looked at all their expectant faces. "Well... ah... as it happens... I just might. " Contact Cardinal Teplin at hanbury.hampden-turner@amsinc.com PLAYER 14 - Gholan the Conqueror
               Once again I find myself on an accursed sun-soaked world, once again doomed to endure the brightness of the murderous rays, as I pursue my quarry, the mortal enemy of my people, whom barely escaped my clutches on my previous home world, the Isles of Arragoth. This time, however, the end will be different. This time, he will not cowardly escape, as he did before, while my heroes slew the Demon protecting him, as we slew his minions before him. My Blade and I seek the throat of Arragoth; I long to see his black blood spill as he begs for mercy, cowering on the dungeon floor, in chains, alone and defeated, the Slayer of Peasants, the Dark Lord of the Isles, the Father of Lies, finally dead. Only then will peace reign again.            I am Gholan the Conqueror, son of Noc’tac the Beheader, son of Arctun the Merciless, Leader and Lord of the Orcs. In Nightscar, on the Isles, I patiently waited for a chance to lead the Orcs, waited while my father sought peace with the Lord of Hatred, waited until I could wait no longer. With his untimely and quite accidental death, I assumed supreme control, and I will never relinquish my sovereignity. That was the last day that the Orcs tolerated the murdering of our children, the stealing of our women, and the enduring humiliation of slavery of our people at the hands of Arragoth…..until now.            I have been summoned here from my capital City, Nightscar, upon urgent pleas for help from my Orc brothers, whom have been unable to contain Arragoth’s minions, and have been massacred at their hands. I am horrified to learn upon my arrival at this pathetic outpost, Gra Fauk, that the nightmare has been reborn here. Orcs in slavery!! There is no greater crime. Arragoth has failed to learn his lesson, and now it will be taught in blood, at any cost. ANY COST.            I send a parchment to my fellow Wizards on this Isle of War, and to other, distant Wizards, doomed to endure the stench of this world. A parchment of Peace. Join me in this quest for revenge,join me in the hunt for the Head of Arragoth. Join me in honor, live for battle, spill blood by day, celebrate in my Great Hall by night, clanging mugs of ale and telling the greatest lies of tales of battle. Join me, or all the minions of Arragoth combined will seem like the sting of a cavern gnat compared o my wrath. My blade will meet the neck of Arragoth, and nothing will stand in my way, this I swear. Contact Gholan the Conqueror at magneto821@aol.com
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