PLAYER 1 - Lord Valtyr

Contact Lord Valtyr at dasmudge@ptd.net

PLAYER 2 - Fester the Despised

No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

Contact Fester the Despised at dave.romanzin@entero.com

PLAYER 3 - Gazskul Th'rak

                           The Last Dwarven Lord

     Atop a lone mountain, known as Karak Eight Peaks, where no living
creature dared brave the elements, a lone figure, short of stature and
broad of shoulder stood, protected from the howling winds by the layers of
animal skins covering a suit of armor the likes of which few on this world
had ever seen.  He was Ghazskul Thrak, last of the Dwarven Lords, and as
his eyes scanned the horizon, he thought...................

                                Revelations

     His empire below these mountains was beyond the comprehension of any
of the mortals that walked the lands these days, save some of the eldest of
Elvenkind.  Once Alustria, had been a bastion of civilization throughout,
where many races prospered and grew.  Now many centuries later it was a
fractured world, inhabitated by fractured peoples.  Brothers fought
brothers, dwarves fought dwarves, elves fought elves, and so on ...and so
on......
     He could feel the powers rising within the earth, all his kind could.
Caizarius' power was growing, as were other dark powers.  The earth was
screaming, the very fabric of its essence being torn by the growing
darkness.  The powers of light could be felt stirring as well, much more
subtley, they were ancient and would be slow to rise, but they whispered to
the earht that all was as it should be..........that time would
endure...............
     King Ghazskul cared little for the other nations.  Centuries ago he
had closed the gates to Karak Eight Peaks and forsaken the world.  If he
hadn't the dwarves would not be alive today.  His peoples has survived,
prospered.  They were rugged and hard.  They had learned to make a meager
survival in the lands they owned, where food was scarce, and wood more so,
but what they lacked in those resources they made up for in the stone and
iron and mithril they took from the earth.  They had learned to survive,
they had grown powerful once again.
     Now the dawn of a new era came............he felt it in his aging
body, his aging soul screamed to him...that the dwarves must once again go
out into the world.  They must face the darkness and the light at
once.........they must bring the two opposiing forces together, that
Alustria could live on.  He also new that do so, he must never waiver in
his task, he must not stop until he had destroyed or pacified all the
powers of darkness adn all the powers of light.  It was the task laid upon
his shoulders to conquer this world and see that this endless struggle of
wizards was brought to an end.
     Yes, he dabbled in magic, but cared little for it, preferring the feel
of plate on his shoulders and steel in his hands.  The call on the
battlefiled put fire in his blood, where other wizards called their dark
lords to do their bidding or the elemental powers destroy their enemies, he
preferred the clang of steel on steel, to cries of the wouded and dying,
the stench of blood and bowels.......the battlefield is where the Last
Dwarven Lord could feel his soul sing.
     Sure, in his own day he had leveled cities with a word, destroyed
armies with a movement of his hand, but never until he had had no choice.
The dwarven people as a whole did not understand the workings of magic,
they feared it, thought it evil.  They new their King could summon horrible
forces, but did not acknowledge it, chose to ignore it.  Likewise he did
not bring it to their attention until the most direst of times.  It had
been some 400 years since he had last cast a spell, it would take him a
while to ensure he was prepared.  He had not set foot in the Tower of
Sorcery in that same amount of time.  He should ready it.

                               It Begins...

     .......the winds howled as they always did at these heights and as the
Last Dwarven Lord turned to make the long journey though the twists and
turns of the underground, he thought..........who would fall first.  The
plainsmen to the east or the highlanders to the west?  That thought brought
old hatreds to the forefront of his heart........remembering the many
betrayals of both his neighboring populaces..........those thoughts were
better left in the past.  All those who opposed balance would fall to his
armies.

Contact Gazskul Th'rak at bill0814@msn.com

PLAYER 4 - Tormila

I want to say hello to all wizards on this world and I want to introduce me: Well, my name is Tormila, and I arrived just one week ago in this world. I started this journey at least one month or more earlier,I canīt remember exactly how long I needed to find Alustria, because I got lost in time and in space.... Yes, itīs true, Iīm from the universe, and I lived there for about three or four lifes on a little planet called Astalinga. There Iīm a well known wizard, the wife of the most powerful, the oldest and wisest wizard of the whole little planet, but since he is dead, Iīm not able to get more wisdom anymore, to explore new biospheres, to seak for new things. So I decided to leave the planet Astalinga because I felt the strong desire to search, to find and explore this world named Alustria. I got my idea of this trip to Alustria, because I heard two of our wisest wizards talking about the possibility that this world exists.... Now Iīm here, and I know that it is true. I already took a short look around the world, and I found a nice place where I want to live: the forest!! The High Elves are living there, an intelligent, powerful, fearless and modest race, and since they didnīt have a wizard they currently accepted me as their knew wizard! So Iīm living here since one week, Iīm glad and Iīm curious about this knew world. I want to explore everything, I want to get in contact with other wizards to do some trade, some exchange of ideas and of knowledge. In this last week I had enough time to prepare a lot of things so that Iīm able and ready to face all the various surprises that this lovely place, the forest, may run into even when this will be bad surprises. Iīm prepared for everything. But I feel deep inside of my soul that in spring there will be only very nice happenings. Spring is a wonderful season, especially in the forest, so it would be nice to have some guests over here. Now you know, wherever you are at the moment on this world, that you are welcome in my forest! You will love to see all the different kinds of flowers and plants, the varieties of green, the whole forest is green, mixed with all the beautiful colours of the flowers, and the reflection of the water. Yes, I have a lot of water, and this is very important, because in summer it will be very very hot, and the plants, the animals and the High Elve people will need a lot of this clear, cold and blue water. And with the water I hope that we can always produce enough food for all our people. BUT there is also a dark side of the forest: If you donīt know the forest, if you donīt know where to go and where not to go, you will get lost in the dark green... There are a lot of places where you even canīt see the blue heaven and the shining sun, where you can see only the dark, dark green wherever you can look... So be aware and come only as our guests with good things in your mind, otherwise you will learn to fear the forest... In this last week I also had enough time to dream and think about the future, about my feelings, my wishes and my goals and as a result of this thoughts I can tell you that Iīm convinced I want to live in the present, not in the future, nor in the past, I want to enjoy everything I do, I want to do some progress, some steps forward, I want to change bad things, I want to heal the world.... Iīm convinced that I can do this, so I ask now: Is there somebody on this world who thinks the same way? Iīll find it out... TORMILA

Contact Tormila at britta.thekaye@t-online.de

PLAYER 5 - Tyranthraxus

     

         
We Gnomes have always lived a
         protected life in Valdoramax, the town in the sky. For
         century after century we created a powerful and peaceful
         nation under the great Tyranthraxus. Our skilful
         craftsman have build lot of wonderful things, which few
         have ever seen, and around the town we found lot of gems
         with we have decorated the town with.

         

         Now and then we heard that Caizarius has ravaged the
         world under us but he had never found the way up to the
         astral-island Holliwican (or he didn’t dared to
         attack us). In many years Valdoramax lived in peace but
         after a very long time it’s no needs to build more
         and if you see 1000 of gems every day you think they don’t
         mean nothing so one after one the powerful guilds lost
         their power and the inhabitant took everything for
         granted. So the Old Handicraft disappeared!! But in the
         town the lives continues… the old buildings worked
         without any problems and the farmers around the town
         produced enough food so no one needed to starve and it’s
         enough gems and gold so they could buy everything the
         caravans bring in many 1000 year…

         

         But so one day it happened!! A catastrophe that nobody
         thought would happened… a terrible storm ravaged the
         countryside and destroyed buildings and killed lots of
         gnomes! Even the famous magic tower where the great
         Tyranthraxus, on the top, tried to fight the storm with
         his powerful magic collapsed. When the storm disappeared,
         Valdoramax was a ruin, almost all the buildings had
         collapsed and many many had been killed but against all
         odds Tyranthraxus was still alive when they dug after him
         in the ruins after the old tower. The survivor thought
         they was saved because with his magic it would have been
         possible to rebuild the town again but when Tyranthraxus
         was going to cast the first spell nothing happened! He
         know how to cast the spells but oh for some reason he has
         forgotten how to pronounce the ancient words…

         

         Many years later they had rebuilt the Valdoramax again
         but nothing of the former splendour when no one remember
         the old knowledge and the rumours says that the evil
         Caizarius have arise again down on the earth and this
         time we though he’d found the way up to Holliwican!!!
         It’s now Tyranthraxus show us he is a great leader
         even if he’s forgot all magic. He began to teach new
         craftsman and recreate the great army. Already have our
         troops have started to reunite the Old Kingdom and get
         help of all gnomes in the neighbourhood. But we all know
         Caizarius are going to win if not Tyranthraxus will get
         his magic back. 

         

         Every night the inhabitant of Valdoramax saw on
         Tyranthraxus tower, outside the town, and saw the light
         from his room all night there he study and every night
         the inhabitant fall in sleep with a light heart convinced
         that Tyranthraxus will save them again… 
Gnomes 
         
Without doubt, gnomes are the wisest
         of the races of New Moon and their longevity 

         is surpassed only by the elves. Inquisitive by nature,
         gnomes are great hoarders 

         of information and are steeped in the history and lore of
         New Moon. The majority 

         of gnomes reside deep underground in the natural
         subterranean caverns of New Moon 

         and in the intricate tunnel and cave complexes carved out
         by their master rocksmiths. 

         A few gnomes have ventured above the surface to set up
         small towns and villages among

         the "big people" but usually they shy away from
         the aggression of the "bigger folk". 

         Small, weak and fragile, gnomes aren't much use in a
         fight, but their exceptional 

         wisdom and above-average intelligence means they are
         powerful wielders of magic and faith.
         

         
The
         Deep Dwellers 
         
Tinker tink, and splatter and 
splink
         
crash bash, tatter and trash
         
many sounds fourth did comes from
         the gnomes
         
inventing and creation they did in
         there homes
         
for throughout there many 
years
         
the gnomes thought up of many 
ideas
         
technology was to there liking you
         see
         
just as watching tv was to you and
         to me
         
-Elvish song of the Gnomes

         

         
         

         
In 
the darkness of Erth, after the
         death of the Foundation, a stout group of Taern humans
         hid in the mountainous southlands, in what the Taerns and
         gnomes called the Andes. In a world torn by the wars of
         the two great races of Orc and Taern, the land they chose
         was at least untouched by the direct effects of the
         battle. No battles were fought over uninhabitable ice and
         rock. Only slowly did the poisons of war creep into their
         bones and bloodlines, and they survived. 
         
The
         gnomish race was born of ice and darkness, and of
         fire and rock. In the southern mountains, they survived
         only by dint of careful maintainance of the resources
         they had, and by hiding in the cracks in the rock and
         glaciers that warped over the millenia. As other races
         headed south, the gnomes headed deep; into rock and ice,
         building life around the geothermal ventings of an earth
         rent by war, and cultivating the few living things that
         survived in and under the ice, fungi, fish, and the
         occasional hardy alpine plant all became grist for the
         gnomish mill. 
         
They were aided by
         their heritance, for those who went south went armed with
         the latest technology of the Foundation days, which wore
         out only slowly. And the survival of this southern race
         depended on its maintainence. They lost the robust height
         of their Foundation forefathers, being compressed by the
         dual demands of their tiny living space and minimal
         resources. The poisons of the great war helped, and the
         end product was a race much smaller and lighter than
         humans or dwarves, designed for living a life constantly
         on the edge of starvation, supported only by the
         production of their feverish, technological minds. In
         those quiet, dead times in the north, they had much time
         to work and think, and the gnomish race become one of
         manipulators of ideas. They kept a compact strength,
         necessary for tunneling through the constantly shifting
         and twisting ice and rock. 
         
In the slow
         millenia that followed, technology began to fail, and
         populations pushed to the limits. Other forces began to
         appear; first the Valar, providing sustenance and light
         as the sustaining fragments of technology began to fail.
         It is said that even the Valar did not know the gnomes
         existed, until Mayflon, the Laughing One, found himself
         bedeviled by small humans while hiding in the northlands
         (as his tricks often forced him to do). He took them as
         his own, these little tricksters, and gave them access to
         the clerical powers. His bretherns soon found out about
         these new humans, but Mayflon, for obvious reasons,
         remained chief in their hearts. The long dark had refined
         the practical joke to a fine art amongst the gnomes. The
         strangely reticient Taern religion, weakened by time and
         the long night gave ground to the more visible Haruchai
         pantheon, and other Valars and Maiars found their ways
         into the gnomish life. Camber's healing touch was high in
         their pantheon, whereas the need for Haekar's trackers
         was minimal. A gnomish criminal had few places to run.
         The communities were tightly knit and small spaces, and
         to leave them was often to die. 
         
Of course, crime
         was a relative thing. Much could be (and had to be)
         forgiven in the gnomish holds. Property was common,
         necessities were shared where needed, while luxuries
         changed hands with a rapidity governed only by the
         gentleness of gnomish hearts. A loaf of bread would never
         be stolen, but might be freely given between three
         families. But gemwork and other products of idle hands
         would be stolen repeatedly in the dark night, only
         restricted by the elaborateness of the guarding traps and
         the sentiment attached to ownership. An old lady might
         keep her husband's last work, but her heirs would soon
         find it taking wing in the night, unless they contrived
         an elaborate plan to protect it; usually an alarm crafted
         from the sparse resources of the hold and family. 
         
Causing harm to
         the hold was the only true crime. One who caused the
         injury or death of another would soon be hunted out of
         the hold. It is said that some of these formed holds of
         their own in the lowlands, becoming the races of goblins
         and kobolds, detested by gnomish kind to this day. Of
         these warped races gnomes speak little. Their heritage is
         twisted by their background, by their exposure to the
         poisons of the lowlands, and possibly by affiliation with
         the Orcish folk. 
         
Within the holds
         another force made itself known. Living close to the
         rock, and spending long nights in close company and deep
         thought, the gnomes were amongst the first to discovery
         the coursing flow of magic through the rock and earth
         beneath them. They quickly realized and mastered this
         strange new form of power, although by this time their
         minds had twisted enough that they best mastered the
         sorcerous arts of illusion and deception. Such trickery
         lent itself to the convolutions of their dark and and
         twisty passages. 
         
It was many years
         before the humans found their far southern brethren.
         Their first encounters were with the twisted valley
         rabble of goblinoid and kobold races. The battles between
         invading humans and the resident goblinoid races waged
         for many years, as the first exploratory groups of humans
         began heading south, looking for new sources of minerals.
         These forays were largely doomed to failure, the
         goblinoids and gnomes had been mining and fighting in
         these peaks for millenia before the humans arrived, but
         man did not know that. 
         
First contact
         occured after almost a decade of running battles between
         heavily armed prospectors and the goblinoids. A group of
         humans manged to penetrate the lowland ring of rabble,
         only to be pinned in a cul-de-sac against the looming
         blue-ice foot of a glacier. They faced an overwhelming
         force of kobolds who seemed strangely reticent to attack.
         That fear was soon explained when the second attack on
         the faltering human forces was greeted with a blazing
         show of pyrotechnics, both technological and sorcerous,
         that effectively eliminated the attacking kobolds. 
         
That night, humans
         and gnomes met again for the first time in millenia. The
         former were slow to accept the gnomish folk, fearing that
         they were another of the small and vicious races that
         they had been fighting so recently. The gnomes, for their
         part, were fascinated by their new allies. A heavily
         guarded combined caravan, loaded with years of wealth
         accumulated from the gnomish mines, soon began wending
         its way north. It returned intact, aided by a few kind
         humans, and laden with the riches of the northern races. 
         
Gnome-human
         relations proceded apace. The avarice of the humans was
         stilled somewhat by the hostility of the intervening
         forces and by the incredible treachery of the gnomish
         homelands. The gnomes learned enough about their new
         neighbors to recognize their danger quickly, and humans
         seeking the legendary wealth of the gnomish folk soon
         found only miles of twisted glacier ice and rock tunnels,
         too small to move comfortably through, and replete with
         traps designed to drive even the sanest human wild with
         claustrophobia and frustration. Centuries of fighting the
         wiry little kobolds and goblins made defending the holds
         against much larger humans a relatively simple matter. 
         
A stable and
         comfortable relationship soon developed. The gnomes
         maintained their mountainous holds, dispatching heavily
         armed and guarded caravans to trade with the humans. A
         few hardy gnomes headed out, mxing slowly with the human
         races, and sending a steady stream of information back,
         but assimiliating well with the other races. Most races
         quickly saw the futility of messing with the gnomes in
         their holds, and maintained a fairly polite diplomatic
         relationship. 
         
Before long, small
         groups of the technologically oriented gnomes began to
         set up outside the human towns, trading their skills. A
         few humans, fascinated by the vestiges of technology
         still held by the gnomes, began to venture south to live
         amongst them. And the two races grew to know each other.
         A gnome, while an unusual sight amongst humans, was
         typically more of a curiousity than anything else, while
         a human amongst the gnomes was typically bombarded
         endlessly with questions about the southern races. 
         
The loss of a
         caravan in Thurdis, and the intransigence of the
         government in dealing with that crime, has made the
         visitation of gnomish folk a rare event indeed. Only a
         few loners now walk the streets of Thurdis, and the race
         has pretty much faded from the public mind, except as an
         idle curiousity. Those who know more of the events
         leading up to that day typically do not speak of it, for
         it is mixed up in large part with the present politics of
         Thurdis, never a pleasant subject. 
         

         


         

         Gnome Legends 

         

         Three
         Wishes 
         
In
         a small house in the middle of a dark, sprawling forest
         lived a poor woodsman.
         
He
         had a wife, six children, and a black cat with one eye
         who kept the rats and mice at bay. The children had to
         walk two hours to get to school. Beside the little house
         was a vegetable garden and even a little flower garden;
         in the barn were two skinny goats and a pig.
         
But
         the family could hardly manage on the meager earnings of
         a woodsman, even though the father left the house before
         dawn and arrived home--exhausted--long after sunset.
         Though they had plenty of firewood and a clear stream
         nearby, the wife often sighed to her husband:
         
"How
         can we possibly bring up all our children?" And the
         woodsman would shrug his shoulders and say he couldn't
         work any harder than he already did, and this was true.
         
One
         day as he was arriving home in the twilight he saw in the
         distance the cat leaving the woods with a rat in its
         mouth. But something was strange: the rat had no tail.
         Filled with curiosity, the woodsman approached the cat
         who was sitting under a bush. She hissed malevolently as
         he came closer, but the woodsman wasn't afraid. He
         grabbed the cat by the base of her tail with one hand and
         with the other pressed against her jaws until she opened
         her mouth and let the thing fall.
         
"Well,
         I'll be," said the woodsman. Because what he had
         picked up was not a rat, but a gnome woman. She was dead.
         
The
         woodsman had seen a gnome once, but never a female one.
         He took her inside and wiped away a few drops of blood on
         her cheeks and legs. His wife and children stroked the
         doll-like little being and laid her on the window seat in
         the living room while they ate their meal of potatoes and
         bacon fat in the kitchen. When they came back, the little
         gnome woman was gone.
         
"Maybe
         the cat has got her again," the wife said, but the
         cat still sat sulking under the bush outside, showing one
         angry eye. The family gave up searching and went to bed,
         as everyone had to be up early in the morning.
         
The
         woodsman woke up in the middle of the night. Something
         was tugging gently at his ear. Beside his head stood a
         gnome. "You saved my wife," he said. "What
         can I do to reward you? .... But she was dead, wasn't
         she?" the woodsman asked, sleepily. "She was
         only pretending to be dead. Luckily, she's still full of
         life oh, a scratch here, a few black-and-blue marks there--but
         she'll get over it. Just tell me what you want as a
         reward. Here is a little flute. When you blow on it, I'll
         return." And just like that--he disappeared!
         
The
         woodsman and his wife discussed the matter the rest of
         the night. They finally decided to ask if they might have
         three wishes, just as in the fairy tales.
         
The
         following evening the woodsman blew on the flute, and
         shortly thereafter the gnome appeared. "I'd like to
         have three wishes," said the woodsman, somewhat
         timidly, while his wife poked at the fire behind him.
         
The
         gnome looked a little glum but finally said: "Well,
         go on then--what is your first wish?" "I want a
         nugget of gold so I won't have money worries anymore."
         
The
         gnome shook his head. "You can have it, but gold
         seldom brings happiness."
         
"I
         don't care," said the woodsman. "And the other
         two wishes?" "We haven't decided yet."
         "Well, just blow on the flute when you want me
         again," said the gnome with a sigh.
         
Next
         morning, there on the front steps of the little house lay
         a gold nugget as big as an orange, sparkling in the sun.
         The woodsman grabbed it up and yelled, "We're rich,
         we're rich!" And then he carried the nugget to the
         village to exchange it for money. But no one in the
         village had ever seen a gold nugget before and no one
         knew what it was worth. The blacksmith advised the
         woodsman to take it to a jeweler in the city. The
         woodsman set off at once; but instead of going the long
         way he took a shortcut through the swamps that he
         remembered from the days of his youth. As he danced along
         the way, admiring his gold nugget, he slipped off the
         path and plunged into a quagmire and immediately began to
         sink. He tried to reach out for firm ground, but couldn't
         make it. In one hand he clutched the gold nugget, and
         with the other he struggled to get the flute out of his
         pocket so that he could signal the gnome. He was barely
         able to reach it and blow a shrill blast.
         
He
         had sunk up to his neck in mud when the gnome appeared.
         "Get me out of here," cried the woodsman.
         "That is your second wish," said the gnome. He
         then stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly--and
         in a few minutes he was surrounded by six other gnomes.
         Using their little axes, the gnomes chopped down a nearby
         tree so that it fell across the quagmire right next to
         the woodsman. He was able to hoist himself up onto it and
         get back to the path from which he had fallen. When he
         looked around, the gnomes had disappeared.
         
But
         still he had the gold nugget in his hand. He went on his
         way, muddy and shivering; eventually, his clothes dried
         and his courage returned. He found a jeweler in the city
         and entered his shop. The jeweler was a distinguished-looking
         man in a white smock; he wore gold-rimmed glasses:
         Frowning at the enormous nugget of gold and at the
         woodsman's bedraggled appearance, shop through the back
         door to notify the police. A half hour later the woodsman
         found himself in the police station.
         
"And
         now tell us where you stole this gold," said a fat
         police sergeant in a fatherly fashion. The commissioner
         of police asked the same question an hour later--but in a
         less fatherly fashion. "I didn't steal it,"
         cried the woodsman in despair, "I got it from a
         gnome." "Of course, from a gnome," said
         the commissioner, who had never seen a gnome---and would
         never, because he was such an unpleasant person. "Not
         even one grain of gold has ever been found in this
         country in a thousand years--but that doesn't occur to
         this gentleman, does it? Lock him up!"
         
During
         the days that followed, the woodsman was questioned again
         and again--and threatened with dire consequences if he
         did not reveal the source of the gold. Finally, he was
         examined by a doctor, but even he could cast no light on
         the matter except to report that the woodsman kept
         babbling away about gnomes.
         
None
         of these people had ever seen a gnome because they all
         had ugly souls. Meanwhile, the gold nugget was kept in
         the vault of the city council. After a week went by, the
         woodsman became so miserable that, one night, he blew the
         flute. After two hours, the gnome appeared. "My wife
         and children are starving," the woodsman said.
         "I want to get out."
         
"That
         is your third wish," replied the gnome, "but I
         have already taken care of your wife and children."
         The gnome went that same night to consult a lawyer in the
         city who had a house gnome. Next day, the lawyer visited
         the police and succeeded in having the woodsman freed,
         owing to lack of evidence. But the gold remained behind
         for safekeeping until its theft could be verified.
         
The
         woodsman gladly went back to his work. The forest had
         never seemed so spacious and free as it did after his
         stay in the stuffy cell in the city; he was happy and
         satisfied even though he often thought of the gold.
         
From
         that time on, things improved for him in all sorts of
         ways. First, a rich foreigner bought all the logs the
         woodsman had cut for twice the usual price. Next, the
         same man asked if the woodsman would become his overseer.
         
The
         happy woodsman was given a cheerful house at the edge of
         a village, and close to the school. He earned much more
         than before and his troubles were over. A few months
         later he came across the gnome in the woods. "And?"
         the gnome asked, "Have you got your gold back yet?"
         "Not yet," the woodsman said, "It seems to
         be a criminal act in this country to possess gold. But
         even without it, my troubles are over."
         
"So,
         there you are," the gnome said--and disappeared into
         the bushes.
         
Weeping
         Willow 
         
The
         old writer sensed that his death was approaching. He
         lived in Norway, in a low cabin with book-lined walls in
         the neighborhood of Lillehammer, beside a mountain slope.
         
Next
         to the window, overlooking the valley, was a large table
         bearing paper, magazines, volumes of verse, inkpots,
         pens, candles, and more books, carelessly stacked.
         
One
         evening, just at sunset, the writer left his bed and went
         to sit at the table. He looked out over the peaceful
         valley with its lake in the distance, and recalled how he
         had lived here quietly for many years, and thought of how
         many books he had written and that soon it would all be
         over. Suddenly, a gnome jumped onto the table, seated
         himself opposite the writer, and crossed his legs. The
         writer greeted him happily.
         
"Tell
         me another story," he asked the aged gnome, who was
         holding his silver watch against his ear. "I can't
         think of any more, I've become too old."
         
"I
         don't know any more," the gnome said. "You've
         already written all the stories about this country.
         You've become rich from them."
         
"Just
         tell me one more. My hands are so tired, I can hardly
         write anymore," sighed the writer. (Nevertheless he
         placed pencil and notebook within reach.)
         
"All
         right then," the gnome said. He changed his position
         and stared outside. "Do you see that big weeping
         willow in the distance at the edge of the lake? The ends
         of its branches always hang in the water. I'll tell you
         why. 
         
"Long
         ago, one dark night, mountain trolls switched their
         infant daughter with the daughter of a rich farmer,
         kidnapping her when everyone was asleep. Next day, the
         poor parents couldn't understand why their daughter's
         skin had suddenly become so dark or why her eyes looked
         like black currants. But deep in the forest the trolls
         exulted over the blue eyes, blond hair, and soft skin of
         the stolen child--and they performed a joyful, thumping
         dance in a circle.
         
"The
         troll child grew up to be a dark, wild tomboy and did
         only naughty and ugly things; she loved no one and no one
         loved her. One day she disappeared and was never seen
         again.
         
"But
         in the forest, the farmer's daughter became sweeter and
         lovelier every year despite all the crude and rough
         things she saw about her. When she was seventeen she was
         discovered by Olav, a strong farm laborer. (Olav slept
         below me in the stable of a farmhouse in the valley.) He
         was bringing in a few lost cows from the high mountain
         meadow for the winter when he saw the farmer's daughter.
         She was sweeping the ground in front of the troll cave
         under the watchful eyes of the old troll mother. It was
         dusk, but Olav thought he had never seen anything so fair
         and beautiful. He immediately fell in love. As he
         attempted to approach, the troll mother pulled the girl
         inside and locked the door.
         
"Back
         in the stable, Olav asked if I would help him, and we set
         off that same night. Reaching the troll hill, we saw a
         stream flowing from it. (Water flows through the middle
         of every troll hill; they use it for drinking.) Using a
         divining rod, I found the spring on the other side of the
         hill from which the water flowed. We dug a hole, and when
         we reached water, Olav put me into a wooden shoe and I
         floated into the stuffy troll cave.
         
"I
         hid myself and the wooden shoe in a dark corner of the
         cave and waited until the trolls left to perform their
         nightly crimes in the forest. Before leaving they shut
         the girl in a side alcove and finally locked the main
         door behind them. Only the girl and I remained in the
         somber, stinking lair. As soon as it was safe, I released
         the girl and said to her: 'You're not a troll girl!
         Outside there's someone who will suit you much better
         than a troll.
         
"She
         looked quite astonished and hesitated, but finally came
         along with me. Outside she saw the blond giant of a man
         Olav; at once she fell in love with him, as he had with
         her.
         
"The
         three of us ran for home. But we were still deep in the
         forest, and before we could make our getaway the trolls
         learned that we had stolen their prize. They caught up
         with us, beat Olav until he was black and blue, and took
         the girl back. I couldn't do a thing.
         
"A
         week later, we tried again. This time Olav took along a
         horse that he had borrowed from the farmer he worked for.
         For the second time, I drifted along on the underground
         stream into the trolls' domain. But this time the trolls
         had left their old mother to stand guard. When the old
         mother troll turned away from a bowl of porridge she was
         making, I quickly tossed a good dash of sleeping potion
         into it. Ten minutes later she was snoring away". (I
         had signaled the girl not to eat the porridge.) 
         
"Again
         the three of us raced through the forest for home. It was
         much quicker this time, on a horse. But in spite of it,
         the trolls caught up with us, just as we were almost out
         of the forest. Again they beat Olav until he was half
         dead, then took the girl back with them--and the horse,
         too, of course. There was nothing we could do; no matter
         how strong Olav was, the trolls were stronger.
         
"Three
         weeks later it snowed. This time I managed to get two
         reindeer to help us. In the trolls' cave I had to wait
         half the night, because not only was the troll mother on
         the lookout but the troll father as well! Eventually I
         was at able to sneak enough sleeping potion into their
         porridge to put them fast asleep.
         
"The
         reindeer transported us quickly on a small sleigh along
         little-known paths in the direction of the lake. The
         trolls pursued us, but in the snowstorm we were lucky
         enough to reach the edge of the lake. I knew where alt
         old fishing boat was moored and we got to it quickly. We
         cut the sleigh loose, thanked the reindeer, and sent them
         back to their herd. The lake was still not entirely
         frozen. Olav and the girl climbed aboard the boat and
         began rowing; I skied homeward along the bank of the lake.
         Nothing could happen to me. Trolls have no power over us
         once they leave their cave. It was almost sunrise. The
         last snowflakes fell; the sky opened up and, in the east,
         took on a yellow and red hue.
         
"When
         the boat was already a good distance across the lake, the
         trolls finally reached the dock. They ranted and raved,
         but Olav rowed with big strokes toward the other side,
         and the trolls couldn't reach them. The trolls didn't
         have much time left: when the sun shines on them, they
         turn to stone. Suddenly, the strongest troll seized a
         gigantic boulder and hurled it at the fleeing pair. The
         boulder did not hit the boat, but it fell so close to it
         that the boat capsized. The suction dragged the girl down
         to the depths of the lake and she drowned. For hours,
         Olav dived in search of her, but he had no luck. Deeply
         depressed, he finally swam to the bank of the lake.
         
"After
         this, Olav was inconsolable. Every day he went to the
         edge of the lake and stood in one spot, staring at the
         water. He never looked at another girl. And when he
         became so old that he couldn't work any more, he
         continued to return daily to the same spot. In the end,
         he stood there the whole day long. Branches grew out of
         his head and roots from his feet. And then he stood there
         forever. He is that weeping willow you see there at the
         lake's edge. Even now its branches feel about in the
         water in an attempt to find the drowned girl."
         
The
         gnome looked around. The old writer had grown still. His
         snow-white head lay upon the notebook on the table. He
         was dead. The gnome smiled and went over to him. He
         closed the writer's eyes and read what was on the paper.
         The last words were, "And then he stood there
         forever."
         
And
         the gnome pulled the notebook out from under the dead
         writer' s head, carefully loosened the pencil from his
         stiff fingers, and wrote the remaining sentences of the
         story.
         
     

Contact Tyranthraxus at gorboy@yahoo.com

PLAYER 6 - Alodar the Apprentice

No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

Contact Alodar the Apprentice at rwikman@ra.abo.fi

PLAYER 7 - Hazaar

No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

Contact Hazaar at jhenson@calpoly.edu

PLAYER 8 - Shuri the huntress

She shivered. Damn, was that cold...and there was no light at all. She
hadn't expected this. She had expected the normal
procedure after one of her escapes...a cell flooded with light, cold,
white light, but nevertheless the temperature was normally
acceptable...not that icy, not that cold that she felt her breath
freezing just when it left her lips. She carefully moved her stiff
fingers,
then tried to hug herself.
She had lifted her arms half way to her chest, when she suddenly
remained paralysed. What was that?
Not even the leather bracelets were there which normally tied her to the
hard couch covered with a plastic cloth. She continued
moving and touched her chest. There wasn't the thick stuffed leather
bond either. And no simple cotton shirt which hardly covered
her knees but...fur, thick velvet-like fur. She caressed it in amazement
and wondered what new sort of therapy this might be. She
sat up and started to explore her surroundings. She was was completely
dressed in fur, a fur blanket had been lying over her body
while she was unconcious, but had slipped down to the floor. Below her
was fur laying on something hard. She pushed the fur
away and touched ice. She stood up and hit her head on a low curbed
ceiling of ice. What was that? She suddenly had an image
in her head...an image from her geography school book. A small smiling
boy dressed like she supposed she was dressed now
including a white fur hood and a harpoon with a pierced fish on its top
was standing near a half-sphere all made of blocks of
ice...an iglo!
Instead of feeling relief about what she had found out, she suddenly
panicked. She searched the ceiling, the wall, the floor hastiliy,
looked for something warm, something bright, something unlike ice or
fur. She several times hit her tibia on sort of low platform of
ice, but all she could find, her hands already numb and her eyelids
crusted with the cristallized moisture of her hasty breath, were
some slightly flexible sticks of skin or ...was it dried meat? It
reminded her the artificial bones of buffalo skin she had bought once
for her Staffordshire Terrier to strengthen his jaws. She let herself
fall down on the next pile of fur on one the platforms of ice
wearily and sobbed deaply once or twice. Then she bit in the stick of
dried meat ferociously, and tried to tear off one piece of it
with clenched teeth. She chewed it mechanically, thoughtfully, and
slowly warmth began to spread through her body and she
suddenly felt all at ease and completely calm. She closed her eyes which
had been staring in the darkness in the hope to find a
spark of light somewhere without success. She tried to imagine the soft
light of a candle, of natural light, something fitting to this
place of simplicity and crudeness and suddenly felt something in the
dark catching her attention. She didn't open her eyes and
concentrated and suddenly hear a gentle *swiff*, the sound of a candle
enlighted. Through her eyelids it suddenly shimmered
orange and she opened her eyes in mystification. A tallow-candle was
standing there on a block of ice and for the first time she
was able to see her surroundings.

*to be continued*

Contact Shuri the huntress at ahellerkemp@topmail.de

PLAYER 9 - Barca Blackheart

                             The Story of Barca Blackheart

              -- He who trencends the gods and death

                   "A wretched fool bared his pitiable soul."

                     &nb sp;                   &nb sp;           -- Mahalton Chronical

                    "Good replacement for sleeping pills."

                     &nb sp;                   &nb sp;           -- Cirka Herald

                    "Alustria Times Top 20 Worst Sellers."

                     &nb sp;                   &nb sp;           -- Alustria Times

                    "Nothing is below me to fetch a few extra

                     coins."                      -- Barca Blackheart

                    And here the story goes:

                    &n bsp;                   &n bsp;                   &n bsp;                   &n bsp;           

In the castle of High Alfax, from the top of the Green Tower, Wizard Barca Blackheart looked down at the town. This had been his favorite place for a rest, where the entire town was under his eyes. Many a time had he been standing here, surveying his vast holdings and dreaming even grander dreams. But now Barca looked down in despair, with enemy soldiers streaming through the castle gate and flying over the wall, and his few loyal guards remaining cut down like weeds. He knew it was over. The land of his ancestors, the land he spent so much to regain, the land that would have been the step stone to rule Mahalton and to rule the world, was now lost. The game was over, and his life forfeited. Barca raised his head, and a terrible cry escaped his  lips. That was the cry of a wounded wolf, sadness, anger, and hate all mixed in one. It was so terrible that for a moment, the attacking troops stopped in their tracks. 

Barca quickly decended the tower stairs and reached his study. With a stroke of hand, he removed the magical ward cast upon a small chest, and fetched a read orb from inside. The time had come, and Barca still had one more trick to play. This orb he had obtained from a crypt in a remote island. It was a powerful artiface, and  even a simple apprentice can detect the powerful magical aura emanating from it. Although Barca had not had enough time studying it, he knew it was a relic from a powerful lich in the past, something that drew energy from life to keep Death itself at bay. Barca had been to weary of its unworldly power to invoke it in the past, but now it was time to put the orb to use, for soon there would be no time for him.  

In the Hall way of the tower, Barca Blackheart held the orb high, and laughed hysterically. "A great wizard won't die easily," he muttered, "those of you who defy me, and those of you who have failed me, you will not get away with it!" Madly he uttered the fateful words, and a tremendous explosion rocked the entire island of Mahalton. On that day, not a single soul was left breathing. The attackers, defender, peasants, and even the animals, all their life energy were drained away. It was hundreds of years later when the first living creature dared to touch this land again. And it was rumored that the wisest sage of the era had said that Wizard Barca's spirit was still free, but was merely banished to the plane of         nothingness. Strengthened by all the life energy of the dead, he might yet one day break into Alustria and wreck great havoc again....                  &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                

=====================

For eons Barca's spirit floated in the nothingness, oblivious of the time and surroundings, not that there was much to sense. Save for the few greater daemons and devils that passed occassionally passed through this land, this was the place of ultimate emptiness. As for those erstwhile passers-by, Barca's remaining consciousness knew better than to approach. To him, this state of being was a greater torment of death, for a great wizard's mind craves for knowledge and power, of which there was none.  It might have been better for him to have just died, yet the power infused by the cursed orb bound his essence together and kept it away from the grasp of Death. Thus Barca was doomed in this living hell, until one day there was a vague calling that drew Barca's attention.......

The call grew louder and louder, and Barca could tell this was from a summoning spell, and of the more powerful sort. The calling itself seemed to be drawn to creatures of power, and now it danced around Barca and tried to subdue his well. Being what he was, he easily shrugged off the attempt. Then he noticed that the curtain between the planes had been opened by the spell. At long last, there was a chance to leave this cursed place, and Barca lept for it.                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;           

=====================
Deep in the tunnels under the land of Alustria, in the dark elven town of Kyseri, Amaritsu chanted with great dread of anticipation. The matriarch of the dreaded House of Bloodrider and the High Priestess of Lloth, Amaritsu had wielded the real power in Kyseri for centuries. But now her house had been greatly weakened. Her two sons had died in an unfortunate adventure on the surface land, and her favorite daughter and heir, had just been murdered outside the great Temple of Lloth, no doubt by one of the rival houses in town. Over the years Amaritsu had made many enemies, and should she fall, not only the ascendency of her house would go away, but also the House itself.                    ;         

But Amaritsu had one last weapon, the spell of the Divine Chant. Her teacher and mother had told her that the powerful spell was bequeathed by Lloth herself, and unlikely normal summoning spells, reached beyond the outer planes and drew creatures with immense power. It was said that even the demi-gods might still be bound by the spell. All it required was the iron will of the caster. It was Amaritsu's great grand mother who last invoked this spell, and layed down the foundation of her House's ascendency for a millenium. Now Amaritsu had no choice but to cast herself. What would answer her call?

                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;               

Amaritsu suddenly began to feel that something was pulling her, as if her chanting was a thread and someone, or maybe something had grabbed it. The power of the thing on the other end was great, but it did not pull against her. The one other end seemed so eager to come that it pulled to get itself faster. This was so different from the normal summoning spells. Amaritsu smiled triumphantly. She had got a powerful weapon.       

=====================

                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   

Suddenly something stopped in front of Amaritsu. She could not see anything, but she could feel that something was looming before her, and a silent voice rang in her mind. "Of all the world in the Multiverse, I am back in the Alustria again. What a coincidence! And this little worm, I ought to thank her for bringing me back. Though I'm sure she'd prefer not to get my thanks. Hehehe". Suddenly unnerved by the ominous voice, Amaritsu drew a deep breath and raised her holy symbol high. "In name of Lloth, I command you to obey!"

                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;       

"Lloth holds no power over me, Worm!", was the last words Amaritsu heard. The invisible being grabbed her, surrounded her, and squeezed into her mind. Her chanting stopped, her holy symbol dimmed, and at last a long shrill cry pierced through the quietness of the night. Thus the banished soul of Barca Blackheart returned to Alustria, and was ready to renew his failed struggle.

                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;               

Wizards of Alustria, beware!!!                 &n bsp;                   &n bsp;                   &n bsp;    

                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;                   &nb sp;   

Contact Barca Blackheart at weimin.yu@streaming21.com

PLAYER 10 - The Left Hand

No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

Contact The Left Hand at mminar@en.com

PLAYER 11 - Anthalion

No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

Contact Anthalion at Anthalion@geekmail.de

PLAYER 12 - Der Schlachter

   
   
   
   


 


Once upon a time the
Plainsmen lived and prospered
on the islands of Alustria.There were many tribes
living in peace and harmony
with both animals and nature. They were said to be
friends to all other
races living on Alustria and were therefore not
prepaired when the evil
wizard Caizarius began to conquer the world. Never
having had evil or agressive
thoughts they were in the beginning taken totally by
surprise, when they
wanted to greet the envoy of Caizarius on their nice
blooming plains but
instead were slaughtoured by his minions. Most of the
tribes realised their
mistake much too late seeing with their last breath
their children beeing
killed, their wifes beeing raped and their property
beeing burned. Only
one tribe managed to survive but had changed upon
these dire things they
had to go through. Though they had grown strong they
are now much more
realistic with the other people in the world. Now they
choose their friends
with care, always keeping in mind how evil people can
be. But on the other
hand those who show theirselfs as beeing true and good
friends to them
they will defend by their own lives.  

Many years have passed since
the downfall of Caizarius
and many things have changed upon Alustria even the
plainsmen. Though they
have not forgotten the peril they had to go through
because of the evil
minions they have not jet chosen their attitude
towards druidic or evil.
They only know they will become strong again upon
Alustria. There is a
new strong leader who will guide the plainsmen back to
were they belong:
To be the keeper of harmony and peace under their
strong hands ruling the
world wisely. 

I, Der Schlachter,
leader of the Plainsmen, offer my true friendship to
all, but be aware:
those who show treachery to me or my allies will curse
the day they did.
I will not live on without taking deadly revenge. But
keep in mind, we
are no agressive people we just have learned out of
history and will not
let history been repeated. So we hope we can live in
peace with our neighbours
profiting from each other and throwing back the troops
of our enemies.  

To your
honor,  

Der
Schlachter


 

Contact Der Schlachter at martin_both@yahoo.com

PLAYER 13 - Azant

No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

Contact Azant at asam@pvnet.com.mx

PLAYER 14 - Abdul Alhazred

No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

Contact Abdul Alhazred at jeffrey@panehal.com

PLAYER 15 - Aria

No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

Contact Aria at aria4447@aol.com

PLAYER 16 - Marcil van Dramo

No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

Contact Marcil van Dramo at jones.hb5@mail.utexas.edu

PLAYER 17 - Krakatau

On a volcano on Alustria... So I am here now, in a new world full of virgin souls, sitting on my volcano and waiting for my followers. I suppose soon masses will arrive here, dreaming to kneel in front of me and become chosen. Yes, I will choose people, but only those who believe I am their master, all others are too stupid to see the truth. I dislike stupid people, they are good for nothing, well, I always need volunteers that participate in my newest research. Ah, yes, I like it here, not too cold and always enough beauties around me to ensure my comfort when I am tired and I have to stop thinking for a while. I defintely like, too, that I have vast amounts and varieties of poisons for my disposal. I am still waiting for someone to try it on though, I am curious if the toxins will amplify their effect, well, otherwise I will double the dose. Still, not a lot is going on at the moment and I have lots of time that I spend by myself, well, I would not have the time to write these lines into my diary otherwise. These Elves are quite amazing people. They seem to be very talented to follow me. Somehow they are able to pick up my wisdom rapidly. May be the humidity enhances my aura, well, I donīt care as long as it works so smoothly. Yesterday I had my up to now most susceptible visitor of my followers. It will be a nice task to write that conversation down here... Right after my night meditation I returned into this world from a long and exciting journey. My higher self has some incarnations somewhere else, too...ok, may be I should stick to the story for a while....with my mind becoming focused again I spoke: "Ooh... diversion...aah... ooh... no, no... don't be shy mortal soul... come closer and let me... eh... measure you... there is always a use for one who enters my domain... it may stand against what you had in mind though... ooh... what a brave little soul... well, so what will it be... are you here to bore me?" "Master, Lord, Ruler.....torture me, when I have used any of your attention against your will..." "You fool... against my will... ha... who are you, that you think I couldnīt ignore you?" When I noticed him, he couldnīt look into my eyes....well, I know they appear a little strange for mortals...now he couldnīt even stand my presence and started to shiver... "eehhm... to your service, master, always to your service. I only came to get your advice. I feel different since you taught me to look deep into myself. I wanted to know if I am on the right track." "Better come to the point soon then... empty your soul..." "The glowing inside. It is all I can think about. So longing. It never stops. Forcing me to advance the plot. No escape. I am tired. Tired of waiting for its next strike and tired of having to strike again. And again. I am obsessed. I feel as if I have lost my mind. But the more I loose it, the more I am focused. No sense in it. No sense in me. Not before, not while, not after." "aah... you make progress...wait until you hurl you abilties against humans instead of ants. The energy that you can gain there is... well, one day you will see... When I hurl my spells, I am sucking every ounze of life into me. No way to hold it back. And still, I feel emptier than ever. Longing for even more. I am numb then. Except for this glowing. Always growing. You know I am dead, do you?. Any other part in me long dead. I am a puppet. Always playing the same plot. Ever more passionate. Endless. There was a time when I thought passion is the key for more. I thought passion is the way to live. Obsession. Believe. All leading to more. I have more now. More then enough. And still I cannot stop. More. I stopped thinking about how far it will advance long ago. It will go on. On and on. Unimaginable. One cannot grasp it. Go now and leave me alone" At the same time near the capital... The sound of the drums faded periodically with the wind.. Caressing the dry grass on the soft slope it brought the warmer air of the south. A sign that the rainy season of winter was almost over and spring would soon arrive. The red moon had appeared on the horizon some minutes ago, a colorful contrast to the late evening gray of the plains close to his home, the Yzaldra Forests. It reminded him of the warm ember in the fire place that waited for him in the suite in his castle. However, this event also brought up serious doubts about the future for his Elves The hierophants told him several times about the bad signs they had found. Good that he had studied a lot to prepare for any future desaster. He had tried to raise his magic intellect, so it would be easier for him to learn spells than before. The future will tell, if it will fruit. He also had thought out a plan to enhance the defense of the capital. A moat will be very important to keep any floods out. He also had developed plans for offensive tactics that he hoped to surprise any new oponent with. The breeze became chilly over a sudden as if to underline the cold thoughts. Krakatau wasn't the most practical person, mostly he relied on his fantasy and intuition. He felt much more comfortable when he was dreaming about new things, when his mind was captured by images of a bright future and sorrowless days. He had often walked across the plains for days when he was young. He enjoyed the freedom out there. No visual border as far as the eye can see. That was good for his beloved activity...dreaming. All the more he was proud of himself with all the care that he was able to show for the future safety of his people. His intuition had prooven to be the right thing in good times. He was able to motivate the people with his open-mindedness, his fantasies. He will need that abilty even more in the future. With that thought Krakatau turned his head and looked back to the feast. The Elves were celebrating the end of winter. The dances would go on until dawn. He refused to think as far as the next winter. He took a deep breath and loked again at the moon which had gained more color as it ascended while he was buisy with his reflections. Usually he was filled with romantic pictures when he saw this, but the now more orange only reminded him again of the words of the hierophants. They had been too urging today. Well, for now he had done all he could do. More decisions would be necessary later on. He will then also have to make a very important choice. Should he fight evil with evil or should he rely on the forces of nature itself to be safe. Too big a question to be solved tonight, he told himself. With this decision he could wait yet. First thing would be to find other leaders he could count on. He would send some of his scouts out this very month. He hoped they would bring good knews. Until then he couldn't do much more than wait and organize the local problems. Tomorrow is another day, he thought. His mind became tired. He rather spent the rest of his energy with more pleasant things. He wanted to enjoy this night The Soulripping red eyes gazing after them tracking them within cold rays burning through them and their soul so thin is left opaque and black roaring voice calling after them rising very loud strong waves breaking through them and words they try to shout are stucking in their neck nightmares running through their mind sneaking to their core their faith leaving them behind and all that were before are turned into a wreck The Temple of Krakatau Everyone in Yzaldra has to obey the divine laws. Using these ancient rules is a way to gain power over the living. Any dependence outside will chain your power within you. Complete disobedience of the divine laws forces the master into slavery. the law of balance - if you pull, you will be pushed. If you flee, you will be hunted. Only if you are centered you can observe and truely decide upon your action. the law of choices - if you do not choose, you will stand still. If you choose, stay commited until you choose to quit. There is no other force but your decision, that keeps you on your way. the law of process - if you step ahead, you leave behind. Every distance is covered by a chain of steps, the first and the last carrying you equally far. the law of presence - if you live in your past, you will never leave. If you live in your future, you will never arrive. Only in the presence you can truely take a step forward. the law of compassion - if you judge, you will be judged. Only the love for the whole will make you step beyond your horizon. the law of faith - if you deny your faith you close yourself. If you accept your faith, you open up and progress consciously. the law of expectation - if you think you will fail, you will not arrive. Your way of thinking will determine the outcome of your action. the law of integrity - if you betray the laws, it will be ten times more difficult to come to the same point in your journey of life. the law of action - if you want to enjoy the summit, you need to make the climb. It's better to do what is best than not to do and have a good excuse. the law of cycles - if you want to build something everlasting, you will fail. Only when you change you will grow. Everything that you seed has to be harvested. the law of surrender - if you accept your challenge, you will find a way through. You first have to surrender in order to truely understand. It is the basis of every evolution. the law of unity - if you act as if you are alone, you will be disconnected. You are connected to everything and all is a part of you. If you love the world, you will find love for yourself. Dear wizard, as you are now more familiar with our people and our leader Krakatau, you might want to contact us. May it be for help, support, questions or mere love for writing, you are welcome to send back one of our pigeons that we have supplied to you for your convinience. Just stick the letter that you insert on the pergament below to the back of the pigeon. There should be a small leather pocket that is attached to the animals body. Our pigeons are well trained and should find their way back to the plains. Too bad they cannot talk, as it would make the exploration of our surroundings to get a map unnecesssary. We hope to receive news from you soon... Player number: Wizards name: Greetings Wizard, to send a message to me just remove this text and type in your own words. When you are finished with your letter, click on the 'Let the pigeon fly' button and your message will reach me. Respectfully, Krakatau. P.S.: Not all browsers support this feature...

Contact Krakatau at Wolfgang.Kirsch@urz.uni-heidelberg.de

PLAYER 18 - Shrike

No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

Contact Shrike at creggec@telusplanet.net

PLAYER 19 - Lecostarius

   
   
   
   




Greetings, my fellow wizards! Greetings, my future friends!
I am so glad to see you here, so glad to meet some of you again that I
have already met in other worlds. So much time has passed... and so
important
things have changed, mostly in my formerly misled mind. I have to tell
you, dear friends, I must!
So, first of all, you that know me as a man-eater, those that call me

'the butcher', and also those of you that liked to call me the 'Black
Master',
relax. This era is over. I changed myself, I changed myself completely.
Not only do I now know that love is the most important thing in the
whole universe. I do also know that Dark is the path that leadeth astray

those who seeketh the love, the eternal light, happiness and merriment.
Only the path of peace and earth and water is the one that gives us
human
beings the nobility that we are born for. And it is this peace and love
and eternal wisdom that I am seeking for. I am more than ready, I am
eager
to share this experience with you, my dear friends in this world.
But the most important news I have for you is the prophecy.
The prophecy
came to me the first night I slept in my new room in this new, so far
unknown
world. In my dreams, a huge, friendly face of an old man, with beard and

white hair, appeared. His eyes were full of love and caring. His face
was
full of wisdom. And here are the words he spoke, my fellow
wizards:
Let it be known to you, Lecostarius of the
Highlanders, that this world is a peaceful world. The future will bear
no more wars, no more strife, no more distrust, no more fighting. The
evil
wizard Caizarius will soon die by the hand of one of his apprentices.
There
is no need to prepare for war, and you, my dear Lecostarius, you are the

Messenger who shall bring my prophecy of peace onto the world. You are
peaceful and wise. I trust you. Don't fail me.
Then I woke up, and now I know my destiny. I shall carry the message
of peace over the world!
So please, put away your fears, fellow wizards! Trust me, ally with
me, tell me your secrets as I will ponder about them in my mind and as
I am a true friend of you, and I have contact to the higher beings of
this
world, I will be able to find a solution for your problems. There is no
need to muster troops for your defense, no need to study the magic arts
that give you nothing but some useless war spells, since this world is
one of happiness and joy - you know it from the prophecy
and besides of that I can sense this

with every little bit of myself! Rather, sit back and relax, enjoy the
warmth of the sun, think about the mystery of life and love, and wait
until
my, er, messengers come that will deliver a special message from me,
your
friend Lecostarius of the Highlanders!
So please, rush to your scribes, and ask them to write me letters of
peace. I promise that not one call will remain unheard!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Contact Lecostarius at tkemp@t-online.de

PLAYER 20 - Tigleth_Pilisar

No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

Contact Tigleth_Pilisar at tigleth.pilisar@home.com

Off to WOW Game Status Page.