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Contact Gazskul Th'rak at bill0814@msn.com
The ogre king applauded enthusiastically as the 842nd game of 'Squabball' came to it's dramatic close. The game was a hard fought draw, each of the four ogre teams managing to secure at least one limb of the unfortunate underling before it expired. Never mind that all games of 'Squabball' seemed to end in this way, the ogre spectators found it funny, and none more so than the king. There had been that episode during the 46th season when the appearance of one of the Lich Kings had caused such a distraction that the underling actually managed to escape. But the squab had soon been recaptured and the game brought to a formal close in front of it's illustrious audience. As the debris of the game was cleared away a small horde of underlings entered the audience chamber with new furniture. One of their number, a small goblinoid, was thrust trembling towards the king. It was this individuals unfortunate, and ultimately final, task to inform the king of the costs of refurbishing the audience chamber. The goblin was halfway through his accounting, a long and tedious list of materials, craftsmans fees, and miscellaneous expenses (each goblin accountant had a dream of boring the king to sleep, and then hopefully escaping with their lives). He took a breath and began on the repair costs for the stone pillars that formed an avenue down the centre of the hall (well the proper term is, used to form an avenue, they now formed a series of rock piles scattered around the floor whilst the roof creaked alarmingly). As the goblin began speaking again the king suddenly stood up, clutched his head and collapsed. For a few seconds the goblin accountant believed that he had finally fulfilled the prophesy that one would come who would bore the king to death. Sadly it was not to be, after a few seconds the kings body stirred, let out a long drawn out groan and shakily got to its feet. The king sank back onto the throne, shook his head for a couple of minutes and blearily looked around. (1) 'Oh gods, Ogres! What am I supposed to do with Ogres?' The goblin accountant had many thoughts regarding a suitable answer, most involving long drawn out death with much suffering. Happily for him, he managed to avoid vocalising any of them. The king shook his head again, and regarded the goblin with a bit more focus. 'OK, from now on you call me Yarl. It's time to bring some order to this place and not sit around playing games. Give me a rundown of our situation.' All in the hall, Ogre and underling alike just stood and stared. This was the longest sentence ever spoken by an Ogre in all known history. The goblin managed to find his wits and began his report again, he was going to live! (2) .....the mobilisation had started. (Note 1: It is a well known fact the humans use less than 25% of their brain capacity. For Ogres this value is approximately 0.25%. Hence when Yarl possessed the Ogre king it took a lot longer than normal to locate the brains normal occupant for elimination.) (Note 2: Sadly, a piece of ornate stonework from the ceiling fell on the unfortunate goblin just as he was about to leave the throneroom. Goblins are now sharply divided along theological grounds as to whether or not he managed to fulfil the prophesy of 'he who will survive the accounting')
Contact Yarl at 113673.3221@compuserve.com
*grumble* Yet another cloning loop seems to have taken effect, and this world
feels really extremely familiar - I get much more than a deja vu feeling from
these vibrations, so I guess quite a few of my earlier clones must have been
incarnated in these surroundings before...
Well, as my grandmother said ("my" is maybe the wrong word - the grandmother of
the original uncloned Alodar is a more technically correct term, I reckon...):
"Remember this, grandchildren, it is not safe to fiddle with a clone self spell
even when it is safe to do so!" She had had quite some experience with the
spell herself, and still it went wrong one day, so she spent her last years
surrounded by an everincreasing number of copies of her pet cat which was
called something like "Garvin the Field Goal" - just imagine approximately
1764 copies of the most accident-prone cat I ("I" ?) ever knew bumbling
around the house of an old wizard woman... Eventually one of those bumbling
accidents bumbled some highly potent potion into her evening cup of tea, and
that was the last we ever heard of her... Not that that last sound wasn't quite
impressive - when we examined the crater afterwards we could find no traces of
either the one grandmother or the approximately 1764 cat copies, or should I
maybe say copycats *chuckle* Anyway, rumor has it that one of those cats later
reappeared on a world called Tellus almost intact, except for having lost some
letters in its name - yes, it must have been quite a potent potion indeed...
Very sad indeed, before the copycat accident she made the most delicious
strawberry cakes I - or any of my clonecarnations, I daresay - can remember...
-LOOK, FELLAZ, THEREZ A HUMAN WE CAN PRACTIZE OUR TORTURE SKILLS ON - LETS GO
GET HIM!!
Drat, I'm getting soft and/or old and still this clonecarnation is less than
42 seconds old so that should hardly be called old in the first place - nor
even in the 42nd place... "Always keep one eye on the surroundings lest you
wake up and find yourself in deep trouble" as my grandfather used to say - but
for some reason he never said it when grandmother was near... Those annoying
smelly things most definitely look like Crynnian orcs - fortunately their
sneaking_up_on_you_unnoticed-abilities are about the same class as Garvin's the
Field Goal so I have plenty of time [4.2 seconds from now to be exact] to deal
with this emergency - a nice little spell should do ... ZAP !!!!!
-LEARN THIS LESSON, YOU STUPID CRYNNIAN ORCS - NO ONE MESSES WITH ALODAR THE
APPRENTICE UNPUNISHED! NOW YOU HAVE TWO CHOICES - WALK AROUND THE REST OF YOUR
LIVES AS PATHETIC COPIES OF THE MOST ACCIDENT-PRONE CAT I'VE EVER KNOWN, OR
PROMISE TO WORSHIP ME AS YOUR LEADER, AND I JUST MIGHT CONSIDER CHANGING YOU
BACK INTO ORCS AGAIN [though minus the smell, if I have any say about it...]
-Meow, MEOWW, ***MMMEEEOOOWWW!!!***
-OK then, but you'd better remember your promise or I'll turn you into
something much much worse than bumbling cats - into KIND AND GENTLE HUMANS,
so BEHAVE YOURSELVES, or else...
-Pleez, mighty wizard, not kind humanz, no... We'll be nice orks and worship
you az our leader, yez we will...
-OK, you ignorant orcs, now you see what happens when you try to mess with
Alodar the cloned Apprentice when he is in a good mood! Now tell me everything
about this world, and on the double... ehh, SHORT AND FAST ! And I sort of
have a premonition that in your capital you just happen to have an empty
chair of wizardry waiting for me...
-You mighty wizard indeed, you know that already? Yez, our last wizard got
eaten by a lich, when he made a miztake in a controlling spell...
-I am the right man to fill in that chair indeed - I never make mistakes!
[Except when I do, but that is beside the point...] Now fill me in on all the
details of this world while we walk towards your capital...
{Somewhat later - well, to be perfectly honest "somewhat" later would be a more
apt description of the time passed...}
-Thank you for the briefing, fellaz! So let's see if I got it right - this
world is called Crynn, it is set in a universe called War of Wizards, and this
is the orc province called Drakilak?! And this miserable collection of huts
and hovels is your "capital" Drakilak [though calling this a "capital" is an
offense worthy of capital punishment, I'd venture...]
-Yez, mighty wizard, that iz correct!
-OK fellaz - dismissed! Go tell your fellow orcs that Alodar the Apprentice now
occupies your chair of wizardry - and in case some of them don't like the idea
of having a human wizard tell them that unless y'all obey me unquestioningly
I will turn you into the gentlest, kindest, nicest humans there ever
existed...
-Mighty wizard, we PROMIZE !! We do ANYTHING to not be made human...
So this is their magic college - quite a sizable building taking into account
the *chuckle* "size" of their brains... Hmm, figure that when working with
these guys I have to rely on quantity rather than quality *sigh*... Seems I've
gotten into quite a few of these spots lately, I wonder why... Well, all races
have some redeeming qualities, I figure - and I've heard that orc manure make
excellent fertilizer; we could maybe use that in the underground caverns to
improve our food output...
Well, never mind, here we seem to have the library... Now where do I start -
ahh, this title looks promising:
"A Short Introduction to the Foundations of Crynn Magick".
"A short introduction" - that sounds good! I like them short and snappy - wait,
what says the fine print...
"Volume I of XLII"...
*grRr* Looks like this is going to be a long session... Seems I am haunted by
that number, and it is not even the number of the beast - though the number of
beasts around here is pretty darn high as it is...
Contact Alodar the Apprentice at rwikman@ra.abo.fi
The dawn of a new era came with the sunrise in the Lizard nation. The
horns sounded for the people to gather at the tower of the wizard
fluffy. Idle gossip was plentiful in the crowd as the wizard stepped
forth.....
"My people, the time has come for us to reach out in the world and
fulfill our destiny. We can no longer stay confined to our small
lands. We must move forward. I have called our army together and have
ordered they move out in the morning.
Our enemies shall learn why they fear the night. They shall all drown
in lakes of blood. Our armies of god shall kill every living thing on
this world and we shall have the wizards fleeing for
their very lives.
I shall lead you on our dark path to crucify leaders before their own
people. We shall either be victorious or we shall die trying. I have
initiated a policy to insure that our nation will not fall aside in
history like so many other nations that have vanished and their people
forgotten in history.
With our allies we shall make the world tremble. I shall bring you
untold riches from new lands and make our people once again the feared
fighters our ancestors were of old."
The people cheered as the wizard walked among the crowd and was
with his people. For the wizard realized that oly through his people
can any leader truely achieve success.
If god be for us then who could stand against us...
Fluffy the Wizard
Contact Fluffy at promimity@va.prestige.net
Contact Naentoth |
Contact Naentoth at jbusby@engin.umich.edu
THE 'RULES' OF THE GAME --------------------------------------------------------------------------- What is the Quickening? An Immortal can only be killed by beheading. When an Immortal is killed, the Immortal who killed him receives his power and his essence through a mystical process known as "The Quickening." The power of the Quickening is the equivalent to a major electrical storm hitting. It has been made clear that the Quickening is viewed more as a substance than an action that occurs, that all Immortals have it and that they want the Quickening of the others. When an Immortal dies it is transferred to the victor. It also appears to give them a connection with other Immortals, in that they can sense when another is near or to even "push" with it to affect others. the Quickening relates to all life on our planet: it is not only in Immortals, but in everything from plant life to humans - and in fact the planet itself. It can be seen by anyone with enough patience and peace of mind, and a serene setting out in nature. The first step is to find a location that has a clear, wide view of the sky on a nice clear day. Lay on your back or sit up (whichever is more comfortable) and choose a spot of the sky you are going to stare at. It is highly necessary that there are no man made objects in your field of view - they tend to stick out too much. Once you are comfortable, simply empty your mind of all thoughts, turn off that infernal internal dialog that we have running at all times. After just a brief time, you will start to see squiggles in the sky - they look like little electrons that come into existence for a brief second, do a quick dance, then disappear. The whole sky will be filled with these squiggles, creating a field that overlays all that you see. If you have the strength to remain peaceful, the field will soon be all that you can see - the squiggles become bright energy while the background goes black. This energy field is the Quickening - all life is made from it, making all men equal with each other and the animals and plants. Our existence is our Quickening - the state of our Quickening is the state of our existence. What we think and feel is really just the position of our Quickening/lifeforce at that time. If our Quickening is entwined with nature at a certain time, we feel more relaxed and feel a certain bond with the animals. If we are in a crowd of angry people, our Quickening will change to the shape of that formed by all those around us. The weight/gravity of Quickening can shape that around it. What makes Immortals more unique with their relationship with the Quickening is that the Quickening resides in them more fully than other lifeforms. In mortals, the Quickening is loosely bound, creating a life that is more fragile and short-lived. For Immortals, it is bound tightly around their center of existence like a gravitational whirlpool, expanding their lifeforce beyond normal boundaries - because of this they are able to obtain more Quickening from other Immortals. This extra Quickening gives them their special abilities that we get a taste of in the show. The most used ability in the show is their sensing of other Immortals. This is achieved by an Immortal feeling the Quickening of another starting to interact with the fringe of his Quickening. If the setting were ideal, an Immortal could relax and enter a Zen state to "feel" outwards as far as his Quickening takes him, to search for the signature Quickening that marks an Immortal. The advantage of an older Immortal is obvious here: the more Quickening he accumulates, the further out he can sense. And along with his age would come an ability to enter a Zen state easier. During a fight the Quickening of the two Immortals start to interact more than ever. They become so involved with the fight that they start to ignore everything outside their immediate presence. The Quickening is swirling around them, creating a storm of power and life. The more they fight the harder it is to stop, the more they desire all the Quickening that is surrounding them. The beheading of one of them releases all of the Quickening of the loser. This Quickening now needs to dissipate somewhere, and the most available place in the Immortal that is already so fully entwined with it. Not all of the Quickening will enter the survivor, some will spread out into the world to be absorbed in small parts by many life forms. When an Immortal dies with no other Immortal around, his Quickening will spread out into the world around him - it will go to other Immortals nearby or to holy sites. As it spreads out though, it becomes thinner and thinner as other life forms take little parts of it (without feeling much). Holy sites are like big beacons of Quickening that the earth uses as tethers to the rest of the universe. These beams of Quickening connect with the sun and other planets. The Prize is the obtaining of all the Quickening that has been passed from Immortal to Immortal. Obviously it would increase their powers to the point of super-Immortal strength. They would be able to control just about all the Quickening in the world, including the thoughts/emotions of humans and animals. If the winner were to take advantage of the holy sites and their connections with the rest of the universe, they would basically become The Ruler of the Universe. THE STORY FROM THE PAST, A TALE OF BROTHERS BORN IN LOVE.... The boy snuck up behind his foster brother, sword in hand. Stealthily, so Mikos would not hear him. This last time had been the last straw; no more toy stealing. He didn't have very many to begin with, and his younger sibling insisted that his were for babies. Mikos was always grabbing others' possessions without asking, always prompting the owner to come after him. He didn't particularly like to share, but he would with those he liked. There was something about Mikos that he did not like. Beyond the obvious that he was the gleam in his parents' eyes, something got on his nerves. Perhaps somehow Mikos, though still young, understood that he was of a higher station in life. An inherent arrogance. The fact that they were foster brothers was evident. While Mikos was fair and neat, his brother was dark and unruly. He was always painting parts of his face, and balked when faced with a hair cut. Mikos was the perfect child, except for toy thefts. But his parents, who weren't even his real parents, were insistent that he be trained and educated with a cousin's children. No amount of disagreement and whining had changed their minds. When he turned seven, his father traveled with his son to his wife's cousin's home for fostering. That had been three years ago, and he'd only seen his parents once every summer since. Younger brothers were such a pain. They either imitated everything you did and annoyed you, or they annoyed you any other way. Always wanting attention and to be part of the larger boys' group. Mikos couldn't even say his name right, and ended up making a moniker that others taunted him with....which also happened to sort of describe his slightly aquiline nose. He hated being called "Crow Nose", and would knock down anyone who called him the nickname. His position wouldn't allow him to strike Mikos, he was not a family member by blood and would be sent home to his parents' if he proved a troublemaker. And he had been instructed countless time that it was not honorable to prey on those weaker than himself. Not that he cared; he would prey on whomever he wanted when he was a man. No one could tell him what to do then. And no one would take what was his either. For now, he followed the rules. Mostly. One day he would make a name for himself and people would think twice before crossing him. He had had enough. He would teach Mikos a lesson now that he'd never forget. Mikos, absorbed in his play, did not hear his brother approaching. The older boy, absorbed in keeping his approach quiet, did not hear his foster father come from inside the home and approach. Startled, he promptly dropped the wooden sword as he heard the bellow. "Kronos, put down that sword!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- .... AND GROWN TO RIDE AS FOUR HORSEMEN OF APOCALYPSE. Caspian, Silas, Methos and Kronos, the immortal highlander brothers, are seeking power and fame. Beware of treachery, oh wizardly rulers of Crynn, revenge is ever sword-sharp in the land of highlander, and horsemen surely have time on their side. 347 YEARS SINCE, SOMEWHERE IN CRYNN'S HIGHLAND The mountainside was a wild, rocky place. As the summit grew nearer the trail stipends till they were all half-climbing, leaning into their staves or against each other for support. Caspian had run up the path, quick and sure as a mountain goat despite his size and years. He ran back and now lead them to the camp. "How did they get here?" asked Kronos. "Not the way we just came." "Over the top and down from the other side." said Caspian. "It's the peak up there, beyond it's a range, not just a single mountain." "How can you tell?" Silas asked. "You can see more from the camp," his brother replied, "its on a ledge that curves round the side." "This trail, the stones have been carved away by water, haven't they?" Kronos ran his hand down the smooth side of the rock. "Water," said Methos, "water and time. The two will split a mountain. We will live to see it leveled to plains" he grinned. "No sign of it now I suppose." said Kronos loudly. "All this talk, it's getting me thirsty." "Quiet there..." warned Caspian. "There's a pond by the camp, though the giants and their wolves have been at it. Keep him away from the waterskins, he'll drain them dry." "Hey..." Kronos started to complain, but Silas put his finger to his lips and hushed him. They came up from the steep trail between a boulder to the east and dense brush to their left, the west side of the ledge. "We've turned." whispered Methos. "Yea," that trail seemed straight enough didn't it." Caspian agreed. "Loose an arrow down that path and you'd see the curve." Two brothers circled the clearing, one to either side as the others made their way up onto the wide ledge. There was a clearing before them, much like the little spring they had left below, but here the trees had been felled and the stumps either pulled up or turned into the legs of a bench and table of massive size. The center of the clearing was bare except for a large pit, the remains of a campfire still smouldering within the circle of stone. A roasting spit was left above the embers and on it the bones of a massive elk, bits of bloody flesh and gristle still clinging to the ribs and haunch. Caspian came back to warn Silas and Kronos as they gathered by the firepit. He watched them for a moment, a tinge of resentment and anger at the limits set upon him by the Code, but anticipation of a hunt overwhelmed such petty thoughts. He was angry because he had not beheaded another highlander for some time now and had to settle for the giants instead. The memories of the dead came back to taunt him. He smiled and touched his well balanced sword and stood still in the shadow of the cliff, unseen by his brothers. "Could we cook some food?" asked Kronos staring at the smouldering ashes in the pit. "We should not stay that long." said Silas. "This place is no better than the spring." said Kronos. "Up there the trail is above us, and there is even less cover here." "They've cut down all the trees." said Silas. "Those stumps are old." Kronos nodded in agreement. "They've been using this as a camp for some time." "Where did they go?" asked Silas. "And why did they come here?" "They went downhill." answered Kronos. "The path they took is to the east, it goes down and up along that side of the mountain." "More settlements lie to the east." said Silas. "Those messengers, they were headed in that direction, and those herdsmen they were coming from the east." "These mountains and hills are thick with giants." Kronos said grimly. "They infest this land." "Well, other than giants we should not have any beasts or men to play with!" said Silas brightly. "Lets go brothers", Caspian emerged from the shadows, his bloodthirsty eyes shining brighter then his blade. "Lets get some stinking heads rolling... WE SHALL RIDE THE WINDS OF CRYNN TOGETHER!!!"
Contact Emerald Wizard at timdvoskin@infonet.by
Today,
I arrived at the Castor Fields. Sad that it had to be as a result of
the disappearance (and probable death) of my uncle and cousin. Oddly,
none of the villagers seems to know how they died. Their own king
and prince! As the oldest male relation, I have become king
of this village.
The
servants must work harder to remove it. They will remove the
stench.
Or they will pay for their laziness with their lives.
THE ORC KING OF THE AMAZONS
Gholan the Conqueror stood in the Amazon fortress' highest spire, staring
blankly out of the stone parapet's window, absentmindly grinding his
swordpoint into a crack in the rock tiled floor, wondering not for the first
time how he came to be here.
A legendary warrior, son of Noc'tat the Beheader, son of Arctun the
Merciless, he had originally spurned his noble heritage, joining the Orcish
Army as a common grunt. As years went by he distinguished himself over and
over again in mortal combat. Rising quickly through the ranks, he then had
watched as the Orcish empire languished under the limp and fetid rule of his
father. Peace had begun to break out all over the kingdom, proud soldiers
became fat, and (spit!!) actually began to farm, while their scimitars and
axes paled from lack of blood, and rusted on their hooks.
He had watched his people's life essence drain away, watched as the
children took up books and writing, and ceased swordplay and games of hunt.
Some had, in fact, even forgotten the Orcish children's game of 'Trap the
Peasant', a favorite for generations. He watched in disgust as his King
proclaimed that no more would raiding parties be allowed to ambush the Elven
populace, and eat them. In fact, they would now be the Orc's TRADING
partners, providing corn for our precious Mithril!!
There comes a point in every soldier's life when no more can be
tolerated, and such it was with Gholan. On one black midnight, so long ago,
in his faraway home, Gholan seized power, coincidentally at the same time as
his father's accidental death. His first official acts as King were to set
the Town Hall on fire, while the Council was in session, and then to declare
war on the Elves. He made his people proud again, and was beloved as Supreme
Ruler of the Orcs. He felt that he was destined for greatness, that Valrogg,
Chief God of the Orcs, had blessed and ordained him to be the greatest Orc
Wizard to ever rule Arragoth.
And then he had met Viagra.
An Amazonian princess, a Master Builder as well, Viagra had come to
Arragoth on a goodwill mission to secure a pact of strength with the Orcs, as
well as to aid in rebuilding the Fortress, which had crumbled under the
previous inept regime. She was a tall, raven haired beauty, actually well
beyond beautiful. Her bronze skin glistened, her armor twinkled with the
brilliance of a thousand suns, her cerulean eyes would pierce one's soul.
Gholan smiled to himself, in remembrance. Her long black hair had been
braided that day, hung to one side of her ample breast plate. Gholan was so
utterly lost upon the first glance, that day she came to his kingdom. She
captivated him with a single stare, as no conquering army ever would. He
would have killed 10 Arragoths, barehanded, to have her.
It was an epic romance, as sure in its brief, scintillating fire as it
was in its doom. Gholan slammed the hilt of his sword downward, splitting
the stone-tile below his blade as he remembered with anguish and bitter
regret his colossal mistake. While planning an engagement, there had been an
interruption, a Lava raid from the Jungles into an Orcish Mountain shire.
With a warrior princess' blood flowing savagely through her veins, Viagra had
absolutely insisted on going, to aid Lord Tyrannus, the Barbarian, and Lord
Dracun, the Warlock, in pushing back the Lavas into the neighboring Jungle.
Women have a magical way of damaging men's brains with just a smile,
confusing their logic, and on this fateful day, in his lust, Gholan had
crazily agreed.
It was then that the second, and fatal, error occurred. Lord Tyrannus,
always impetuous, always too near tankards of ale, had decided, against
orders, to conduct a reconnaissance mission instead of a raid, erroneously
believing unsubstiantiated reports that the Lavas had left the Mountain
border shire. Instead, they had tripled their numbers, and the scouting
party had been slaughtered after a valiant, but utterly doomed, fight.
Luckily for Tyrannus, he had died in the attack, or his death would have been
years away at the hands of Gholan. The only worse news than hearing of
Viagra's death, was the actual news from a second scout group that she had
been captured instead, and taken deep into the Jungle, supposedly to a
fabled, ancient, abandoned, sacred Amazon Temple that the Lavas were using as
a base, for purposes best left unthought.
Gholan had raged for months, sending one scouting party after another
into the Jungle. He turned inward, and spent long, isolated, periods of time
in the Seer's Chamber, studying the blackest of Dark Magic. He changed
physically too, seemingly becoming larger than his normal large bulk. His
eyes changed as well, to the blackness of death; to question him at all, on
even the most innocent issue, was to insure a vanishing act.
He raised a monstrous army, filled with creatures that even the Orcs
feared; things out of the worst nightmares of a twisted mind. Winged Demons,
Dark Ones---servants of Arragoth himself, and worst of all, Dark Lords,
formed the spine of the Hellish Force. And then, finally, success from a
scouting party; the discovery of the Temple, and the beginning of the
invasion.
Although a horrific battle ensued as the Orcs finally located the ancient
Temple, this too was a doomed battle, over long before it began, for the
mission failed. Lavas were massacred by the hundred, by the thousand, as
Gholan raged like the Devil incarnate. He was merciless, and he himself
killed any Orc who even showed the slightest fear or hesitation.
As the war finally died, and roars of cheer erupted from the Orc Army, he
and his most trusted warriors explored the Temple, hoping beyond hope for
success, for a rescue of his beloved Viagra. Something tugged at his mind as
he entered the silent Temple, something dreadful from an ancient scroll. What
was it? He somehow knew this Temple, illumination teased at his mind,
dancing at the periphery, always just out of grasp. He still thought that
they would find his beloved Princess inside, Valrogg would not abandon him.
What they found, however, was something altogether different.
Apparently far from being abandoned, they found scores of dead Lavas
scattered throughout the Temple, each with hideous wounds, which bubbled and
frothed, splattering the walls where the creatures had died. Everywhere,
there were scrolls and books, of both Dark and Druidic magic. A plethora of
ancient script, written in blood, adorned every wall, endlessly repeating.
He and his sages poured feverishly through the dusty texts, looking for
clues, for enlightenment. There was something about this place, something he
could not remember, something which gave birth to nightmares.
Then, suddenly, from a tattered scroll, a name was legible, a single
word. Crushing realization came to him like the thundering of a hundred
horses, and he felt the cold fingers of Death trace a pattern up his back,
raking him with its icy nails. He had read of this place as a young Orcish
child. This was the fabled Temple of Baroth, told through ancient scrolls to
hold the exiled Amazonian Wizard Sect of Cantar, impossibly evil and darkly
twisted clerics, centuries in exile for a failed coup in
antiquity.........doomed forever to rot separate from the Amazons until,
until, Oh Dear Valrogg, until the appearance of a prophesied Princess, who
could open a Sanquine Portal back to the other world, enabling them to return
to wreak their unholy vengeance in retribution!! Viagra. It could not be!!
It was a fable!
Quickly, he gave orders to bring his finest Brigade into the Temple, and
search every passage, destroy every wall, if need be, to find any hidden
room. And so it was that on the second day, with the Temple in ruin, they
finally found an ancient, cloistered staircase, leading down a thousand
paces, into the bowels of the earth. And there, in a huge rock chamber,
surrounded by glowing torches, was an enormous stone portal, glowing
blood-red in its center, mist boiling at its edges, charred blood black on
the ground before it. Even as he watched, the light from the portal began to
dim.
Capturing in entirety in an instant what had transpired here, and what
was happening now, he ordered the Brigade to follow him, and he leapt through
the glowing portal to the Amazonian homeland, on a distant world, knowing
that he would never return here again. Loyal to Gholan beyond death itself,
his soldiers hesitated not even a millisecond before abandoning their
families, their world, everything they had ever known, to follow him.
Upon entering the world of Crynn, he stepped into Hell.
Bodies were everywhere, buildings afire. Obviously, a civil war of epic
proportions was underway, led by the exiled Sect of Cantar, no doubt, seeking
their long-awaited vengeance and power once again. The Fortress was in
chaos, smoke so thick that the fighters could barely be seen. They fought
fiercely, but they were no match for the well-honed, battle-ready Brigade
that Gholan had brought with him.
The battle raged for days, but in the end, with the level of destruction
already rendered before his arrival, the weakened Cantar armed forces fell
before his savage troops. Gholan then summarily executed every surviving sect
member before the cheering tribesmen crowd, forever endearing him to these
people for saving them from the long prophesied Armageddon they had awaited
for generations.
As the government and the Amazonian Guard was utterly destroyed, along
with nearly every building in the kingdom, it was an easy thing for the
conquering Hero, Gholan, to be universally hailed as King of the Amazons,
Savior of the People, new Ruler of Carossa.
He searched every corner of the Kingdom for a trace of his beloved
Viagra, finally discovering that she had indeed been thrown through the
portal, only to be taken once again, this time by the Amazonian Sect of
Shenir, a peaceful, deeply religious caste of Healers. Gholan was sorely
tempted to use his military might to storm their remote jungle monastery, but
paused when he was told by Getarin, Shenarian Sect Leader, that Viagra had
been deeply damaged in her continuing nightmarish ordeal, and if Gholan truly
loved her, then he would allow them peace so they could use their magic to
heal her. If she survived the Healing, then she would be returned whole,
eventually.
So now Gholan the Conqueror waits again, peering out at his kingdom from
his stone parapet, alone, in command of yet another destroyed Fortress, this
one Amazonian, forever exiled from his homeworld, surrounded by swarms of
potential enemies, living solely for one moment, one touch, one embrace, one
woman.
Contact Gholan the Conqueror at magneto821@aol.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Arid at axemen@sympatico.ca
Greetings to all Wizards on the Lich Master of Crynn World
.
GABTON- Residing on the coastal plains, the people of Gabton live a peaceful life. The plains supply everything their simple life requires and few go wanting. They live in harmony with the wild creatures of the plains, taming the wolves and other creatures to guard against any unwelcome intrusion.
Plainsmen live off the land of their home region. They are tribal in nature and manage to exist in harmony with both animals and nature. There are major gatherings of plainsmen situated across the surface of many lands.
My name is Mordeth and since not long ago I was the ruler of the Dark Cavern Orcs on another world called the Elven Nation. The beings that I ruled there were totally different from what I met here. The Orcs were very big, stinking and offensive creatures whose only desire was killing and boasting around with achievements that only Orcs would see as achievements (like being able to name dozens of ways to rip off body parts of human women). In the end the nearly five years of rulership in the Dark Caverns changed my own personality in a way that even my close friends could not stand any longer (I knew more then 10 ways to ... --- no, I don't want to speak about this now nor anytime soon). I still thank the heavens that those friends were really good ones, so they told me about how I changed.
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 Plainsmen on a world where my path of magic has been laid clearly before me from the beginning on. I chose the druidic Plainsmen to oppose the evil Lich Masters of Crynn because I had to repay humanity something good after I ordered to kill so many Human Beings with the Orcs. And choosing the human Plainsmen and helping them to remove the Lich Masters 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 Gabton Plains. 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 Plainsmen are also a very mysterious race. Few know how they live in such a barren environment with only food as resource and rarel a stone or a single tree or how their society functions. The only contact others seem to have with this Plainsmen is with the help of caravans that are frequently 'contacted' under the cover of the gigh Grass in the Plains. the Gabton Plainsmen seem to appear from and disappear into the Grass itself. Anyway, now that troubled times approach with the Lich Master's evil creatures tormenting the good natured races the Capital in Gabton 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 the evil of Crann at our side. Your race is unimportant to the Gabton Plainsmen as everyone deserves a chance.
Just unlike the Orcs this Plainsmen 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 man or women ever becomes a weakling. Especially the Lich Masters have noticed that to enter Babton means sure death. Furthermore it is said that Mithril Guardians, Knight and even Wolves could be quickly recruited to repel any unwelcome visitors that stand under payment of a Lich Master. The problem is that after decades inactivity nobody has dared to leave Gabton and bring back the war to the Lich Lords so we are not sure yet if we will succeed. However, we will try to leave Gabton soon...
Anyway, as said, needless brutality is something that is very far away from any Plansmen's favorite daydream (or dream in the night). In need to make their living in the Plains without wood and stone the Plainsmen have developed a high agricultural skill. Only the many burnings that the Lich Marsters did to the watered plantages whenever they are raised again has caused lots of frustration in the population (not to speak about the needless work). But a real Plainsmen would never give in to the evil of the Lich Masters!
The Town Hall in Gabton is where Triburial the Chief 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 Plainsmen 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 Triburial gave the Pipe of the leader to me so that I could fulfill my own destiny as leader of the Gabton Plainsmen. A destiny that will bring the long lost glory back to my People and will hopefully bring doom to the evil Lich Masters in the end. And just as the shadow on my own soul was driven away by the honourable Plainsmen way of living I intend to bring this Honour to every corner of Crann 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.
Fistandantilus, new ruler of the Gabton Plainsmen
Aus den Feuern der Hoelle stiegen sie empor,
gierig auf das Blut der Uschuldigen,
hungrig nach den Schreien der Gequaelten,
in den Farben gruen, lila, rot und blau stiegen sie herauf,
mit Klauen so groß wie Wagenräder,
oder auf Schwingen, die die Sonne verdunkeln,
um alles Leben auf Erden zu toeten kommen sie,
genauso, wie sie es oft auf anderen Ebenen getan haben.
Von den Teufeln selbst geleitet wurden sie:
LICH MASTERS
Zum tausendsten mal marschieren seine Herrscharen,
um zu wiederholen, was sie schon immer getan haben!
Aber diesmal wird alles anders!
Diesmal sind die guten Lebewesen vorbereitet.
Ein schneller Kurier, leicht wie eine Feder,
schaffte es durch die Dimensionen,
um das Herz allen Guten auf dieser Welt zu warnen.
geradewegs auf die hölzernen Portale
der Stadt mit folgendem Namen marschierte er zu:
"Gabton"
Hier begruesste ihn freundlich Mordeth,
der Hersscher der Plainsmen,
denn obwohl er ueble Nachrichten brachte
ueber das Neuerwachen der boesen Lich Masters,
brachte er auch die Hoffnung
zu allen Laendern der Welt zurueck.
"WIDERSTAND IST NIEMALS ZWECKLOS!!!"
Geschrieben im Jahr 15, Jahreszeit Fruehling, von dem beruehmten Poeten "Tyrannosaur".
In Gedenken an die letzte Schlacht, in die Lich Masters von den vereinten "Kräften des Lichts" getoetet wurden.
Zurueckgebracht durch Zeit und Dimensionen von dem beruehmten Kurier "Marathon Thanthalasomariel".
Here is the translation:
From the fires of Hell they emerged,
eager for the Blood of the Innocent,
Hungry for the cries of the tortured.
In colors of green, purple, red and blue they ascended,
with claws as big as wagon wheels
or wings that darken the sun,
to kill all living beings on earth they come,
just as they often had on other planes of existence.
Led by the Devils Themselves:
LICH MASTERS
For the thousands time his evil minions march,
to do again what they always did!
But this time it has to be different!
This time the godly people are prepared.
A fast messenger, light as a feather,
made it through the dimensions,
to warn the heart of all good on the world.
Straight he went for the wooden portals
of the city named
"Gabton"
Here Mordeth, the Ruler of the Plainsmen
welcomed him warmly,
for although he brought disturbing news
of the Lich Masters' evil rising again,
he also brought back the Hope to all lands
of the world we all live on.
"RESISTANCE IS NEVER FUTILE!!!"
Written in gods year 15, season spring, by the famous lizard poet "Tyrannosaur".
In memory of the last battle where the Lich Masters were finally killed by the combined "Forces Of The Light".
Brought back through time and dimensions by the famous messenger "Marathon Thanthalasomariel".
Welcome traveler to the area that has been designed to establish Contacts of all kind with my Empire:
If you would like to contact me you can simply use the feature below. The form can be used to establish Trade or to send general comments of all kinds to me.
If your browser does not support forms then you could write a standard mail to me by clicking here.
.
Please note that not all messengers are skilled enough to use this feature (Ahem..., this means not all browsers support forms). It is recommended that you have e.g. Netscape 4+ or Internet Explorer 4+ to use forms like this properly:
! If you have problems with the text above, please click here and read my disclaimer message !
.
Contact Mordeth at mor.deth@gmx.de
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact chaos+ at jlycke@btinternet.com
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