PLAYER 1 - Dorlas

No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

Contact Dorlas at Philip.J.Robinson@btinternet.com

PLAYER 2 - Saruman

The First of the Five * * Saruman the White Once again the Valar show their Will and Might and have begun a great history in a new world. In the Land of Crynn, New Forces arrive. A New Mission The Council of the Wise has chosen two Wizards to bring peace and order to this chaotic land. With the assistance of the other good rulers of Crynn peace and prosperity will once again rule in this world. In other realms Orthanc suffices, but here we must assist others to achieve the Will of the Istari. My researches in ring lore have revealed that The Ring of Seh Gulniv, forged in the Second Age by Yyth Nao-Onden upon the Forge of Grevyl, has made its way to this world. The search has begun. "There was conflict between Manwë and Melkor, and Manwë called many other spirits into the World to aid him in his struggle. Among these were the other Valar, and those of lesser order known as Maiar. Melkor then withdrew for a time from Arda to some other hidden place in the deeps of Eä." "In time, Manwë and his followers began to achieve their purpose, and make the World ready for the coming of the Children. Seeing this, Melkor grew jealous, and returned to do battle over the fate of Arda. The Earth then saw great upheaval as the rival powers struggled over its destiny (it is thought that the Misty Mountains were raised at this time). Slowly, though, and with great hardship, the Valar succeeded in shaping the World, although everything they created was in some way marred by Melkor." For a thousand years, and more, have I journeyed in the East. I remember the words of Treb-yulay as if it were yesterday... The window closed. They waited. Suddenly another voice spoke, low and melodious, its very sound an enchantment. Those who listened unwarily to that voice could seldom report the words that they heard; and if they did, they wondered, for little power remained in them. Mostly they remembered only that it was a delight to hear the voice speaking, all that it said seemed wise and reasonable, and desire awoke in them by swift agreement to seem wise themselves. When others spoke they seemed harsh and uncouth by contrast; and if they gainsaid the voice, anger was kindled in the hearts of those under the spell. For some the spell lasted only while the voice spoke to them, and when it spoke to another they smiled, as men do who see through a juggler's trick while others gape at it. For many the sound of the voice alone was enough to hold them enthralled; but for those whom it conquered the spell endured when they were far away, and ever they heard that soft voice whispering and urging them. But none were unmoved; none rejected its pleas and its commands without an effort of mind and will, so long as its master had control of it. 'Well?' it said now with gentle question. 'Why must you disturb my rest? Will you give me no peace at all by night or day? Its tone was that of a kindly heart aggrieved by injuries undeserved. They looked up, astonished, for they had heard no sound of his coming; and they saw a figure standing at the rail, looking down upon them: an old man, swathed in a great cloak, the colour of which was not easy to tell, for it changed if they moved their eyes or if he stirred. His face was long, with a high forehead, he had deep darkling eyes, hard to fathom, though the look that they now bore was grave and benevolent, and a little weary. His hair and beard were white, but strands of black still showed about his lips and ears. One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all And in the darkness bind them. "The Fallen Enemy" Gazing at the stars, I let my mind wander. The tip of the Leopard's tail seemed a bit off, tucked a little, as if the cat was pensive or hunting. It gave me an odd feeling — why had my attention been drawn to that rare quarter, and why was Tenovin's Star displaced? Watching it more intently, I became more and more convinced that the bright point of light was not as it should be. But surely I was mistaken, an illusion caused by the fatigue of the late hour or some other trick of the light or my weary mind. I hadn't had the trelila for weeks though, and today had been clear and thoughtful. So I made my way down the spiral steps, admiring the glistening of the well-oiled Maire railing as usual. I can almost imagine drawing real strength from that ancient wood, but of course I had tested during black asana and found nothing on that level. Anyway, I came to the upper library and found a few star charts of that region, two of which I had drawn myself many years ago from atop the Ladder, before that entire mountainside erupted in flames. Gaining the peak of the East Tower once again, I began comparing the charts with the eyes that winked at me overhead. I quickly found a fair match to the first chart from the Ladder, drawn (surprisingly) in a similar season and probably within a fews hours of the current time. The time difference actually helped a bit in this case, negating some of the slight effects of the precession since then. It had been a rare late fall that night, nearly forty years ago, when the southern skies had been clear enough to see, let alone map, the Hunter's Demesne. Comparing the map with the night sky: Shawnal sat rightly on his throne, his bow resting lightly by his side. I could see how the bow didn't quite touch the ground, as if the Great Hunter had just then willed Trumthane into his left hand, preparing to take prey or dispatch a poacher in the Wildwood. And Marchioness Relina, reclining, only her arm extending from beneath the downy comforter, either newly dead or nearly so, the assassin's miasm with already a mortal grasp on her pure soul. Then Parduus himself, the Leopard, eyes bright and seeking. I carefully checked each point, bright and barely visible alike, against the records I had of what the sky should look like — even, at one point, holding up a chart done on thin vellum, matching the appearance of stars through the skin, although only the brightest could be seen with this method. In all, everything looked proper and in place. Except one star: except the Tenovin! It truly was off center, down and to the left nearly a ducal's width. This made no sense to me. Clearly the star wasn't one of the Comets, sweeping across the Eastern Port. Tenovin had been stable and known for thousands of years, even written of in Heimle, in the Great Histories of the Elans. Called simply Cauda, back then it was, yet still the same true and bright star. Yet still that same ominous feeling held me. Something of import was here, but what? I searched my memory for Caudal prophecies, yet none could be called up. The few star prophecies of the Maural didn't fit. Hadar the Renk, also known as the Leopard, had been long dead and actually of little import even while he lived (though the people of the Lesser Kaines would likely, sadly, disagree). So I sat and thought, and retired to the study by a warm fire to think some more, yet still nothing came to me. I must sleep on it. But it was hours later still, as I lay back in my wide chair, before Kantha finally accepted me into his kingdom and I dreamt long of a leopard with no spots walking a high wall, on watch for skittering spider imps that emerged suddenly from the iridescent fog, only to reenter the haze on the opposite side moments later, the leopard's efforts doing little to stem the flow of hordes of the vile creatures towards their doomed prey.

Contact Saruman at saruman_2000@yahoo.com

PLAYER 3 - Grishnakh

No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

Contact Grishnakh at mjorr@indiana.edu

PLAYER 4 - Hazaar

No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

Contact Hazaar at jhenson@calpoly.edu

PLAYER 5 - Rathnagz

No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

Contact Rathnagz at rob6@newcombe6.fsworld.co.uk

PLAYER 6 - Fizzle

No Blurb Submitted As Yet.

Contact Fizzle at dave.romanzin@entero.com

PLAYER 7 - Fluffy

 From the midsts of the the swirling sands, you seem to see a tall spire
over
the next dune. After travelling for 3 weeks across these forgotten wastes,
and seeing the same things day after day, the spire is a welcomed sight, as
well as evidence of living beings. The water bags are running out, and if
you do not get to replenish them, you may never leave this area.
Hurrying forward, you reach the top of the dune. You couldn't help keep a
sigh of dismay from reaching your lips, as you find the spire is just that,
the tip of a spire, buried in sand. Whatever inhabitants would have left
eons ago, or learnt to breathe sand, an unlikely event.

 By the side of the spire, you see a wooden board. Moving forward, you brush
off some sand from the board, and read the words carved there. Hmmm ...
interesting ... it says "Fluffy waz here" in broad flowing scripts, albeit
orcish-like. There were two deep cuts across the "waz" word, as if someone
was trying to erase it. Another word can be seen above it, something like
"lies". Ah ha ! So either Fluffy was here, or Fluffy lies here. Either way,
you don't really care who was here, nor feel very interested in digging up
any corpse.

Say ! What is that thing !!! A "Chug-Chug" sound seems to come out from the
wind. You peer into the swirling sands, and lo ! there is something flying
in the sky, a mechanical contraption. It seemed to see you, and was heading
your way. Nearer it comes, and you can see it clearly now. A bulky looking
object, with something twirling on the top. How it kept aloft is a mystery,
but it seems to have something to do with that metallic looking box that is
belching out greasy smoke and giving off that "Chugging" sound. However,
what is more surprising, is that the pilot is not one of the mysterious Sand
People, but a Gnome !

The 'thopter landed in a flurry of blowing sand, and you hurry forward.
After exhausting your own small store of known Gnomish words, which
alternately asked after their health, cursing their ancestors, and
description of various sexual positions, you manage to wrangle a ride. The
'thopter lifted, after you sat on the only passenger seat. As the 'thopter
is moving as less than 15 feet off the ground, you have a pleasant but dusty
ride. Minutes later, you reach a field, where more of such thingamics are
present, in various conditions. After thanking the pilot with what you think
are salutations of his health (what was said was actually "May I happily eat
shit", due to a few mispronounced syllables), you leave the chortling pilot
rolling on the ground. Seeing what you think are Amazon People nearby, you
walk over to them ...

Contact Fluffy at promimity@va.prestige.net

PLAYER 8 - Emerald Wizard

The difference between an eye of newt and an eye of bat is not as great as
the
difference between a man of the sword and a man of the unseen powers of
magic.
Replacing the eye of newt with the eye of bat can be compensated with three
frog
legs and the eye of newt is more agreeable with the palate, especially when
complimented with a nice bottle of white wine. The difference between a
swordsman and a magician is vastly wider. When a knight kills a mage, he
rids
the world of evil, but if a warlock causes the death of a king (or even if
he is
suspected of conspiring to do so), he is chased to the end of the world, and
then some. While trying to evade these ruthless, fanatic, blood-hungry men
of
war, the wizard, quite often, is practically defenseless, as spell
components
are hard enough to find even when you don't have to hide out in caves or old
barns. The warrior's life is a short, glorious one, which climaxes in his
untimely death in a great battle for some noble cause. He may carry a noble
title, Earl, or Duke, or even King. A Wizard's life is usually a short,
dark,
mysterious life, dying at the hands of petty thieves who broke in to steal
the
silver, which he obviously was lacking. He may carry the title of Court
Magician.

Believe me, not every mage is spectacular. Not to say that every
sword-bearer is
an dragon killer, but there is definitely a higher chance of earning a title
by
the sword than surviving as a man of the secret powers. After all, how many
famous magicians have you heard of? Three? Four? Have you ever heard of
Noor's
great warlock, Pierre l'Merde (He gained his title by dropping dung piles on
enemy forces), or of Aloria's grand Phtom-lek ? But everyone has heard of
Sir
Valiant, Sir Honorable, Sir Virtuous, the duke of this, the high lord of
that.
It just goes to show that most men prefer a good blood-dripping sword to an
eye
of newt.Okay, okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, but here at King Snoddy's court,
I've seen more hatred directed towards old Noggin than I ever imagined
possible.
Maybe I should tell you a little more about myself, so as to make it easier
for
you to understand what I really mean. Four years ago King Asnodine the
Third's
court magician, Slanoggin, had an affair with my sister, Neeta. Nine months
later she gave birth to my darling nephew, Nogeet. When Slanoggin heard that
she
had given birth (and that the child survived the birth, too), he did the
only
thing a respectable wizard could do -- he took me on as an apprentice, to
learn
all about the dark secrets and how to use them. More than three years have
passed and I must say that I've come a long way since I came to him, young
twit
that I was.

By now, I can tell the difference between toad legs and frog legs, between
salamander eyes and gecko eyes, and I cast a spell or two. (I can cause
small
flames to appear out of nowhere and I can cause any inanimate to glow, and
even
to shine as bright as the sun).'F'noot,' he said in his deep, gruff voice.
'I
think you're coming along just fine. Now get me some poison ivy.'He's one of
those really warm people, if you know what I mean. However, not everybody
can
see through his tough skin. For instance, Sir Tiwan, who accidentally found
his
death in the garden one day when an extremely rare spider bit him amongst
the
geraniums. Interestingly enough, he had accused Noggin with murderous
intentions
just the night before. However, as Noggin was distantly related to the
king's
mistress, he was never put on trial for treason (which is all for the best,
because the chaos it would have caused would have been enormous). There was
a
slight fuss at the funeral, but nothing that Noggin couldn't get away with.
After all, it wasn't his fault that the honorable Sir Tiwan had thrust his
hand
where no hand had gone before (It had been a fresh batch of geraniums, just
in
off the ship). And so, you may ask, why am I, F'noot Snokhan, son of J'kard
Snokhan, village shoemaker, staying here at the castle, as an appentice to
an
occupation which may cause my untimely death, before the age of twenty-five?
Why
don't I go and join all the other sixteen year old youths who are practising
their fencing and horse-riding? These questions have two answers to them.
One,
my family will be humiliated if I don't finish this apprenticeship
successfully
(As if the humiliation of an illegitimate grandson wasn't enough). Two, I do
not
have the physical fitness needed to swing around a sword and my social
status
does not open many job opportunities, besides shoemaking and begging. Not
that
either of those two wonderful occupations are not legitimate enough, or
honorable enough for that matter, it's just that magic is so much more
interesting. Just tell me this -- wouldn't you prefer a dangerous and
mysterious
life to a boring, banal life as a shoemaker ? No? Let me put it another
way --
wouldn't you prefer to sleep in the castle and eat four solid meals a day
than
to sleep in a leaky loft over your father's chicken coop and subsist mostly
on
turnips, rutabagas and rye bread? Well, I never could abide rutabagas.
Besides,
my master admits to two-score years, and I suspect him of many more (scores,
not
years), so not all mages meet an early end.

Anyway, for three years, I have fetched Noggin his poison ivy or whatnot,
blackened his boots and kept the embroidery on his court robes in repair.
And I
study; I can read pretty well, do some some maths, and have a smattering of
the
Anglo, Persian and Latin languages.
Today, I am hauling a pail of horse manure (no, it is not a spell component;
it
is for my master's herb garden) when Worm runs up, panting for breath. "Hey,
Foot!" He gasps, "h-, h- " He is too out-of-breath to speak, and I flex my
aching shoulders and put down my pail. W'rym Hodges, one of the court pages,
is
my only friend in the world, but only because he is too simple to realize
that
mages are a poor choice for companionship. "What is it, Worm?" I ask. "His
Majesty wants Slanoggin in his chambers righ' away!" Worm speaks so fast the
the
sentence sounds about three words long. "What, why?" "I don' know, he was
yellin' pretty loud, though." I sigh, "Noggin's in town, and not expected
back
until this evening," I reply, "Do you think His Majesty will wait?" "He
sounded
angry, Foot -- awful angry. I don' wan' a tell him Slanoggin isn't comin'."
I
sigh again, and look down at my soiled clothes, "I guess I had better go get
cleaned up and head on up there." "Fast!" I leave Worm with the pail and run
as
fast as I can to my small alcove in Noggin's workshop (up, of course;
wizards
always live in towers). In the time that I have lived here, I have only been
allowed to speak to the king once -- I said "Thank you, Sire," when I was
introduced to him upon taking up residence in his castle. I have no clean
clothes! Luckily, another minor spell I've learned allows me to cast small
illusions (that are not very hard to see through). I use this to blend the
stains and a small tear into the rest of the fabric of my best court garb.

Donning it, I hustle my sweaty frame down the tower steps, across the
courtyard
and up to Snoddy's residence itself while tearing my fingers through the
worst
of the tangles in my hair. "No Slanoggin?" the guard frowns, "His Majesty
isn't
going to like that." "I know," I sigh, "Still, what is one to do?" "True
enough," the guard opens the door and steps inside. "F'noot, Apprentice to
the
Mage Slanoggin, begs audience with His Majesty Asnodine III!" he announces.
"Oh,
balls, no Slanoggin!?" I hear the kings irate voice, "Very well, let the lad
in."

"Sire!" I bend low to the floor, skinny derriere up in the air, "It is a
privilege to serve you!"Snoddy sprawls in a large sunken bath; perfume
steams
into the air above the water. "Get up and get over here," he snarls, "There
is a
bag o' runes on that table. You will tell me my future."

"Your future, Sire?" "Will you make me repeat myself?!" "Yes, Sire! I mean,
no,
Sire!" I grab the silken bag and pour the stones into my hand. They are the
most
beautiful I have seen. Without ceremony, I toss them onto the ground near
the
bath and watch horrified as one skitters in. The king quickly fishes it out
and
hands it to me, his eyes already on those I cast. As I toss the last stone,
I
realize that he is barely hiding a sense of panic. "Now, what do they say?"
he
demands.

I look up and swallow, fearing just how much he can read the runes himself.
Now
many people seem to think that supernatural tools such as the runes or the
tarot
are not much more than simple wave-of-your-hand, snake-oil showmanship --
any
old fool can learn the meaning of each tile or card and learn how to string
it
all together. On the other hand, some people feel these devices are
surrounded
by mysterious and deep secrets which can only be truly understood by the
wise
and learned.To be honest, both are right -- to a degree. Any old fool can
learn
the basic meaning for Fehu and Gehu or for Temperance and Death. Casting the
runes is easy. Shuffling the Tarot is a piece of cake. Seeing what stones
lie
face up, or which cards are laid out, is child's play and any idiot can
manufacture a story that ties them all together. (Well, maybe not any idiot.
I
have my doubts about Worm's abilities as a convincing storyteller.) But to
really devine the future from the runes or the tarot, one must know more
than
just the basics. The depths of true meaning is found only in understanding
the
subtle inter-relationships between the different archetypal icons and
images.
Knowing that the Gefu rune to the right of Fehu means that the client will
give
wealth away while Gefu to the left of Fehu means that someone else will give
wealth to your client. Or knowing that when the card of the High Priestess
is
surrounded by many cards of the Sword suit, the future deals with an
internal,
subconscious battle. This is the type of knowledge that raises a real
soothsayer
above the common rable, that marks the prophesies of a true diviner.
Unfortunately, I've never been very good at remembering subtle details.

"Get on with it boy!" Jumping at Snoddy's snap, I look over to see that he
is
now leaning halfway out of his perfumed bath, dripping soapy water onto the
floor. Oddly, I notice that water from the puddle forming beneath his hairy
chest has begun to slowly meander towards the scattered stones. "Uh, yes
Sire.
Of course sire." I wipe my now-damp palms down the side of my tunic to calm
myself, and then take a closer look at the scattered runes. Out of the 24
rune
stones, only thirteen are face up. Thirteen! I hope Snoddy doesn't think to
count them -- that particular number would probably panic him more. I decide
I'd
better keep things simple by only considering the face-up stones (Why should
I
confuse the issue with the less important secondary relationships associated
with face down runes? Besides, I bet I'm going to have enough trouble just
figuring out the rest!) Stalling for time to collect my thoughts and concoct
a
future reading, I begin to trace my finger above the scattered runes and
mutter
under my breath as if I am ruminating on the individual significance of each
stone (a useful trick I picked up from watching Slanoggin over the years).
Out
of the corner of my eye I can see that Snoddy is watching my movements like
a
hawk. The important stones have fallen in an unusually regular pattern,
roughly
forming two concentric circles with a single stone at the very center. I
start
my tracery with the middle stone, and realize that it is the stone which
flipped
into Snoddy's bath. Briefly, I wonder whether the soap bubbles should affect
the
reading. The rune is Berkana, "the Birch", known for its durability and
vitality. Unfortunately the rune is inverted, the top pointing down towards
my
feet, which doesn't bode well for old Snoddy and his Vitality. Berkana is
tightly encircled by four runes, Hagla to the left, Pethru above, Ihwar to
the
right and Tiwar below: "Cruel Nature", "The Unseen", "The Hunter" and "War"
respectively. I swallow nervously -- this is not looking very promising,
especially since the top of each rune points in towards Berkana. I quietly
pray
that the outer eight runes are more promising -- I have the distinct feeling
that my career would not be favourably advanced by pronouncing that the
King's
future is doomed.

I start a clockwise circuit of the outer ring of face-up rune stones just to
the
left and up from Hagla. The circuit starts with Raidu, "Journeying" which is
followed by Kaunna, "Fire"; Naudir, "Desperate Need"; Isar, "Ice"; Mannar,
"Wisdom"; Lagur, "Water"; Aigir, "Protection"; and Dagar, "Daylight". And
each
rune lies so that it follows the curve of the surrounding circle, the head
of
one leading into the foot of the next.I stare at the runes for a moment
more,
and finally step away from these hellish devices. I wonder whether I should
err
on the conservative side, making a warning where ever a warning would be
prudent, or err on the side of keeping my job by hand-waving over the
negative
implications. Slowly I turn and look over where King Asnodine is leaning so
far
out of his bath in anticipation that if he leaned just one inch more he
would
fall out, sprawling his soapy body among his princely runestones. "Well boy,
what does it mean? Tell me boy, I need to know, and I need to know NOW!" I
quickly decide that starting with the centre rune would be a bad idea - I
never
have liked starting with the obvious - you can't bullshit as well.
Completely at
random I focus on one of the outer eight - Raidu. Breathing deeply, I drop
my
voice low, trying to imitate Noggin's deep voice. "Sire," my vocal chords
squeak
out. I cough and start again, pointing at Raidu. Suddenly an idea comes to
me. I
quickly thank all the Gods I know of, in case one of Them sent it to me.
"This
rune represents but one of the four focuses of your power." I indicate
Brekana
idly with my hand. "Each focus is three fold. We have Raidu, Dagar and Hagla
in
the west, the sunset - or we could say Dark - side of your power." I glance
at
the King to check his reaction. I notice he's slid back down into the bath
slightly. I let out a breath I hadn't realize I had been holding. I gesture
to
the other side of Brekana. "Here, on the sunrise side we have Mannar, Isar,
and
Ihwar, representing your Bright side of power - the parts that your subjects
love about you." I realize that the King must know nothing of the meanings
of
these words, because he doesn't find it odd that "Ice" is included in this
group. I let myself smile. Warming up to my telling, I tackle the bottom
three
runes. "Here, sire, we have your foundations, what you've built your kingdom
on - Algir, Lagur, and Tiwar." I purposely pronouce the last one Tih-wahr
not
Tih-wore, hoping he won't ask me it's meaning. I guessed wrong."Quit being
coy,
boy and tell me what they mean! I have court magicians to tell me things in
plain language, not in gobbly-gook!" He sits back in the tub, causing water
to
slosh over the edge of the bath and wash away several of the face-down
runes.
"Well, sire. Your kingdom, as most are in these trying times, is based on
Protection - for your subjects and from your subjects; Water - You control
most
of the ports on this side of the ocean; and - War - your glorious forays
into
the lands of the infidels who do not look to your leadership." I mentally
cross
my fingers and hope he buys it. I glance over - he's grinning at me like a
school boy. "I told them I was doing it right - Protect, Ports, Punish!" he
tells me. With hand gestures that cover me with water droplets, he motions
for
me to continue.

I turn back to the first three runes. "Linked to your forays, you have a
love of
journeying that no one knows about and that you don't get to fulfil often, a
journeying into the world to face Cruelest Nature and to tame her. But with
Dagar, or Daylight, appearing here you wish to bring these desires out into
the
east, into the surise, moving through your power, your vitality that is
Brekana." I gesture to the centre stone again. I wonder if I went too far on
that one, but he grins at me again, this time with a conspirator's smile. He
doesn't say anything but he does blush a bit. I wisely pretend I don't see
his
embarrassment. "To the East, your Bright side, you are the Hunter - the
provider
for everyone in your kingdom. And you are wise, and the people love your
wisdom.
And -" Here I glance at the king's body wondering if I can get away with
what
I'm about to say. "You are beautiful sire. You sparkle like ice in winter.
You're dangerous, but handsome. To many people, the perfect ruler." I roll
my
eyes and tell myself to shut up before I get into trouble, but my mouth
seems to
have a life of its own. "You are firm and cold in your decisions, but not
unwilling to melt a little bit if presented with the heat of passion, to be
flexible when you wish." By this point the King has sunk down almost
completely
underwater. So he's easy to flatter, I realize. I'll remember this in the
future, when I'm court magician, I think, ambition beginning to rise in me.
I
make my voice as low as it can go and boom out in a prophet's voice (or at
least
what I think a prophet's voice would sound like). "And finally, sire, your
future, what your power, your reign and even YOUR LIFE depend upon." The
King
quickly scrambles back out onto the edge of the bath, leaning forward,
waiting
for my pronouncement. I look at the three remaing runes - Fire, Desperate
Need,
and the Unseen, reversed! - and realize I'm in deep shit. I pause a moment
to
study Pethru (the unseen). The rune is beautifully carved out of a stone I
do
not recognize. Unlike the cheap set I own, it is the work of a master
craftsman;
I am mesmerized in by its beauty. I begin to speak, but my thoughts are
focused
on the quality of rune. "Your future begins with..." My voice trails off
when
the rune is suddenly cloaked in a mist. I rub my eyes and return my gaze to
the
stone. The mist is gone. In the background Snoddy is inching forward ever so
slightly, trying to discern what I might be seeing. Must have been staring a
little to hard I think to myself. "My future begins with what?" Now Snoddy
doesn't like to be kept waiting. In fact, he hates it. The combination of
the
hot bath water and his excitement were turning his face a positively bright
red.

"Sorry" I say, realizing if I don't finish this reading I won't live long
enough
to be court magician. I turn back to Pethru. The intricacies of the carving
fascinate me. My gaze is once again captured by its perfection. "Your future
begins with ..." The mist is there again, rolling across the face of the
rune.
It clings the rune obscuring it. This time I rub my eyes and shake my head.
When
I look back, the mist is gone. Just some steam from the bath, I think to
myself.
"MY FUTURE BEGINS WITH WHAT WHAT WHAT?" Snoddy is getting hysterical, so I
immediately return to reading the runes. Once again, pethru grabs my gaze;
and
once again the mist forms around it. "Do you see that?" I ask, continuing to
stare at the rune. "Do I see what?" The King is panicking. "The Pethru
rune," I
say, "Do you see that?" I point to the rune and its mini-cloud. Snoddy leans
way
forward out of the bath resting his considerable weight on his elbows.
"WHAT,
WHAT. TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE!" I suddenly realize just how anxious the King is
about his future; and my survival skills were kicking in. I begin my
analysis
again. "Your future begins with..." Suddenly, the mist begins spreading to
the
neighboring runes. My attention is drawn to Naudir (desperate need). The
rune
seems to be falling back away from me, leaving a void. I am drawn in the
space
it has left. I get this strange feeling that Pethru is reaching out,
involving
the other runes. Somehow, I know Pethru is the key. "Now you listen F'noot
and
you listen good," Snoddy intones in a low threatening growl. "If you don't
tell
me what is going on I will slay you myself right here. GUARDS! GUARDS! Fetch
me
my sword." I pay him no mind. Wafts of mist are being drawn off Pethru in a
whirlpool around Naudir. I have never seen anything like this. A pattern is
forming; a pattern, or perhaps a window; yes, its like a stained glass
window.
Suddenly, Pethru and Naudir ignite Kaunna (fire). The rune springs to life
in a
fiery glow. Isar (ice) is next. It radiates cold blue. As each rune joins,
the
window becomes more complex, and more transparent. I can see something
through
the window, but I can't make it out. Ihwar (the hunter) and Raidu
(journeying)
are the next runes included. Hagla (cruel nature), Mannar (wisdom), Dagar
(daylight), Tiwar (war), Lagur (water) and Aigir (protection) all join
together
to form an intricate pattern around the center and as yet lifeless Berkana
(the
birch). I realize the runes are a catalyst. In much the same way that a bat
wing
and two holly berries help the mage unlock the forces of light, the runes
are a
tool of divination; but what will they show me? The future? The Past? I
struggle
to see through the window. Berkana is the focus, the lens which will make
everything clear. Pethru? Pethru somehow ties this all together. It is the
driving force. In the distance I am aware the guard has returned. Naked,
Snoddy
leaps from his bath, slips on the wet floor and lands next to me with a
flabby
thud. "BALLS! You'll pay for that F'maggot. Give me my sword now or you'll
be
next," Snoddy threatens the guard. I extend my finger and it goes through
Berkana!

Suddenly, the shimmering tapestry of runes engulfs me in a whirlpool of
shimmering light! "This is your last chance F'nidiot. You will tell me my
future
or you will die," is a last thing I hear before I am being drown inside in
the
splashes of emerald light.

I open my eyes (dont remember when I become unconcious) to see that somehow
this
place is different. It is possibly even different world, and different time.
Oh,
my, how did I get myself in such mess? Damn, sometimes I wish my sister had
slept with some old, stupid blacksmith, and not a brlliant old wizard like
Noggin. Thinking of this I realize that only wizardry can bring me back.

Yes, I will find the way! The search begins now

Contact Emerald Wizard at timdvoskin@infonet.by

PLAYER 9 - Shrike

 A thunderclap as loud as the roar of the Dragon of the World shattered
the azure, cloudless afternoon. An accompanying flash of blue light overpowered
the sun's light, briefly superimposing eerie indigo shadows over my own
wan shadow. All eyes turned toward the heights of Tantos Tor where a whorl
of silver flecked blue light gradually subsided. This blue-silver firelight
spiraled into nothingness revealing Him, our future lord, He who calls
himself Shrike. Light again flashed at us, but now the natural light of
the sun's rays reflecting off steel burnished to a mirror surface. He is
clad not in armor, or if it is armor, it is armor made of weapons. Brilliant,
gleaming armor bristling with swords, daggers, spikes, and other strange
but equally lethal points and edges. All branching and barbed. His torso
and limbs are multi-layered edged swords, all keened to a razor sharpness.
Taut rapiers protrude as spines from his back. Morningstars for massive
shoulders, elbows and knees. Feet of daggers, hands of knives. Curving
dervish'es tulwars sweep up his scalp to frame a face of arrowheads. When
he smiled at us, his teeth were scalpels.  Our Lord turned in a slow
circle, surveying his new surroundings.
 Blue expanse of heavens. Green expanse of fields, and beyond,
plains. I have arrived on a towering, abrupt knoll, a place of great power.
It shall be encompassed within my castle's outer walls. Below, the sun-bronzed
plainsmen of this lands react to my arrival. They run from fields undone,
scattering tools and seed, abandoning plows and dray horses. Many flee
in terror, some run in concern to protect their loved ones, a few sprint
in courage to grab their weapons. These few shall be my lieutenants.

 Even as I strode down off my Tor in this new vibrant land,
I sensed the arrival of Others, as they no doubt had sensed my arrival.
A few I recognized, most were unknown to me. The pure of heart I shall
ally with. The dark of heart I shall seek out and banish, or be banished.
As I crossed the long-grassed sward between my Tor and the village, I exchanged
communications with several of the Others. So it begins...

 As the first of my future heroes hammered blows with a great
maul upon my back, I promised myself I would not fail these noble folk.
Ignoring the blows and slashes as a bear does a fly, I continued on my
path towards the half-plowed fields. The plainsmen ended their useless
assault as it became apparent that my path led not to their village. Many
had expelled their strength and/or weaponry in the assault on my cursed
hide. They followed with suspicion which turned to awe as I loosed the
dray horses from their plows. It was a simple matter of fire and artifice
to meld the plows to each other. Grasping the brace of the central plow,
I began where the plainsmen had left off on their last furrow. Three days
and nights of pulling five plows and I had finished what would have taken
the villagers three weeks. Four more cycles of this world's sun and my
castle was complete. By the last day, many of the villagers helped in what
ways they could. These shall be my builders and staff.

 When all was complete and my staff and my heroes and many
more gazed expectantly up at me, I broke my silence. I spoke to all their
minds at once. I explained my purpose and the future that awaits their
world and their importance in it. That night the village celebrated my
Arrival. The rejoicing continued long into the night for who knew when
times would allow for another celebration?

--------------8B71830B1160B44AD29C2133--

Contact Shrike at creggec@telusplanet.net

PLAYER 10 - Alodar the Apprentice

*grmph* I know this feeling all too well - a new cloning loop has taken effect
once again; wonder what godforsaken outlandish world I have been clonecarnated
to this time... Yes, yes, I know I have only myself to blame - I should never
have fiddled with that 'clone self' spell back on my first homeworld in the
first place... Hmm, to be more exact, that cannot have been really ME, in the
strictly illogical sense of the word - it must have been someone else than THIS
me, though a "me" in any case... Wonder who that original Alodar was, compared
to ME - yes, I know I know more than a couple of his memories as well, which in
all cases is not as well...

OK, enough of reminiscence - I guess I had better check out this world as well,
before running into something not quite as well...

Oh, WoW ! I seem to be in the WoW universe once again, and in one of my
favourite worlds as well! These vibrations most definitely feel like Crynnian
vibrations, and I have always enjoyed my (my? our? well, whatever...)
clonecarnations here - now the only thing to find out is what race I have been
dropped amongst this time...

It does feel quite cool around here - in fact, it feels like biting cold...
*SHUDDER* I'm definitely going to try the spell "Melt the ice" before doing
anything else {trying the spell "Melt the ice"}

-Hellooo, handsome wizard, you look sooo lonely, mind if we keep you company?

-No fair maidens, not at all! [And I {I? Which me, I wonder - well never mind}
 who thought that "Melt the ice" was a spell to be understood literally, not
 figuratively - on the other hand, if it produces fair maiden with figures like
 that, I don't really mind - I have a feeling things might get really hot
 around here quite soon... DRAT! Except that I presumably have a mission to
 fulfill on this world as well - better get to the point then *sigh*]
 I am the worldfamous wizard Alodar the Apprentice [famous for having been
 cloned 42 quadrizillion times at least...] and I guess I have a mission to
 fulfill in someone's magic college once again ?!

-Indeed sir, what a lucky coincidence! The city fathers have been quite worried
 since the previous wizard disappeared some weeks ago after a dangerous mission
 to the lands of the Lich masters...

-Great - fulfilling magic missions is sort of my specialty anyway! So why don't
 you take me to your magic college in... ehh, where am I this time? I know this
 feels like Crynn, but I don't think I have been clonecarnated into these
 regions before?

-This is the icelanders capital Crystal Path, gem of the arctic realm, sir! We
 are very proud of our surroundings here - just look at the scenery!

-It is beautiful indeed... [I can think of other sceneries to look at just now,
 but I guess I must get down to business...] But could you please take me to
 your magic college on the double - I {some aspect of me at least} am in sort
 of a hurry just now...

-Sure, handsome wizard, but why in such a haste? We have plenty of time, don't
 we?

-Hmm, OK - let's forget the "on the double" and make it "on the single" [or
 maybe this should be called "mixed double" *chuckle*] instead!

["Somewhat" later - and this time with some quite pointed quotation marks
 around the word "somewhat"...]

-Thank you for the extremely pleasant company, fair maidens! So this is your
 magic college - a gem of the arctic indeed, I daresay!

-Our pleasure, handsome wizard! If you ever get a spare moment, please do come
 visit us again!

OK - first things first, let's see if I can find the kitchen... All that ice
melting has made my stomach hungry as well - ah here it is!

[A lot of thinking, pondering, considering, not to mention eating, eating and
 catnapping, and then again eating and catnapping, later]

OK, here we have the library... Now where do I start - hmm, this title looks
familiar:

"A Short Introduction to the Foundations of Crynn Magick".

Yeah, I remember this - and I think I remember most of the tricks of the trade
in the 42 volumes from my previous clonecarnations here on Crynn - let's see;

"Volume I of XLII"

Indeed, no surprises this time - I'll just cast the spell "speed reading"
{casting the spell "speed reading"} to see if there is something particular
with Icelander magic compared to other Crynnian magic...

[About 42 seconds later]

No surprises at all - well, that in itself is a surprise, of course...

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

Off to WOW Game Status Page.