PLAYER BLURBS.
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DOOMED That is what they are chanting in the streets. My orcs, (well that has a false ring to it now), I was their leader for a year and a half before the halflings and gnomes combined forces to besiege my fortress. Even though the average orc is three times the warrior that the little people are, the cowardly halflings hid and fired their arrows from a distance and as my orcs closed with them they scaled ladders into the gnomes balloons to fire yet more arrows into the bloodthirsty horde. Having disposed of most of my guards they then attacked my castle to try to capture me Oronic Master of the Orcs. Luckily I am a half-orc and I was able to pass as a slave, the fools freed me from me "servitude" and sent me on my way. By the time they realized their folly I had cast a spell to take me to another planet. A PRAYER The lizardmen chanted to their goddess Sssslithmar to send them a savior, someone powerful enough to defeat the Dragon of the Forest, a beast of foul temper that had a taste for lizard meat. Except for the Capital not one shire had more than one hundred people in it due to the voracious appetite of the beast. Now in the Capital they pray and hide in their homes from the beast looking for a sign that Sssslithmar still cares about her children. Once again night falls and the doors are locked even though it does little good against a creature that can knock walls flat with a swipe of its tail or tear off a roof with a swipe of a claw to get at the tasty people inside. Somewhere around dawn the beast is heard the thunder of its wings as it approaches drowns out another sound one that would also cause some amazement to the few hardy souls brave enough to peek through the closed shutters of their huts. ARRIVAL Oronic arrived in the capital of Sssslithmar just before the dawn with a pop and the dizzying sensation that always followed a change in dimension. Looking around he thought it odd that not one peasant was about normally in any town some poor sod was up before the cocks crow to get to the fields to milk every last bit of sunlight to pay the overlords taxes that were set so high. But here this was not the case was there no overlord, perhaps the peasants needed to be introduced to one, and since he had no current duties (fleeing from one's doomed capital surely frees up one's time) he could of course be that Overlord. Now that that plan was conceived how to find an opportunity to prove to the peasants that he was the proper Overlord for the job. THE CHALLENGE As I sat down to think of a way to convince the peasants of their proper place in the order of things (mainly serving me), heard a horrific noise in the distance shading my eyes from the rising sun I saw it, a green dragon, not a massive one like the ones from the tales but it was at least thirty feet from snout to tail. Perhaps this was why the fields were not being plowed, at last opportunity flew my way, on wings of green. How to attract its attention. I whipped out my sword waved it in the air thinking if I timed it just right I could slash the beast as it dove to attack. So I waited, as it flew toward me I swung and rolled out of the way knowing that my superior training would win this battle. There was one flaw in this plan, the dragon was not properly trained and instead of dodging my blow or being struck he simply tried to swallow me whole. This was not the proper way to do things, to make waters worse the fellow must have not like the flavor of half-orcs because he tried desperately to spit me out. Well I am not the type of man that will tolerate not being properly chewed and swallowed so I kept right there in his mouth, losing and castle, peasants and a battle was too much I gave in an said the beast was going to do the job right and eat me so that in the end none would know what happened to Oronic the Half-Orc. Unfortunately I had to use my sword to stay in place in an attempt to end my misery. So he could not spit me out and by thrashing back and forth the foolish beast jammed my sword into the roof of his mouth and killed himself. Now I know that I am doomed I could not even die a proper death. So resigned to my fate I crawled out of the dragon's mouth and planned to hang myself from the nearest tree when the peasants came out of their huts and abased themselves to me. I can't explain it but by not properly dying seems to be the way to become a lizardman chieftain, and so once again I am propelled to the top by way of fate. From the journals of Oronic
Contact Oronic at leschlog@aol.com
The morning light streamed in through the window as Agamemnon awoke. He
struggled to get up and felt like he had been asleep for centuries.
Memories swam in his head. Some were pleasant, but most were of fighting.
Lots of fighting. Dragons burning whole villages and soldiers sweeping over
his lands. His last memory was of a great light, pain....and then nothing.
His room looked pleasant enough. Outside, he could see the huge trees
of the forest stretching to the horizon. Down below his window, he saw some
elven people hard at work. They seemed to be building small structures and
planting crops.
Agamemnon rubbed his head, trying to shake away the cobwebs. Strange
that he had no real memories of his past, only the dreams. "There must be
some written histories around here somewhere," he muttered to himself.
Looking on the bookshelf on the far wall, Agamemnon saw an old dusty
book entitled "Agamemnon: A Wizard's Past." "This must be it," Agamemnon
exclaimed as he took the book from the shelf and sat down at a small reading
desk. Unfortunately, the book looked rather thin and was burnt and crumpled
at the edges. "Doesn't look like I have had a glorious past," Agamemnon
sighed.
Details were sketchy, but the first entry seemed to be of Minotaurs
swarming over some viscous creatures called Lava Legions. Agamamnon smiled
as he saw pictures of his enemies fall before his great armies. By the time
the creature known as Arragoth fell, a vast empire was his and his people
were thriving.
The second entry was much shorter. Again, it looked like he was up
against Arragoth's minions, however, there seemed to be very few battles
with them. Instead, all he saw was his brave Lizardmen fighting in the
depths of the earth with some Dark Elves. Agamemnon turned the last pages
quickly because they described a massive army slaughtering his Lizardmen by
the score and storming his castle. "Yikes," he thought, "I hope that
doesn't happen again."
The last entry was fairly lengthy. It seemed he was leading a veteran
Dervish army against a mighty Sandpeople army. Orcs stood with him
side-by-side as he fought an epic battle with the Sandpeople. Crops burned
and there was death everywhere, but his armies stood tall and neither side
seemed to gain a real advantage. The pages ended with a mighty dragon
assault that his troops successfully defeated. Unfortunately, the victory
could not be enjoyed because his castle was engulfed in a huge ball of fire
and he ceased to exist.
"Not a glorious history," Agamemnon thought, "but maybe I can learn from
these mistakes. Guess it is time to go outside and meet my new subjects."
Contact Agamemnon at brianandkathy@cox.net
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact The Great Bermuda at sim@i-wight.demon.co.uk
I, Paksenarion, one of the proven archmages of the new generation, sat back to enjoy the hospitality of a dwarven empire shrowded in peace. I had worked with the Hill Dwarves long to help them overcome the mighty legions of Arragoth. However, not all seemed peaceful. Something was wrong. I repaired to my scrying chamber. Long had I worked in this chamber to discover what thw other wizards of this world had done. Most of those wizards had been defeated. The rest fell in line. The water in the bowl sat perfectly still and clear. I began chanting slowely and carefully the enchantment that would turn this into a magical eye. The waters began to turn murcky. Shadows began to form. Slowely a picture foemed before me. I could see Lizardmen fighting with Ogres. Ogres fought other Ogres. A Dragon flew over them all and ate well. A figure appeared. I could tell little about this person, but he had the feeling of a wizard. I saw the lizardmen worship him. The Ogre tribes continued to fight. A balance was needed if they were not to be wiped out by the lizardmen. I spent my last night among the dwarves in a feast that lasted all night. This would be the last good meal I would eat for a long while. I packed my few possessions, and went to my summoning chamber. For long hours, I prepared the spell that would carry me away into this new world. Slowely, my summoning circle disappeared only to be replaced by a stone village. At first, the Ogres knew little about me or my origins. I was taken before the greatest of their shamans. I found out that they had lost their chieftan, and no one was worthy of taking over the tribe. I immediately demonstrated my lesser talents, and imppressed the Shaman. I explained to him that without uniting the tribes, the Lizardmen would over run his people. They had summoned a great wizard. I had come to help them, and to unite the Ogre Tribes as they had never been before. My influence began to be felt as I brought the Shamans within my sway. It was not long before I had a small city surrounding my new castle. These conditions were not as good as the ones I shared with the Dwarves, but they would do. I now begin to prepare the Ogres for the war that I know will soon grow to consume this new world. The shamans fill me in on the world and its people. Let the world prepare...
Contact Paksenarion at ltswiftwind@yahoo.com
The afternoon sunlight filtered diaphanously down through the forest canopy. The underbrush was alive with the thrashings of a fierce battle between two wolf cubs. High above on the white limestone cliffs perched a small village, modest home of the High Elves. But soon to be mighty fortress. The wind skipped and swept along the limestone face, rising off the forest with a rustling roar. It soared, as if in joyous abandon at it’s luck to be alive in the wondrous Eden. Mighty oaks creaked and leaves rustled in sheets across the sprawling expanse of forest on all sides of the sleeping village. The sound of flutes and sweet singing rose from the village emanating from the door and windows of the new tavern, it’s freshly painted sign "The Bard’ s Respite" gaily fluttering in the occasional gusts, as if dancing in time to the music. And perhaps it was given the elven alacrity with magicks. Tuar O’Caullaghain, more widely known as ‘the Shrike’, slowed in his pacing to gaze out over the trees and listen for the snatches of merriment from the tavern, sent his way on the capricious wind. "Where IS he?!" He muttered to himself. Three weeks had passed with no sign or word from his man, whom he had sent to the north to seek signs of any movement of the depth dwelling races. The city of the Drow is said to reside somewhere below the hills leagues to the north. That realm he had never led, but he knew the people. The vermin, more like. No mistake there but many mistakes made elsewhere. Mistakes he would not repeat. Not here. Not with these people, the Fated People… The missing messenger was the last of the diplomats that had been sent out when the Shrike took charge of the village. Already word had arrived from lands far beyond the cliffside village. The Shrike mentally ticked them off as he considered his goal of an elven world alliance of noble wizards. Agamemnon, not well known to the Shrike, but known widely as a competent ruler, loyal friend and fearsome enemy. Alodar the Warrior Mage, sometime ally, sometime enemy of the Shrike. Always respected. Which way would circumstance blow the talented magician in this lifetime? Ordo Equestor, a recent friend from a different existence, now arising in the enlightened rulership of the Underdwarves, a favoured and trusted companion of great power. All had agreed to the Shrike’s call for alliance, war against the marauders in the island kingdoms and ultimately a great peace over the land. The last of his scouts had headed out last night. They had gone forth to claim what land they could and make contact with the peoples of the other Immortals. He had confidence that they would hold to their sworn words and join him in ridding this world of the scourge of the pirate Immortals spreading mayhem across the seas and coastal lands. In the coming months, these brave scouts would be followed by forged steel and burnished armor, fearless rangers and silent agents, blistering magic and sharp mithril, glorious beasts and gory behemoths. All tasked to spread security and confidence across the land once again. Peace on the edge of our swords. A good motto. A motto for an alliance of guardians. And when the last of the evil Immortal’s heads were severed from their body, then he could rest. Rest and move on with the knowledge that he had finally done a good thing, perhaps. A soft creak distracted the Shrike from his musings. A lithe, young elven teen strode in with a plate of greens for the Immortal Lord. She set the bowl down on the finely carved marble table, smiling pleasantly as she did so. The People called him Immortal, ironic in that they were probably longer-lived than he. The real meaning of the honourific acknowledged his destiny to rule. As a hawk is born to soar or a scorpion to sting, so his kind is born to rule, to build nations, to conquer cities and lay waste to empires. Athanon, Immortal, Fey, there are many names used to describe his kind. All know of them though less than a small town’s worth exist in the entire multiverse. His kind is as varied as the peoples they rule. Some are traders, seeking to build great, vibrant merchant empires, others are scholars, building great libraries and colleges whose sole purpose is only to increase the knowledge of the builder, more are monsters, megalomaniacs intent on land and power that even they must admit they can hold only fleetingly. A few, like the Shrike, are stewards, attempting to leave the places they briefly rule a little greater than whence they arrived. This particular existence held special significance for the Shrike. It was his ultimate ambition to the race he respected above all, the High Elves, the Fated People. He had begun living his destiny long ago but had never before found himself amongst the High Elves. It was his greatest ambition and he swore to put all he had learned in his travels and travails to use in raising the Fated People up to the prominence they deserved. His thoughts are disturbed once again, this time by a sharp rap upon the door. "Enter." The Shrike commands. The door of living wood swings silently inwards on its sturdy vine hinges to reveal a lightly bearded elf of indeterminate age this time. Tall, lightly bearded in wispy blonde hair, the stranger’s garments and hair spoke of a long trip through the forest. "I know you not, brave sir. Why do you seek me in these dire times?", queried the Shrike. "My name is Illithion Gryphonwing? I heard you bring talk of returning the Fier’Dal their rightful place as leaders of the civilized world. I heard also you are recruiting military captains. I’m the man you want.", said the elf boldly. "Hmmm…. Yes, yes you are a man I seek, but not foe mere scouting. You I have larger designs for. You shall captain the defences of the great castle I shall build on these cliffs. Return on the morrow for instruction. For now, enjoy yourself in yonder tavern for you will not have many chances for fine women and song after tomorrow." And with that, he bade Illithion farewell til the morrow.
Contact Shrike at creggec@telusplanet.net
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Hazaar at henson111@msn.com
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Contact Arkolyn at tjestep@cmhmetro.net
*grmph* Here I go again (but which I... ?) - my uncle TOLD me not to fiddle with that 'clone self' spell back on my first homeworld until I was absolutely sure I had mastered it... Well, I _thought_ I had, but somehow I got stuck in an endless loop, and now I find myself in the strangest of worlds all the time, and long ago I lost count of which me is really me, and which me is a clone of a clone of a clone... On the other hand, with so many memories to choose from you are almost always able to scan them for practical (and of course, also for less practical but instead much more fun) solutions to upcropping problems... The drawback is of course that you seldom catch on to any *really* new approach to an old situation - hmm, THIS time I'll definitely try something _completely different_ just for practice! Let me see, there must be some old memory someplace to show me how to take a new approach to old problems... [After quickly scanning 42 zillion clonecarnations in 1764 seconds...] Strange, not a single memory of that kind... ?!? [Thinking deeply for 1764 more minutes...] I see - but I really _should_ have seen that much quicker; my brain surely needs to have a lot of rust shaken out of it... Of course, once a new approach has been tried once it is no longer new! So if it is truly new I cannot have a single memory of it - drat, I *hate* these catch-22 situations... OK, guess I had better shake some of the rust out of my brain and just order it to come up with something completely different this time... Speaking of rust, there doesn't seem too much of a risk to pick up more of it here - not a mineral in sight, just woods, woods and woods (but no tiger) - let's hope that is a good omen (the presence of woods, I mean, not the absence of tigers) - I seem to recall an old 'derust the brain' spell which worked well if you had LOTS of wood as raw material... -Don't you DARE touch our precious forests, you ignorant human, or this arrow will penetrate your heart! Drat, I'm even thinking aloud nowadays - I *really* need to do something about my brain quickly before that biodegradable lump degenerates so much that the damage becomes irreversible... -Take it easy, whoever you are, I was just thinking aloud about some _purely_ hypothetical options... -That remains to be seen - turn around slowly, and no quick movements... -OK, but is it OK if I cast a quick spell *ZAP!!* just as a precaution should you accidentally (or deliberately) fire that arrow... And don't worry, once we have completed a short discussion I'll be happy to unpetrify that bow for you again (provided we have come to an agreement of course) ... -Aaarghh, a human wizard in our forests - what is this world coming to? -Well, to tell the truth, I have no idea even which world this is, so would you mind filling me in on some worldly details? -Strange wizard you are indeed - petrifying my bow with merely a *ZAP!* but not knowing where you are... Anyway, this is the world of Merrigon, though sadly much of the joy and merriment which formerly characterised this world is indeed long gone... Evil races have been brought to this world by the gods themselves, and us wood elves can no longer live in peace with nature itself and with ourselves and our brethren the high elves with so many races planning on our destruction... -Merrigon, indeed! I seem to have a few quite recent memories from this world, and none of them too rosy - your assessment of this world might be truer than you think... Let me see - since you are of the wood elven race your capital should be either Feline Growl or Asterix, right? -Not Asterix, oh mighty wizard, but Astrina, and our fellow wood elves live in Laline Grove - a place quite devoid of feline growls. These woods are no tiger woods, sir... ? -Alodar the Apprentice is the name, and if past experience is something to go by you presumably just happen to have a chair of wizardry just waiting to be filled ?! (And don't worry about my slightly erratic memory, I'll fix that as soon as I have found another 'derust the brain' spell which doesn't use wood as raw material...) -Chair of wizardry? What on earth is THAT? Us wood elves never heard of chairs! [Something _completely different_ it was... Well, I asked for it, so I shouldn't complain, but now I'd better find that brain defrosting spell real fast...] -OK, take me to your capital then, and I'll see if I can improvise something out of nothing *sigh* -As you command, mighty wizard! If we walk in that direction, we will be there in maybe half an hour... Ehh, would you mind unpetrify my bow for me before that - the city elders are quite touchy about destroying wood, and if I came back with my bow in that condition... *shudder* -Sure - *!PAZ* there you are; could you now please fill me in on some more details while we walk... [Approximately 42 minutes later] -Thank you for the briefing, fella! This is quite a magnificent wooden city you have here, I daresay! Now let me just cast the spells 'instantiate a new chair of wizardry' and 'create a magic college (_with_ library)' - ehh... I don't seem to have those spells in my vocabulary - guess I'll have to improvise my way through, then... [42 wood-rending failures later] -Please, mighty wizard! Cast that 'derust the brain' spell and use as much wood as you wish - that is likely to do much less damage to our precious forests as your currents attempts! -Hmm, you might actually have a point there... *casting the 'derust the brain' spell* (using approximately 110 per cent of the remaining wood) -Ahh, I needed that! It cleared out more than a few cobwebs from that old biodegradable lump I use for a brain... Now let me first fix the damage I inadvertently caused *casting the spell 'fix inadvertently caused damage to wood elven forests'* and then back to the improvisations... [A couple of improvisations, and more than a couple of recasts of the spell 'fix inadvertently caused damage to wood elven forests', later] -OK, that should do it! Now you just go back to living your ordinary lives and let good old (and newly rebrained) Alodar the Apprentice take care of your new chair of wizardry, your magic college, and all potential evil on this world! Though I might have need for some of you as cannon fod... ehh, as warrior heroes helping to defend these forests from intruders, of course! Hmm, this is where I created the library - let's see, there should be just one volume I need to read if I did this right... Must be *this* one; "Introduction to the Foundations of _Completely Different_ (tm) Magick". Excellent - I still can learn some new tricks it seems *chuckle* Wait - what says the fine print; "Disclaimer: This Magick is not Valid on any WoW World" *AAARRRGGGHHH!!!* So much for new tricks and old tigers... ehh, dogs... Well, luckily I created those XLII volumes of Wood Elven Magick as well, just for nostalgic reasons - now where did I put my spectacles... ?!
Contact Alodar the Apprentice at rwikman@ra.abo.fi
It was a lucky day when a slice of cheese fell out of my sandwich. I was just having a snack to sustain me on my afternoon stroll over to Old Tooks'for Rising Tea. That's the one before High Tea and Drop Scone Tea. Blue Smoked Brandywine it was, just nicely ripe. Well it was a pity to lose such a morsel and it could easily be dusted off. That was when I found the old ring by the side of the road. I did not realise then how very very precious it would prove to be. It turned me invisible, a wonderful device for getting a fourth or fifth helping. I have to confess I have been tempted into raiding the larders of other Hobbits. That has started rumours and I have to be careful, but the ring is teaching me. There are pleasures beyond a full table and pipe that other Hobbits do not realise. Soon the power to reach them will be mine, and I will lead my fellow Halflings to triumph over the races around us. They will look down on us no longer when they lie on the ground! We will have their cake and eat it!
Contact John The Boring at john@mcintoshhome.freeserve.co.uk
I disemboweled three chieftains, tortured dozens of shaman and caused = the still births of scores of litters before the Orcs finally abandoned = that cursed swamp. I'd much rather impale the errant Chaos Minion than = deal with that muck constantly. Things are much better now. The castle is finally complete, and on dry = land I might add, not to mention the readily abundant nourishment for = the stock. You can't imagine how many snake and catfish it takes to sate = a small tribe of Orc. They feed endlessly. Few are their number now but = the breeding pits are nearly complete. There will be fresh hordes to = send to the fray shortly.=20 I cannot see them clearly yet but I feel them none the less. Wizards are = here! Gathering their power even now. I conjure ethereal tendrils = hopeful to sense who is of a mind to collaborate on plans of conquest.=20 I wait impatiently for their return...
Contact Tethress at jwyeager@wt.net
A long long time ago
on a hillside
far
far
away
there lived a hill dwarf who must have drunk too much of the potent Halfling liquor?.. either that, or indulged in the infamous "whacky 'baccy" favoured by the Gnomes to encourage outlandish ideas.
In an ingenious plan to ease the constant hard labour of the mining of the fabled Mithril, he bought a wagon load of Gnomish black powder, and set about pouring the stuff into the cracks in the rock formations that hid the precious metal.
To the inquisitive observer, the picture before them was of a sneezing dwarf, lurching around the city perimeter, frequently tripping over his beard whilst carrying sacks that seemed to leak noxious dust. Even stranger, was his habit of, every so often, leaping into the air with a cry of
"Oh, Why was I born so beautiful?.
Oh, Why was I born so smart?"
and
"Will you still meet me, Will you still keep me?.
When I'm six hundred and sixty-four?".
Perhaps, if rather than shaking their heads in disbelief, someone had called the city militia to arrest him, to sleep it off overnight in the city cells, life would have been so much simpler.
But? It was not to be, and turning to the cart to find no more sacks of powder, our heroic dwarf smiled. In fact he was so pleased, that it was the biggest smile that he had ever smiled, showing almost all of the yellowed and stained teeth, framed in the most unnerving way by the grey streaked beard. This beard contained remnants of breakfast and yesterday's lunch and supper, and probably, meals from the last decade (bathing was not a habit approved of by Dwarves, unless the rain dictated it) and it seemed to move of its own accord, or more precisely, the accord of whatever resided therein.
The lone dwarf sat on a log and ate heartily from his satchel, first the slug and lettuce sandwich, purchased in the Halfling market, and then the enticing "self-heating Apple and Cinnamon pie", so recently purloined from the Gnomish trader. At the thought of this success as a petty thief, (the trader was distracted by a buxom Dwarven lass, whose beard was neatly platted to amplify her ample cleavage) he pondered this as a future career, but discarded such thoughts in favour of the popular clamour he anticipated when his work was complete.
It was unfortunate that the act of theft had not included the instructions to the GM (Gnomishly Modified) foodstuff, or more accurately, the health warnings that were meant to attend the novel gastronomic delicacy.
As he pulled back the leather lid from the container, the tongue of flame that issued forth caught him by surprise. The smell of burning hair, mingled with a variety of other odours derived from the incineration of large parts of his beard, were accompanied by the loudest of screams, and the hurling of the pie into the air, as the container became too hot to hold.
Since, our intrepid hero was using both hands in an attempt to extinguish the conflagration that was once his beard, he failed to notice the graceful arc that the pie now traced through the air. The apples were baking nicely, the cinnamon giving of the richest of scents, and the entire pudding would have been ready for eating in a matter of moments, except that ??
Simple chemistry dictates that the arrival of an incendiary device (for that is what the pie resembled) in close proximity to Gnomish black powder, can only have one outcome. And boy, was that outcome spectacular!.
Peering through the heat haze before his eyes, as the blazing beard was extinguished with the contents of his flask of Dwarven ale, the rapidly sobering dwarf witnessed the premature realisation of his cunning plan. Or, rather, he witnessed the unthought of realisation of what was not so much planned as rushed into.
In a blinding flash, the black powder ignited, and as his eyes recovered, our friend of small height and large girth began to smile again, as the glint of Mithril veins appeared. "Success!!" he thought, but quickly thought again, as cracks raced through the rocks in a dizzy display and he fought for balance as the earth moved beneath his feet.
There was a gentle rocking motion and ridiculously, the city appeared to be sinking; but it slowly dawned on him that there was nothing ridiculous about it, and the slow sinking was becoming a rapid descent.
The city fell and the light was obscured by the dust and flying rocks resulting from the explosions. In fact, as he looked up, the circle of light receded and the walls of the chasm seemed to fall together.
Eventually, the descent stopped with am almighty thud, and lights appeared amongst the shattered buildings of the Dwarven city.
He could hear the cries from the city, and looked around at the shadows and strange reflections of the tremendous cavern that the city had fallen into. He was pondering about the prospects for the Dwarves under all this earth and rock, and what fate the new Under Dwarves would inflict on him for his stupidity, when a falling rock landed on his head, and thinking ceased to be habit that he would enjoy again.
THIS IS THE STORY TOLD TO THE CHILDREN OF UNDERVILLE, AS TO HOW THE UNDER DWARVES CAME TO BE.
Contact Ordo Equester at lias@madasafish.com
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