PLAYER 1 - The Master

    The smoke rose above the hills of Yrundyroc as the chanting drifted
through the air.  Louder and louder the chants rose as the sun shrunk below
the horizon.  Inventsalot, a young Gnome farmer, crept along the rocky
hillside toward the sound.  These hills had been very quiet for many years,
and Inventsalot could not resist the temptation to see what all the
commotion was about.
    Inventsalot finally cleared the last ridge and looked down on the scene
below him.  What he saw was about twenty Gnomes dressed in black robes.
They were gathered around a large campfire and appeared to be walking in
circles around it, chanting some mysterious words.  The fire produced an
unnaturally thick smoke that filled the air, almost choking him at this
close distance.  Inventsalot had never seen these Gnomes before and was
curious what was going on.
    He watched for hours.  As the chanting continued, it picked up speed and
volume.  The smoke continued to billow from the fire and became thicker as
time passed, eventually seeming to take shape.  Inventsalot stared as the
smoke formed the shape of a man's face.  The face rotated in the smoke,
looking at the surrounding hillside.  The chanting rose to an unbelievable
level and then suddenly fell silent.  The Gnomes fell to their knees and
pressed their faces to the ground.  Inventsalot trembled as the face spoke
with a voice that rumbled across the countryside.
    "The Master has arrived!"

Contact The Master at brianandkathy@cox.net

PLAYER 2 - Elrond

=20
Shagnak looked out toward the view that confronted him across the line
of march for his soldiers.  What he saw seemed to show promise; a
promise of finally being able to break out from the restricted avenues
of expansion for the forces of his Master, Elrond.  But something just
didn't look quite right.
=20
Anyhow, Shagnak realized that he had done enough thinking, and that it
was time to discuss the matter with his Master.
=20
So he began the ritual by which he could attain contact with his Master
and discuss the situation.
=20
"Yes, I hear you Shagnak."  came the voice of Elrond in Shagnak's head.
"What do you have to report?"
=20
"Master, I have reached what appears to be a point of decision.  Look
through my eyes and see."
=20
=20
Elrond spent a moment to contemplate the view through the eyes of his
field lieutenant.  He could certainly understand what would make the Orc
so uneasy about what he faced.  Give him, and the others of his kind, an
enemy with weapons and he would know exactly what to do.  But puzzles
like this were not his cup of tea.
=20
What he saw was clear, and yet not clear.  The clear part was that there
were paths from this 'shire' to not one, not two, but _three_ different
regions.  The implications for this were obvious; one path to the Astral
Plane, one to the Underworld, and one to remain on the surface.
=20
The not clear part was the fact that somehow, in some way, there seemed
to be no way of telling which path went in which direction.  This was a
quite unexpected puzzle; usually it could be quite easily determined at
least which of multiple paths would lead to a different plane, yet this
view offered not a single clue as to exactly where any of these possible
paths might lead.
=20
The only consolation for Elrond in this was that, on the other side of
the world being used for this great competition, one of his enemy
wizards was likely contemplating the very same issue.
=20
Anyhow, it was time for a reply.  "Okay, Shagnak, here is what you are
going to have to do..."
=20

Contact Elrond at mjorr@indiana.edu

PLAYER 3 - Semblar the Great

A History of
Why

So Gnomes need to fight other

Gnomies. This is not the first, nor shall it be the LAST 

- just look inside your tomies!

Is

the combat Ergonomic? No it's merely ergoGnomic. Our king needs to choose
from

amongst the best - which is we four so Bugger all the rest!

Our

tourney though 'tis

necessary is one for Gnomes, 

not some poor Faerie. 

This
combat

true will unite our nation, yet for the mo brings

devastation

AS some
poor

sage of old would say: 









"Bugger

this, and Chocks Away!"











 

Now, 

While the doggerel above was composed
by an

up and coming bard, this is more than serious for this great nation of the

Gnomes. We have a cirisis that it seems can only be solved by bloodshed.

While none of us would wish to harm a
fly

(well except when we're using them in some laboratory and spill acid on them
by

mistake), we must by royal decree do battle until such time as there is a
clear

successor to Da Gnome Throne.

I'm obviously a little bit upset by all

this! Why my buddy and mate of Old is actually on the other side to me! Ordo
and

I go back a little bit.. well at least to the 214th dimension in
any

case. But as Sayla Gair (my tutor in all things martial ) would say (in the
deep

and booming voice that makes us wonder as to whather deep back in his
ancestry

he has some Ogre blood pulsing thru' his veins) "Your

friend is your friend until he's your enemy...

but if he's your friend when he's not your enemy any more he'll be your
friend

again".

I'm not quite sure I understand that one, but he assures me of it's inherent

veracity and bids me meditate on it at least three times a day, before a
square

meal each time. I've ordered a set of oblong plates, bowls and platters so
that

I can do exactly that.

 

So we have Sides. Me 'n' Elrond against

Ordo and Oronic. Thus we can fight together. Now some numskull gnome would

wonder why there is such co-operation, but the answer is clear. To be a
truely

great monarch you need more than the ability to wield the biggest sword. YOu

need to be able to work with othetrs, delegate, negotiate, and so on.
Without

that you rule through fear alone... and while the populaceshould rightly
fear,

they should also love, and you don't get that without at least a modicum of

interpersonal (or should that be interGnominal?) skills. Of couse, if I had
to

choose between the four of us I would Gnominate nominate

myself, but I have to admit that this viewpoint would be more than a teensy

weensy bit biased.

Then we move onto the tournament area

itself. Isn't it a doosy! Must have been created by the classical designer,

Awlsfayre N. Luvenwor - or as a remote possibility it could have been
Corneul D.

Vestin . Now this is the future of confrontational architecture on a
continental

scale no less! all these secret passages and immediate barriers - boy it's
gonna

be fun trying to figure it out.....and the cavern. What a sight those
grottoes

are! Must be enough to bring a tear to me old mam's eye that - wait a
second,

I'll get it out and check. NO, no tear - but there was a kind of
appreciative

sheen

 

Ah well, if I get more to add in the
Diary

(Dear Diary), I shall, but there be blood to shed and shed to build. If you
need

me for owt, call me at 

semblar

Contact Semblar the Great at danreed@blueyonder.co.uk

PLAYER 4 - Silverthorn

Smoke filled the air as Silverthorn picked his way across the battlefield.
Enemy soldiers lay all about and his bodyguards nervously tried to watch
them all in case one of them wasn't completely dead.  It would be a great
tragedy if a lone "hero" killed their leader in the midst of this great
victory.  The kingdoms of Neabudara and Bombardaric lay in ruins.  The ruins
of Bombardaric smoked as the small party moved through them. The victory had
been a decisive one.  Both of the enemy wizards had fled to other worlds.
Their fates were no longer Silverthorn's concern.  His mind was already
turning to the next challenge ahead.  If he wanted to be King of Andoria, he
could not afford to revel in the past.  Another struggle was at hand and it
would require his undivided attention.

Suddenly a figure appeared out of the gloom, startling Silverthorn from his
private musings.  Fearing the worst, Silverthorn's gnomish warriors drew
their weapons and moved to protect their beloved leader. Silverthorn
gathered the magical flows  in case he needed to defend himself.  A quiet
laugh came from the hooded figure. "They certainly are loyal to you brother
but do you really need protection from me?" chuckled the dark figure.
Hearing the voice, Silverthorn relaxed recognizing his ally and brother -
The Master.  Together they had forged the lighting attacks and devastating
magical assault that had brought enemy wizards to their knees.  While
extremely powerful, and dangerous, Silverthorn had nothing to fear today
from this figure in the dark.  It was always interesting whenever they
struggled against each other, but this was not one of those times.  Although
possessing different skills and talents, they were very closely matched in
skill and power.  When allied as one these meshed talents became very
formidable indeed.

The dark figure spoke again "It is done."  Feeling the magical forces
gather, Silverthorn watched the cloaked figure vanish in a flash of light.
He could sense his brother "traveling" to another place.  The time had come
for the second challenge to unfold.  Silverthorn nodded and his honor guard
moved away from him.  Silverthorn knew that he would miss these gnomes.
They had proven to be fierce warriors, determined warriors and loyal
friends.  It was too bad that he could not take them with him to the next
challenge.  Drawing his cloak around him, Silverthorn spoke the work of
power and let the magic take him.  It was time to join his brother on a
field of contest.

As the smoke cleared and his vision focused, Silverthorn found himself in a
modest hall.  Orcs sprang to attention at his appearance in the hall.
Recognizing the creatures around him as orcs, Silverthorn inwardly groaned
to himself....  "ORCS....ORCS....Why did it have to be ORCS? I hate ORCS!"
Well there is nothing to be done about it now.  Identifying the leader,
Silverthorn began issuing orders and making plans.  There were two new
opponents out there somewhere and he had no time to waste if he was going to
be ready when they came looking for Silverthorn's castle.

Contact Silverthorn at LordSilverthorn@cox.net

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