PLAYER BLURBS.
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The Master and Silverthorn watched as their forces approached the
fortress of Elrond. The troops behind the battlements cowered in fear as
the scores of Bronze dragons and daemons circled overhead. The horn of
battle rang out in the chill morning air as the orcs charged down the hill
and besieged the castle. Magical energies sparkled from the tower of Elrond
and many orc wolfriders and berserkers fell in their tracks. This was not
enough, however, as there were many more to fill their places. Dragons
pounded the battlements with fire, and the hoard of apprentices and builders
defending the castle had no chance and were engulfed with fire. Within
moments, the castle was overrun.
The Master smiled with glee at this victory. It had been a tough
battle, but his power combined with Silverthorn had proved to be too much
for their enemies. Finally, the conquest of Andoria was complete. The
Master looked forward to the days of oppressing the peasants, forcing his
will into every corner of the land. Silverthorn would oppose him, of
course, being the more peace loving of the two, but The Master was pretty
sure that he could work behind the scenes without Silverthorn knowing the
extent of his terror.
Suddenly, the world began to shimmer. The Master, wild-eyed with panic,
stared around at the countryside. Everything was growing dark and shifting
in and out of focus. "Nooooooo!" screamed The Master as he realized what
was happening. This had happened to him once before. The battle was not
over. He was going to be reduced to a fraction of his current power, once
again at the mercy of whatever race he was thrown into next. He began to
despair as the darkness closed in around him........
It was some time before he awoke. The Master blinked his eyes and
looked around. "Great," he exclaimed. "Women. I am going to have to
conquer the world with women. At least they look fierce and ready for
battle." The Master was sure that his fellow wizard Silverthorn was someone
in this land, along with two new enemies. Now he would have to rebuild his
kingdom and lead his people to glory once again. Two victories were under
his belt, but only time would tell if fortune would smile on him once again.
Let the games begin!
Contact The Master at brianandkathy@cox.net
THE TAKING OF ELECTRA
King Alamopud paused momentarily in his study of the fragile,
tattered map before him to stroll to the stone encased window in the parapet
overlooking the courtyard below. He was exhausted, having not slept in 2
days, or was it 3? since his arrival in the midst of the hot and humid
jungle on this cursed world, seemingly made solely for the enjoyment of
vampirous bugs of every sort.
He placed his enormous clawed hands on the rocky sill, and looked down at
the beehive of activity below him in the courtyard. Everywhere below, Amazon
women scurried here and there, carting in seemingly endless trawlers of
stone and wood for the castle improvements, working the billows of the forge
in the blacksmith’s shop as the fiery furnace cranked out iron tipped
spears, swords, and armor plating, and training, night and day, for the
operations to come.
A particularly venomous looking bug with huge jaws and long, spindly
legs crawled up the stone wall, and peered cautiously over the lower edge,
thinking he was smelling his next meal, but actually only catching the
malodorous stench of his own death. Alamopud snatched the bug from the wall
and crushed it in his hand, juices running down his wrist as he gleefully
squished it harder. Why could not the WOW Gods have deleted these
hellacious bugs from this place. How he hated them so!!
His gaze drifted over to the training pits again. There, Amazons were
lowered into the pits, and practiced close combat with one another, over and
over again. He watched with more than idle interest as these buxom beauties
writhed and twisted as they wrestled with each other in their heated frenzy.
He could see them glisten with sweat, and how it made their bronzed skin
shine! He felt parts of the rocky ledge before him crumble in his hands,
and he laughed, he had not realized how tightly he had gripped the sill, nor
what it revealed about him.
It had been too long, so much time had eclipsed him, he could not
even remember the last time he had shared time with a woman. His was a
lonely place, responsibility in towering heaps, always and endlessly
preparing for battle, never any time for himself. He looked down at his few
soldiers he had been allowed to bring with him, gawking openly at the
beautiful women, some chatting ostensibly with them about their weapons or
whatever. He missed the freedom they had, the free will. Well, this would
change, today.
He wondered what was keeping her, she should have been coming through
the courtyard by now. A momentary panic laced through his veins, thinking
she might not show, afterall. Panic turned to anger, as he remembered how
he had been promised by the WOW Gods a wife, a beautiful Amazonian princess,
Electra, as a reward for his commanding their troops to victory in this God
forsaken hell hole. And then, as various well remembered curses nearly came
to fruition, bugles sounded below, and the wide, great iron gates slowly
swung open, as Princess Electra made her glorious appearance.
Preceeded and followed by her guardians, she made her way towards the Castle
entrance. Alamopud’s breath caught in his throat. My God, she was
absolutely beautiful, stunning. Her long, raven hair was tightly braided in
a gold weave down her naked back, her green opalescent eyes darting back and
forth in an endless search for enemies and danger. Her mithril breastplate
barely covered her ample bosom. Alamopud felt his throat tighten and his
mouth go dry as he watched her. He felt foolish, like a boy again, but he
was transfixed nonetheless. Her flat, taut belly led to even more beautiful
long lithe legs, which she used to graceful glide along the sandy street.
In one hand she held fast a golden spear, in the other, a shield engraved
with the Amazonian standard. She was perfection in motion, and she was HIS.
The late afternoon ground down into evening as the last crimson
fingers of the sun stabbed the sky, clawing for life, and failing, being
steeled away into darkness. Alamopud personally oversaw the final banquet
preparations, nothing must go awry and ruin this most perfect of nights.
Finally, all was ready, orchids of every known species adorned the tables,
candles and torches provided an ambient light. The food smelled heavenly,
having been prepared by the finest Amazon chefs. Now, the best part was
finally here. He called his personal guard to accompany him to meet and
escort the beautiful lady to the banquet, where King Alamopud would be
waiting, and finally begin a long-awaited new phase of his life, one earned
by years of toil.
He waited calmly, and then waited some more, and then more time
elapsed and still no Princess, and no guard either. He tried to be patient,
and allowed a little more time, but when no one came, he finally lunged from
his chair and took a quartet of soldiers and marched deeper into the castle
to the guest chambers. Where horror awaited.
Blood was splattered all over the hallway walls, and on the ruined wooden
doorway. It still dripped. He beloved guard were all dead, some hacked
into pieces, others pinned to the wall by spears. He stormed past the dead,
his sword drawn, into the chamber where his Electra, HIS Electra was
supposed to be getting ready. She was nowhere to be found. Instead, he
stared at the floor, at the heap of at least half a dozen dead soldiers of
the Holy Thunder, lying sprawled on the stony floor. She had not gone
willingly. The Holy Thunder, a ravenous band of mercenaries led by the
Crazed Twins, brothers, each a king, each bent on total domination of any
other peoples. He remembered hearing them spewing forth their vile
fanatical religious doctrine, rolling forth their Holy Army, crushing all
who refused to become indoctrinated. And now, like Thieves in the night,
they had sent a party here to steal his woman, his wife to be, to virtually
spit on him in his own house.
He felt a cold rage course through his body, as and the world around
him became black as never before. His soldiers retreated from him, startled
more by his disturbing silence. He did not howl, curse, nor kill everyone
around him, as expected. He just stared straight ahead, unmoving, as
granite, and whispered to the men, “Prepare the army, we have more bugs to
squash.”
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Contact Alamopud at alamopud@hotmail.com
Gholan the Conqueror stood for just a moment on the edge of the precipice, staring down at the hellish carnage below. So it had come to this, one final climatic battle between evil, and, well, more evil. The campaign had taken the better part of a year; the world of Merrigon was a near total wasteland by now, thanks to the ravages of the terrible dragons that both sides had conjured up by darkest magic.
Though the battles, coming as frequently as the changing of the tides, had been fiercely contested, slowly and inexorably the Orcs had pushed the High Elves continually to the very brink of extinction, all exits closed, save one, and Death stood in that gaping Doorway to Hades.
He thought momentarily of the WOW Gods, and their funny little sense of humor, ripping him out of his home to place him in the middle of a Grassland here, Gholan the Conqueror, mighty War chief, Executor of Arragoth, Ruler of Crynn, Supreme Despot of Nightscar, and now, Farmer of Merrigon. Oh yes, how they had howled at their latest little joke, at their continued attempted humiliation of him. His deep crusted scowl, traveling across battle weary lines of his weathered face, turned up into a wicked savage grin, as he remembered how the howls had caught and died in the throats of the Gods, as they witnessed him lead his pathetic rabble of an army to their first victory against a seasoned Elven army, capturing their Marksman, and filleting him on a spit over a great victory pyre.
Yes, the Gods weren't laughing now, were they, as they must be watching the slaughter he was witnessing on the bloody battlefield below? Gholan turned his head back and roared with laughter, his bellowing voice changing instantly into one of Bloodlust rage, as he grabbed his Axe, his favorite mithril axe, the Rune Axe of Torkish the Destroyer, also favorite axe of his dearly departed father, Noc'tat the Beheader, whom Gholan had, well, beheaded with his own weapon so long ago, in his ascent to the throne of Nightscar, Kingdom of the Orcs.
He surged down into the fray, tearing away the frantic grasps of his Generals, failing to dissuade him from risking his life in such a horrific melee. His beloved axe sung its Death-Hymn over and over as his mighty swing tore limbs, heads, ripped thru the finest elven mithril as though it was butter, cutting a swathe a giant could pass through. A scant few Elven Mithril Knights, seeing the maniacal gleam in Gholan's eye, the froth of madness dripping from his gleaming fangs, the blood spattering all across his armor---ELVEN blood, took wise heed and tore from the battlefield, and raced their steeds away, down through the valley below and to escape. And straight into the path of Gholan's reinforcements, waiting patiently along the steam in the valley below for the word to join the party. Their fate was only a few minutes delayed from their brethren, whom were simply crushed by the Orcish warriors.
Afterwards, as the dying were carted off to the after-battle party for the victory feast, Gholan took a minute to survey the once pristine hills. They were deliciously awash in blood and gore. Everywhere there were Orcs, collecting trinkets, screaming with ecstasy, methodically poring over the dead bodies. Then, the penultimate, a scouting party appeared on the far side of the glade with two captured wagon trains of Elven Ale, admittedly the finest beer one could ever hope to find, and more than three dozen terrified Elvish womenfolk, most likely cooks and launderers, as a bonus. Altogether, it was a beautiful sight.
It was at that perfect, scintillating moment, when all was finally right with the world, when Gholan had found total peace, finally beyond the reach of the devilish WOW Gods, that he noticed a savage notch in the blade of his beloved Axe. BROKEN??? He simply stared at it for a moment, speechless. An Orc peon, seeing his beloved master in such a quandary, kindly asked him what was wrong, so Gholan showed him, up close, planting the ruined Axe firmly between the unfortunate peon's eyes. To only fuel his rage further, the scouting party, obviously having dipped into the Ale a little early, ran the Wagon trains containing the Ale and the women into a tree, causing a terrific smash'em up, with the precious ale spewing all over the ground, and the entertainment breaking free from their constraints and scattering, running as if Hell itself was on their heels. Which it would have been, if the Orc drivers could even walk, much less run.
He simply sighed, and sat on the ground, and stared at his Axe, thinking how seriously he needed a vacation. Suddenly, a swirling mist enveloped him, to the shocked gazes of his beloved troops, and he was magically teleported away to a distant place, beyond time, space, a place of eternal darkness. Gholan groaned, for he could not have been sent to a worse place, he had been here before, the Realm of the WOW Gods.
One by one they appeared before him, looking at him like scientist would study a bug. Where was his Axe when he really needed it? A Vacation, they said? Very well, they continued. Gholan had proven himself in battle innumerable times, why not give him a vacation, he surely deserved one. How about a month in a jungle palace, surrounded by beautiful women, at his beckon call, beautiful, busty, there to simply please him. Gholan could hardly believe his ears. They WOW Gods had never been so benevolent. He did not trust them, but then again, he HAD proven himself to them in many trials. Maybe this was a reward, a friendly little diversion. And, there was more, his two friends from long ago Arragoth could accompany him, the Elf King, and the Minotaur!! Gholan sat up, immediately more interested. He was fatigued, exhausted, tired beyond all reason, and so this did seem to be just what the doctor ordered. He needed a vacation so very badly, and to be served by a trove of beauties!! And see his friends again as well!! His only question was, "When can I go?"
He awoke as from a dream in a lush tropical jungle, the greenery seemingly reaching the sky. He remembered it all, and immediately got to his feet and set out, looking for the palace, and his reward. He went only fifty paces, when he suddenly found himself surrounded by fierce, and yes, busty, female Amazons, holding javelins an inch from his throat, spewing epithets in his general direction, and talking of whether to roast him, or just eat him raw . The beauties. Terrific. Their leader appeared at the periphery, and they reluctantly lowered their spikes, glowering at him, nonetheless. She informed them that they would need him for now, his expertise, if they were to survive the coming battles, and could eat him later. He informed them, politely, as he eyed the javelins, not to fear, that he had friends here, an Elf and Minotaur King, and they could help too. She roared with laughter, obviously thinking him a complete dolt. "Yes, the Elf and the Minotaur", she continued, a wicked sneer appearing at the corners of her actually quite lovely mouth, "They march on us even as we speak. They are coming for YOU." Terrific.
They marched through the near endless foliage for the better part of a day, before coming to a clearing, with a hastily constructed brush hut in the center. He eyed it glumly, knowing what was coming next. "Your palace, Lord Gholan", she sneered again. He just looked skyward, towards the heavens, and bit back an epithet of his own toward the Gods. After all, no sense in scaring the Sneerer, she was kind of cute when she growled at him. And quite busty too, just as promised. At least they had not totally lied to him.
Contact Gholan the Conqueror at magneto821@aol.com
And so the decree went out from the Gnomish emporer that all who desired to rule must prove themselves in battle. Silverthorn and his brother known as The Master stepped forward to claim the Gnomish throne. Unfortunately they were not the only teams to step forward to claim the throne for themselves....and so the battles began. In the first contest, the noble brothers faced the wizards Rathnagz and Takara. The struggle consisted of a series of lighting advances and desparate battles. Silverthorn could hardly believe the speed of the advance. Fate seemed to smile on the brothers and their armies celebrated victory after victory. Suddenly The Master discovered an undefended approach into the heart of the Rathnagz's territory. Was it a trap? The opportunity seemed too good to be true! Deceiding to gamble on this opportunity, The Master's forces poured through the tunnel smashing the enemy troops and crippling his realm. After that it was a race to see how quickly the enemy forces could be swept from the world. While their troops marched as quickly as they could, it was not fast enough. The brothers eliminated their opponents 1 month behind their competitors causing them to win the battle but not the war. Now came the time for the second challenge. The new opponents were Elrond and Semblar the Great. Silverthorn had heard of these two wizards but had yet to meet them on the field of battle. As luck would have it, Silverthorn found himself located closer to the enemy. His minions poured into the underworld and over the astral bridges meeting the combined might of Elrond and Semblar. Fortunately two dark knights appeared to join Silverthorn's cause and wielding powerful dark magics managed to slow the enemy advance. As Silverthorn's forces grudgingly gave ground before the combined might of two wizards, The Master prepared a surprise of his own. Ships loaded with troops appeared off of Semblar's coast and slipped through his naval patrols. An amphibioius landing occurred but the the number of troops on Semblar's shores were not enough to pose a serious threat. However The Master had learned powerful magics and magically transported a whole army to this new beachhead. He then magically shifted these troops to allow free movement in the physical realm and struck directly at Semblar's capital. Silverthorn's pair of paladins also had learned to shift themselves out of phase and they too joined the battle at Semblar's capital lending their dark magics to the assault. Semblar's forces were not prepared for the assault and quickly felll to the massive assault. With their wizard vanquished Semblar's army deserted. Hundreds of mithril warriors vanished from the field giving Silverthorn's forces the upper hand in the underworld and astral planes. With overwheming force, Silverthorn and the Master pressed the assault against Elrond. Despite desparate and valiant stands, Elrond's forces fell back to their captial with the enemy armies in hot pursuit. For the final battle at Elrond's citadel, Silverthorn unleashed hundreds of dragons led by the paladin champions while the Master's wolf riders and dark ones attacked on the ground. Outnumbered and overwhelmed the defenders quickly fell and Elrond fled through a dimensional portal. Now the third and final challenge has arrived. This time the enemy wizards are well known to Silverthorn. Gholan has sat across many a council table as an ally. Alamopud was first an enemy and then an ally on another world. These two wizards could prove a formidable challenge. Old friendships will not change our resolve. Our warriors will seek out these two new challengers and dispatch them like those before them. The battle is now joined and no other options are possible. There will only be Victory or Death!!
Contact Silverthorn at LordSilverthorn@cox.net
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