Topics

1

General Discussion / An Open Letter to Leanthar

« on: July 21, 2007, 11:32:41 pm »

An Open Letter to Leanthar

"Because of the nature of the quest and what the result could be there are a few WL's that will have the focus on them. That is not a favoritism thing ( sad I even have to say that ), it is the nature of the quest and what the end result may be." - Leanthar: http://forums.layonara.com/calendar.php?do=getinfo&day=2007-8-19&c=3

Dear Leanthar

This is favoritism. There is no other way to put it. However that said it is also of the justified variety. Please in the future honestly admit that the quest’s focus will be on established players. With that said I must also state that I approve of your explanation that there is a reason behind this choice; that being that they may have some negative results. So this is a simple request from a long time player; remove the 'That is not a favoritism thing ( sad I even have to say that )'. I would rather approach the quest with the knowledge that people whom have invested over a thousand hours into the server will get theirs, then approach it with you being a limp noodle because you’re stricken with terror that rewarding some diligence openly will cause the community to go up in arms. Thus I propose this revision:

"Because of the nature of this quest, and what could be the various results in what I have tentatively planned. There are a few longstanding players, some of which are World Leaders ( WL's ) that will have the focus of the quest on them. This is because, the nature and history of their characters and their immediate and long running future could be seriously endangered. As a quest and series it is not only about these individuals and will affect everyone, therefore your participation in this quest is critical for it to succeed. So please approach this quest with the attitude to help your fellow players, as someday it will be you, not may but will."

Now I may poke fun of such a statement, but I really can't find anything genuinely wrong with it. In the past you have stressed that your quests are about the world, and effect everyone in it. Sometimes people could use a reminder that the quests are, and that people whom have stuck it out a long time will have sometimes RP clot. Also I suspect a reminder that a healthy community is one where people try and help each other succeed instead of being purely self serving.I have made this an open letter so that any whom think they can do better than me can take a try. That and so that those that will violently disagree can have their chance to call me a buffoon in some great pretty way.

Sincerely with Respect
Ozymandias/Jason

P.S. I know I could of worded things more eloquently. So feel free to edit what I've said in your head a little to be more palatable. Such as 'focus will be on part' or the like, you know normal procedure when dealing with me.

2

General Discussion / Plot - Dragon Storm: Suffering

« on: April 08, 2007, 11:13:25 pm »

Ladies and gentlemen, thank you and welcome. This is a two ‘part’ post this being the first part and only vaguely related to the second. As an effort to spread information and be fair to everyone I will be making ‘visible’ record of the Dragon Storm campaign. This first occurrence will be noted as you see it in the general discussion. However all future occurrences will land in the CDT I opened on Ozymandias. In the case of the later, this, past and future posts are meant to be read and used as a role play tool. The information I do not wish to be used I simply will not post.
You can decide for yourself how you come across this information. Perhaps you overheard things on the subject in the local tavern your character frequents, or you heard it off some bard trying to make a true. Whatever the reason consider it a valid tool to talk with others about.
The reason I am doing this in this manner is because I consider my previous method, in the Soul of a Lost Ancient a dismal failure. It was boring, reward less, and required many more hours doing nothing than I would like. Furthermore many people were left out as I had to sleep at some point, or work, or do other activities. So I am going to try this method where I spin a few rumors that might be heard in a public place. Then you the player, armed with even rudimentary knowledge can seek out those that participated. While for those of you that could only make part of a quest, either by real life or by group selection, are not left with the ‘left out’ feeling.
After all it is one thing to be expected to ask questions, it is another to not have any idea what to ask. So in that interest of fairness, in the interest of my sanity, and the interest of community spirit in the since of working together. I shall try and provide something you can work with in game.
Now enough of my gibbering lets get down to part two which you are really interested in.

In the last eleven years a certain sight can be found in most port towns. Entire villages with what belongings they could bring flocking there and boarding ships all to seek a life in ‘better lands’. Few find success in their endeavors but many will try to find a place to live a better life for their families. The stories are the same of crops failing and sickness running rampant, the gods having abandoned the people and horrific stories that Dragons have returned.
Roomers abound though of bandits and brigands growing more and more common. Some say they have turned from robbery to outright murder of their quarry robbing them of their scant goods and their lives. The roads no longer safe while the so called Heroes of Layonara live like royalty safe and sound from the horrors of the world.
Yet despite this it is still said, that perhaps the Heroes have not given up and that people here and there. Sometimes one, or sometimes just a single village are brought from the plight of the world. That certain parts of the world have become safer if only slightly because of their restoring of order. These instances seem few and far between in recent years. The world is suffering and so are the people that dwell within it.
In the Land of Kings the heroes made themselves known in the City of Twins; Lor. As people fled from the poverty and despair that had engulfed the north, the rich merchants demanded their due. A kings price to ship people away to a better land, yet the heroes stepped forward and paid it in true and one small group felt a time of reprieve.
There are reasons for everything, families are not torn asunder for no reason. A cult was rising and growing in this time of darkness. Armed, armored and wielding fearsome magic they displaced many and slaughtered others. They were called by many names, some cried that they were the black hand, others the iron hand, a few even said the hand of blood. Yet no mater what these individuals were called, they seemed to revel in the destruction and called themselves the hand.
Perhaps there are still heroes, maybe not as many as tales say. Some may be content to live in their homes as nobility while others suffer. Yet there may be some left willing to fight to protect those truly hurt by this time of darkness. In the Land of Kings those so called heroes gathered and moved to attack the brigands calling themselves the hand.
In the broken mountains the groups fought, heroes within desecrated valleys and caverns filled with decay and death. While this new cult of brigands channeled their twisted creations with joyous abandon. Willingly forfeiting their lives and accepting no chance to surrender. The battle raged and the earth moaned as twisted things fell returning to the earth with their passing.
Yet as the brigands were slain they called out that this was not the end. They were but a single digit of the full fury. Perhaps the heroes had brought the first blow to the bandits but it was certainly not the last. In the end the heroes were the ones to leave the twisted caverns and corrupted pass, yet questions yet many remained unanswered. Especially one that falls heavy on all minds, what does this group have to do with dragons that have returned?

All right an unexpected part three to this post. I think this tells you enough. I suppose we will just have to wait and see what unfolds and what each other have learned. Share information, spread it around, you never know when it will be important to remember. Anyway good luck I hope this post and this method prove more successful then the last method I used.

3

Development Journals and Discussion / Chronicles of a Bard

« on: April 07, 2007, 05:47:17 am »

Prologue
The Worst Hangover Ever

He opened one eye, reality swam into focus in a perfect world. In this not so perfect world it merely sludged together. His mouth felt like something had relieved itself in it and his skull was certainly now host to a small horde of demonic drummers. After a moment of contemplation in which he was certain his own thoughts were far to loud he attempted the only word he could think of at that moment.
“Argh”, he uttered with a rasp spitting up a mouthful of blackened blood.
When his vision cleared and his mind no longer insisted that he was the sole occupant of a private pandamonic pit. He considered his course of options, he decided that if what did not work the first time might be due a second try. He opened his mouth again and attempted the previous vocalization, whilst nothing actually came out he was certain it was still to loud.
With the option of speaking truly out of any plan he decided to try another tactic to establish that he was in truth alive. With some difficulty he stood up, brushing himself off he casually toppled back over landing without any real ceremony into the muddy pool he had been laying in to begin with. This was a marginal improvement now that he was certain that the universe was not infract a brownish green. But in truth a grey with green and brown. One more colour was a certain sign of improvement.
Then riding its chariot of blazing retribution, pulled by the horses of ‘Did I do that last night?’ and its infamous twin ‘Who is this?’ the vindictive memories of the night before returned in full swing. However as the chariot has many stops to make in any given morning, it supplemented reality with just the joys of thinking to loud with your hangover still present.
After several minutes of quietly thinking about not thinking he attempted to recall the events of last night. For some reason it had involved seeing an evil pond, this didn’t make much sense. Ponds were ponds, they had water in them, holes in which water lived so to speak.
“Argh”, he uttered it seemed in place for this kind of situation. It was also a mistake, several minutes later after the pain passed and his vision was no longer filled with dots he resumed his contemplation of the night before.
He remembered that he never drank unless he had something to put it on first. It was always a bad idea to drink without something to go with it. Judging by the feeling of a demon army in his skull clashing with a Baatezu insurgency indicated that what he had in fact put his alcohol on was in truth more alcohol. For a moment he wondered what exactly was it he drank before deciding to drink out of a swampy pool.
A few painful minutes later he recognized he had a rather comfortable pillow. It was scaly, and breathing. Turning he looked into the slightly baffled eyes of a Mistonian swamp lizard. Without bothering to go through that tedious, unnecessary and sometimes fatal action of contacting his brain. His body took the initiative and hurtled him from a laying position into a full sprint not actually requiring the engagement of anything but raw spontaneous adrenalin.
The scream that echoed through the swamp as the brain caught up with current events and the pain that followed would of not only shattered glass, but reduced it to its monatomic state. The few lurking birds, hapless swamp dwellers and unfortunate trees were either killed, rendered deaf or splintered. The bard himself was really regretting the scream next time it would just be a whimper of protest and misery. The swamp lizard couldn’t be as bad as this. However without the benefit of a brain to steer his body inopportunely chose to run directly into a tree.
This in itself was fortunate, it allowed him to work off the rest of his hangover completely unconscious. Unfortunately it also meant that anything curious as to why a blood curdling scream had occurred would find a very unconscious, mud, algae, blood, vine covered bard.
That said it is to be considered that creatures of nature, generally do not move towards such sounds and the primitive lizard-folk known to sometimes inhabit such regions chalked it up to something they didn’t want the answer to. Including but not limited to the vengeful return of ancestral spirits that are annoyed about certain observances being ignored in recent decades.
Opening one bleary eye he tried the second, this is a perfectly normal act and in a perfect world, this should work. One eye followed by the second, nothing difficult here, today was not a perfect world day it didn’t work. Reaching up he wiped blood from his forehead and acknowledged the high chance that he would have to scrub a bit to get his other eye open. Fortunately in his lifetime being reduced to mono-optic capabilities was nothing new. Standing up he looked down at himself appraising the situation, he was covered in muck, mud, swamp fronds, and things he had no name for this early in the morning.
‘Argh’, he said tentatively, this seemed to work. The stab of pain in his eyes was only moderate. Things were beginning to look up.
‘ARGH!’, he half shouted, this made him feel marginally better after swaying and getting his breath back. There was something right when you could say Argh.
A twisted half smile approached on his face, and he recalled after leaving the Stormcrest shack that he had went in search of his own ears. In doing so he had encountered the joys of a barrel of dwarfs head ale in Vhel. Afterwards he speculated that he had decided that the wild world of swamp wandering was for him. Digging into his vest he pulled his spare set of spectacles from it and put them on. The world sludged more so into focus on the scale of focus it was now perhaps a three or three point five of ten.
After several false starts he rediscovered the joys of ambulation without his staff. He wondered where it had gone, he didn’t wonder long before it fell on his head. Picking it up he didn’t bother to wonder how it got up in a tree or why it chose to fell on his head now. Like most of his gear it had been cursed at some point, to never leave him alone. Sometimes it pays to have borderline paranoia, other times this will result in big sticks falling on you.
Limping and cursing he wove his ways between the trees, over the deadfalls, past the quicksand, through the swamp muck and gradually retraced his steps to the road. It was a mighty twenty paces, perhaps twenty one. Looking right then left he turned and walked with the regality of royalty towards the Stormcrest shack. Never mind the muck, never mind the possibilities of a banana peal in his hair.  Regardless that he looked like something that crawled it’s way out of the primordial ooze of early evolution then took a look and crawled back into said ooze. He strode with the confidence some idiot, somewhere would think he did it intentionally and seek to mimic him.
The mud was fully caked on, and the grime was soaked through to the bone past three layers of cloths and bandages when he got to the shack. There he saw looking smug in the sadistic way only parchment can manage, his book. It floated there with the habitual smarminess that said ‘I don’t need vocal cords to tell you, that you look manky and there is no way in this life or the next, I am going to let you touch me till you have had a bath. Coincidently I tattled about this little incident and you have a very angry woman on your hands in a few moments.’ Without bothering with the normal things a man says when he walks home after a night of drinking, to a very annoyed courting partner whom does not approve. He turned around, smiled and said with conviction ‘Hello, lovely day isn’t it?’ then toppled over, his body having decided that here was a convenient place to go back to vacation.

Sometime past noon Ozymandias tugged on his new vest and wondered if his old cloths would ever be properly cleaned. Perhaps they would be best reserved for situations where he didn’t care if he was filthy. His hair freshly braided, his skin scrubbed until the pallor absolutely gleamed he smiled and grabbed the still floating and flapping book.
‘You treacherous, backstabbing, conniving, vile, creature. Explain why I should not chuck you into the very furnace from which I got some other item of mine. Better threat later when I’ve had time to think open up book.’ He uttered in his normal rasp.
Finding his normal favorite reading chair he slumped into the high backed monstrosity. It was not that it was a large chair, it was perfectly normally sized if one were a human. In the case of a short, thin elf it was positively monstrous. The overall effect he quietly suspected was that of a hermit crab with a inferiority complex.
Levering open the book and uttering curses about treacherous parchment he dug a quill out of his pocket and began to write.
‘The Stormcrest shack seems to be an able place to set up business now. The traffic of adventurers will keep me well on my way towards the final goal. If this does not fulfill what Ozlo desired of me in the first place, then nothing will.”
Sucking on the end of the quill he paused for a moment glaring at the page.
“Events are unfolding on many circumstances, adventurers seem to be forgetting that values of caution and foresight. Preferring to squabble amongst themselves than to actually put some effort into things. I wonder how is it that foundations are not yet publicly known. If in Hempstead the new nexus for weird insane adventurers they have  not been heard of until very recently after peasants guilted some adventurers.”
Tapping the quill on the page he coughed softly spitting up a bit of black blood.
“I am falling apart at the seams here, I wonder how many more years I can keep this up. The next time after this someone suggests I act the bard, I am going to kick them so hard they will spend the rest of eternity in the pit they threw Bloodstone.”
As if recalling something from an entirely different point he began to write once more.
“Better threat for book later, something involving flensing and lice. I have found my ears, although I am not certain why I at any point thought I had lost them. Why I even felt this necessary to note I will no doubt have no idea why even in ten years from now.”
Staggering up he stumbled, half limping towards the window and undoing the latch pushed it open feeling the blast of freezing air flow over him. He smiled out at the snow dusted landscape, and the dark grey clouds humming his normal peaceful tune. Unconsciously his gaze left the fields surveying his home on the outskirts of Dalanthar and traveled upwards to a place of darkness familiar to any in the region. The Great Rift, a place of darkness that predated any apocalyptic cloud, and with a small sigh he wondered if he had seen the crackle of lightning or just his imagination acting up. With a deep breath he slowly closed the window latching it and replacing the bolts once more. People had grown to know better then to rob him, it was the contents of his house he didn’t want escaping.
Turning he slowly walked across the room his high boots clapping against the stone with a familiar and comforting echo. The chronometer on the far wall began to chime its asthmatic rhythm marking noon, it never kept proper time it wasn’t meant to. Lifting a white sheet off a stand he gazed at a half completed painting. Upon it was a single figure, garbed in deep red robes with a helm black as coal. The face of the figure was obviously once human, but now twisted in a peculiar way with the shadows of demonic wrath. The sneer was lifelike and within it held contempt and superiority that nobles would never achieve but dream of nevertheless.
The work was yet incomplete, but lifting the top of the nearby desk he assembled his tools and spent a few tedious minutes completing some small details. Painting had been once a simple hobby of his, but he had grown to love it as a way to capture past moments. Some might prefer magic, as the sole device for recalling the images of the minds eye or illusions to fashion fantastic things. Yet he found they alone did not provide like a well enchanted painting.
Covering the painting once more he turned and looked at the others high on his walls, Bloodstone was the last of those he painted and the only one he did from memory. But still he could feel the mans lingering corruption crawling across his mind and soul. If he left the viewer unnerved, frightened and uncomfortable as he himself was at the memory then the picture was perfect to show the greatest villain the realms had ever known.
“Sometimes, I wonder how dead you really are Bloodstone. This I wonder because what greater way to take your revenge, and at the same time save this miserable world then as what has come to pass.” He rasped unheeding of any possible being overhearing him. With a deep sigh he slumped once more into the chair opening the book and began to write. The quill scratched across the pages in the normal twisted writing in the odd language the bard preferred. Under his breath he uttered as the first words began to take form “Yes Bloodstone, I do. Yet it I whom still live, and you whom are dead. I suppose my regret is justified but at least I exist.” Into the pages he continued writing.
‘This infernal darkness continues to hold in the skies. I don’t mind it much as it reminds me of home. However it continues to cripple the peoples of these lands, I can only hope they will be able to withhold the wrath of the dragons. I worry sometimes, will the heroes just expect events to unfold on a silver platter, or are they willing to make events happen? I do not think we will have Shifter helping us this time, but perhaps we will not need him.
I will continue to guide them, it is the most I can do perhaps I should start keeping record of whom has consulted me in the past. But that would take a horrendous amount of time to organize. So I think I shall start from here, let this be a new beginning. My place is where I can carve a notch to fill in, such a way to survive.
Events are slow, so this would be the best time to start this new series of records. The war against Bloodstone is over, let a new era commence. New words, new stories, new heroes and even the old if the old chooses to remain. Events around me have unfolded as so, as of late.
There is something out there, a relic of some sort, a book that produces a dust that seems to warp reality. How chaotic this warping is, how controlled I do not know however it seems to occur. The heroes have contacted me about what to do multiple times, I am not getting involved though. My advice is given, let them use it as they please, I’m the guidance not the one whom holds their hands.”
Slowly he staggered up closing the book and tucking it into his coats pocket specifically added for the purpose of holding that particular tome. Looking about the room and smiling at the soft rustle of books and the echoes of magic he turned and walked down the main hall to the glimmering portal and stepped through.

4

Introduce Yourself / Enter stage right!

« on: March 28, 2007, 11:07:08 pm »

Greetings and salutations even. This is the obligatory post detailing me and myself, it has been requested several times. Well in truth people have asked what I would post not so much would I ever actually post. So this is it, yep nothing to see here at all, move along.

Who am I, this has been asked a lot more then it should be. I suppose the answer is ‘me’ or if you would rather, an accountant. Not only an accountant but an accountant by choice and as my ‘childhood dream job’ I enjoy it. This should answer all further questions about myself except my location.

I live in a rather remote area in the northern section of California, in a lovely little city called Mount Shasta. Known for its tourist value in the form of skiing, hiking and assorted other wilderness activates. Thus for myself and ninety nine percent of the locals there is a high demand for anything that can be done inside away from said tourists.

Well I think that answers all the questions I could think of asking anyone else. I suppose that will just have to do for the purposes of this post. After all I can either be nice or I can be honest, I can’t recall the last time I was both.

Oh and the title of the post was inspired by the greatest bard I’ve ever witnessed.

5

Fixed Bugs / Violens and Violen Bows

« on: June 24, 2006, 09:42:25 pm »

Two sets of bugs here for you.    1) Violen Bow weight - 4 pounds
  2) Violen weight - 0.1 pounds
 
  -
  Violen's and other bardic instraments give bonus bard spells, however when unequiped already existing spells disapear. This is a hardcoaded bioware bug. Just sugesting the removal of said spells and a possible bonus to the skill.
  Example from above:  Ozy has 6 level 3 spells.  Ozy equips violen and has 6 level 3 spells with 3 empty slots from the bows bonus  Ozy unequips the violen and now has 3 spells with 3 empty slots do to de-memorised spells.

6

Hall of Heroes and Heroines / Randharavanna's Allegory: A Bardic Adventure

« on: March 07, 2006, 03:40:07 pm »

Throughout Layonara in the places of civilization bards can be seen and heard telling tales. Recently a new tale has entered the fray, starting softly at first but soon being spun and told a dozen different ways. In Hlint an aspiring minstrel catches your ear he clears his throat and smiles and slowly a congregation occurs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, perhaps I am not yet a legend of the one whom I shall speak. So please pardon me if I should falter, or if what I say it not entirely to the letter of truth. Thus I give you a story of trust, betrayal, glory and despair.

Randharavanna's Allegory: A Bardic Adventure”

Nodding his head as if awaiting a cue the minstrel plucks softly at the strings of his mandolin. With hardly moments in wait his voice rises and for the small gathering at least the tale begins.

“With a clash of steel, the heroes met face to face with their dark foe that beckoned them onward into battle.”

The minstrel grins for but a moment.

“Now that your attention is undivided, let this allegory begin. Our story begins just north of here, by the tower of Moraken.

A crisp breeze span lightly around the tower, bending tree branches in the slight wind as Moraken stepped out of his tower and into the early morn.  Taking a deep breath the arch-magus reminisced of times past and of battles long ago. Inadvertently he glanced to his hand where a ring once resided. The memories swelled and for but a moment the freezing wind was unnoticed.

Millennia ago he had stood before a great portal, its defenders dispatched and its cruel master destroyed by his magic. A portal in which any destination could be sought, completely undetected in comings and goings. The portal, a monstrosity of over a century of research into the nature of the planes, was the peak of its art. Yet within moments it was no more then a suicidal memory. Unleashing the full force of his magic Moraken twisted the dark portal changing the very nature to need a new and rare if not unknown key in every use.

In that, he was certain he was wise. Yet for in times to come he knew he may just need to use the portal himself. Taking a ring from his hand he had placed it at the heart of the portal and turned it into a master key, to change with the portal to always work. With great effort he forged instructions from magic to re-build the portal in a time of need. Yet such a thing is desirable to many and he tore the instructions into four peaces gifting them to Djinn which aided him in the portals destruction.

The biting cold of the air, intruded upon the mind of the master mage. A flourish of his cape and he returned to his study grumbling about the weather as he is known to do. For but a moment he wondered what of his ring, unknowing how soon it would be that he find out.”

With a grin the minstrel’s tune changes from the grand opening to something softer and more sorrowful. Slowly a crowd gathers having heard the story in passing. Lifting his voice once more his voice as forlorn as the tune he strums idly.

“In the north of Dregar snow began to fall from the skies from ashen clouds. On a hilltop near a pond a single figure stood overlooking the town of Delanther perhaps gazing towards the Great Rift. This man perhaps known to all of us, he grimaced holding his side, an old wound from a war forgotten by all but perhaps his self. His name, Ozymandias perhaps the most controversial of legends for this is his allegory.

The snow fell and he watched the sky and the twisted lights over the Rift for hours. Until at last he heard the sound of footsteps in snow behind him, with this he turned a blade in hand. For but a moment all was still the only sound of a blade falling to soft fresh snow. With a smile the old bard sighed seeing what he felt the most beautiful of things he had ever spied.

A fiendish grin she gave a smile that could strike us into the grave. So she held a sword of flame and wrapped around her feathered black wings. Keaira'tynen her name, her soul darker then night and her voice colder then ice. Had circumstance differed they would have been mortal enemies yet she brought news that would catch his ear.

For minutes they stood in the crisp cold moonlight before she spoke. Her news was dire and dark, a great fiend of Shadow and Death walked the planes. Randharavanna was his name the eternal darkness. He had forged pacts of the darkest desire with fiends of all persuasion setting his stage to capture this world in times yet to come. For but a moment he disbelieved for none ever did align such enemies under one banner.

Long in the night the two dark figures stand silhouettes on the moon discussing the darkness readying to come. The first glimmer of dawn broke the cold night a single ray of the future illuminating the countryside. With a flicker of flame the lady disappeared into the burning dawn and the bard himself into his library without another word.

In his library he wandered, sounds of paper rustling in the candlelight. Deeper unto the depths of where he made his home he wandered past cases which books were chained to prevent their wandering. Into the darkest recesses he searched till at last he stood before a tome dark and powerful, glimmering with arcane magic thought forgotten by most.

Upon cracked pages of arcane lore he examined for hours what lay beyond mortal thought or knowledge anymore. One word escaped his lips thou I know not for whom it was meant. A crack of magic and a golden light the bard span and disappeared from sight his coat fluttering in magical winds.”

Smiling the minstrel strums at a sharp concise pace the tune building to an adventurers medley pulling from Mistonian melody to Xantrilian Dirge. His voice returns as he looks to the north of Hlint and the tower of Moraken sliding gracefully above the treetops.

“A crackle of golden light spread itself before the door of the great mage, cold air whipping to and froe as a figure strode forth. Behind him the portal flickered away and Ozymandias stood in the new born day. In apparel in which a thousand tales did speak he slipped into the tower of the mage little more then a breath of the wind.

For hours then the two did gaze deep into the others eyes. Neither willing, nor considering being the first to ask nor offer aid in the dark task that they knew lay before. So came noon and the bard first spoke straightening his cloths “Nice to see you conscious again grand master arch magus.” To which Moraken arched a brow forcing a false smile replied “Planning to go poking about my study again Master Bard?” As if breaking a levee on the banks of a river soon a deluge of conversation began.

For hours long the two conversed in a game of wit and words deeply complex. Where the slightest misstep would lose prestige in the others eyes and perhaps dooms the world itself over pride. Yet both were well acquainted with the art of wit and words and so thru books and journal they crept as information cultivated for grand steps.

 It was but just over four score years ago that the key of mastery was lost in the shadow of night. Disappearing from hand the ring flickered away noticed only on the breaking of the dawn’s day. For years had Moraken searched for the ring, hoping to retrieve if he should ever have need. Yet not a trace had been heard or seen until now the tale came to being. Of visions and dreams that had been seen the bard was envoy to information’s gift. Swiftly they strode to the study of the mages abode. A vision was seen of a shadowy being, clawing across the ceiling and stealing papers away before the coming of day upon its hand an emerald ring.

Moraken wise and cunning with his years chose then to aid so slightly the bard in his seeking. He gave but one peace of advice to them right then “Adish may be the most receptive” before returning to his works in the tower halls. Needing in aid an elven maiden spirit true appealed to the heavens for their blessing. With a flash of light a child-like angel stood with but one thing to give and set the adventures course true. A simple ring would bring entry into the Djinn Adish’s burning halls.

Into Xantril they traveled knowing only the most general location to be seeking. Yet the bard knew maps well and searched knowing a place of heat so great it had become a sea of sand. The lake of salt is a burning place where sands swirl like the demons in Bloods legions. Glowing red the ring lead the way into a hidden cavern passageway. Down into burning depths they strode, thru guards of flame they slinked like shadows in the night.

At last a great door stood before them with a great sentinel a warrior of fire. So they stood and for moments all was still, the crackle of flame and the mortal breath. Loquaciously the bard set spark to conversation flattering the sentinel into asking but a moment of his master’s time. After but a few minutes that stretched into eternity that the sentinel returned opening the great doors to the throne of Adish the Firestorm.”

For a moment the bard lifts a bottle of wine to his lips drinking deeply. He nods and begins a deep rich cadence overturing to flames. With one last sip from his wine his voice rises in song once more.

“Adish snarled in outrage that someone dared intrude upon his home. Lifting his great blade he struck it deep within the basalt stone glaring upon these intruders. The bard seeking to placate the great Djinn told him of the rings loss. The Djinn did scoff laughing having grown long tired of Moraken’s jewelry disasters. So he shrugged uncaring sure of his wards safety. With a tongue fleet, and words silver spun a contest of wills had begun. The burning storm howled in the face of the placation yet ire would give way to prudence. With a flash of flames the Djinn flickered away to check upon his wards well being.

For brief minutes all was still until with a great pillar of flame luck was changed for ill. Adish was in the heart of a storm of flames clasping in his great hands a box glowing of molten rage. He cast down the box cursing and knowing that only several days before had a shadow crept into his vault and whisked away his shard of the portals rebirth. Honor was tarnished and the Djinns rage grew great threatening to engulf those that dared meet him.

In his rage and fury Adish prepared to unleash his flames and seek the one whom shadows clung and burn him at once. With heart that burned and body stronger than steel he is the Firestorm to which all opponents’ burn or kneel. Adish turned to gather army of his burning minions. With but a word he would march and seek the one that stole his duty and honor from its abode.

Yet words soft in the burning inferno touched the Djinn’s ears. The perpetrator was one with the dark, a shadow that could not be seen nor heard. Eternal darkness Randharavanna was not a thief easily caught. To find him one would need a certain mad cunning and understanding of darkness that the Djinn did not have. The bard placated the Djinn and promised to recover the ring, the peaces and scatter them so thoroughly not even a god could recover them.

Nodding at the bards words the Djinn cast the box to him with a soft curse. Bidding them to leave with success he advised them to seek his sister in the north of Dregar. Flames cascading around they strode free of the place of flames. They had a goal, far be it a simple one. Find the shards for the portal first, when their nemesis had all the clues. Quick and silent they darted forth sending letters to allies for the first confrontation with Randharavanna.”

Slowly the minstrel drains the bottle setting it aside twisting the emblem of the Leilon Arms into view. Grinning like an imp he resumes his melody at a gentle pace.

“Traveling swift the bard did stride, to get his strange enough wish. Across the lands of Dregar he traveled working with the great mysteries of the box. Some do say in Raxwell he opened the glowing container to find a portal unto the abyss of the mind. From its chaos he pulled notes which lead him to warnings dire. Randharavanna had planned a siege; the lady of air was in need.

In the north of Dregar in the town of Dephillie's Stand people did gather then. Legends each to this bards own eyes, you may not even believe your ears! Ta’karsh Blacklung legend of Lar, stood with hammer held in hand to make trading deals with North point he had arrived in a crucial moment in time. The druid Rhizome slipped from the woods, hearing his friends’ plea. So they set forth seeking the lady Storm to set right what was being wronged.

Into the woods they strode as shadows leaped from perches in the branches dark claws extended to rip life from limb. Hammer spun in the woodland night and Ta’karsh forged them anew, as roots tore forth from the ground itself urged by Rhizome to pull them into a shallow grave. Till at last they stood before a dark cave where winds did whisper and rave, screams of pain met their ears as they drew near.

So they entered into the dark abode, blood fresh on their weapons. From the darkness came on their first step demons with arms six and tails coiled in infernal death while shadows flanked their sides. The group began a battle then to decide the fait of the lady Storm. Around the group a whirlwind as air sought to drive the intruders out. Till at last they came before a great shadow beast towering eighteen feet high. He stood with great axe in one infernal claw smirking mercilessly. A general of Randharavanna he laughed and charged the group to bring about the end of days.

Ta’karsh raised his hammer high, fearless of what he may find and dueled the great Shadow then and there. Hammer and Axe clashed once, twice and then a third as the two titans waged a fearsome war. With a great sweeping two handed blow the fiend sought to cleave the Baron in twain. A keen wail of pain and blood did spatter upon the far wall, with a great blow Ta’karsh had laid the fiend low. Stumbling to the side, axe falling from dead fingers the general looked on in hate for he had been slain.

Like an unstoppable beacon of light in the night they strode. Darkness fled from every corner and crack as they pushed forward, fiend and shade breaking and fleeing at the sight of these interlopers. Yet to no avail the creatures wails were cut short by roots in Rhizomes passing, pulling them into the netherworld. Step by step they traveled deep, darkness giving way until they found a smaller fiend. Emerald ring on his hand, sword of shadows tightly gripped. Randharavanna smiled and dived into darkness for a while taunting them as he fled.

Opening then a great dark door, the party came across their quarry at lass. Veatana the lady of air, standing flustered in the chamber that was her lair. Randharavanna had beaten the adventurers by but a moment, stealing away her shard to create the master portal. Turning to these new unexpected guests she smiled as the bard quickly took to forefront giving greetings from Moraken and Adish.

A frown on her pristine lips she lamented her woes. For three days she had held the shadow back, and only as it stole away the shard did help arrive. Furthermore it had taunted her, revealing it did not need every piece of the puzzle to finish the portal. Two had been captured; he would only need one more. Even if he did not know their locations he soon would indeed as each lead to another.

The bard did plead his case seeking to prevent fulfillment of Randharavanna’s crime. Yet upon ears as unhearing as the wind his words did fall. She had things upon her mind other then what he could propose. She wondered of Adish and a spark of flame on the winds did seize the bard offering proof in the notes she wrote and in the box he held. For a moment she was swayed to hear his words.

Randharavanna yet had the ring and two pieces of the great puzzle to build the portal. Yet two remained and if even one were captured he may be stopped in time. The bard’s plea and promise was a simple one, he would retrieve one of the two while Randharavanna was delayed. Perhaps a second if luck was with him in the day, if so then only to defend against the Shadow and defeat him.

Eloquence and sincerity would win the day and soon the lady Veatana would hand two rings to the party. Two rings to find her brother and her sister, the frozen queen and the soul of earth. While Randharavanna’s plan itself was elaborated upon as the two minds exchanged thought. With words soft spoken and a nod of his head the bard quickly maneuvered the conversation to its final goal.

To create the great portal it self would be of little use without an army to wield with it. Yet the great bard recalled what he had seen, what had been fought and his pale frame grew ever paler. A nightmare to any that know the nature of evil had occurred. For in those battlefields of infernal rage in the hells below, two great factions seek oblivion. So it has been for all of time, yet Randharavanna was quickly aligning fiends.

Most surely with his portal he could unleash a wave of darkness across the worlds of the likes none have seen. With demons in their wrathful anarchy and devils in their tyranny he could very well enslave all of shadow. From shadow he could strike other places uninhibited and undetected till it was far too late. A masterful plan, long gone was the idea of but a favor to a friend. Instead a desperate goal, sometimes one does great things, other times they stop horrors.

So the party and the lady Djinn left the broken halls of her former home, the last of the shadow scattering before. What few demons remained died before laying down their weapons of war. Yet bloodied upon the floor with wings dark as night, was a sight that elected a cry of anguish from the bard. The one whom had warned him of Randharavanna lay nearly dead from wounds that could only be gifted by the great shadow. By some miracle she had only been left for dead, and perhaps would live. Yet in dire warning she spoke that soon Randharavanna would hunt her and her sisters to open all the planes.

Veatana set forth the bard with wishes well, as she set to find Adish and gather her kin for an assault upon Randharavanna. So the next chapter of this allegory comes to a close as Ozymandias expediently makes his way towards Mistone. Some of the greatest heroes of our time by his side, aligned to stop a threat beyond imagination.”

Smiling the bard nods to the assembled crowd taking a swift almost urgent tune in his telling.

“Randharavanna would split his forces and try to defeat both Djinn at once; perhaps it would lead to his victory or his undoing. Soon all would be settled as Ozymandias set foot at the feet of the Berhagen Mountains eyes upon the caverns of water. Into the mountains he trekked seeking the caverns that would lead into the heart of Mistones underdark.

In the shadows of the mountain peaks, creatures of all manners attacked the small group seeking to waylay or destroy. The party’s progress was slowed only slightly yet that might have been enough had they not by luck found the entry after a horrible battle. So they stepped into a greater dark, a cavern of frost and snow. Shadows warred with maidens of water seeking the source to corrupt and control.

It was in this darkness that the party faced the greatest peril they had yet met a creature of the abyss and shadow melded. Demonic claws and a melting form, without shape it took one and struck changing and shifting. It was a paragon of reality, umbrae that threatened to consume their beings. Without a moment of hesitation they gave into battle, the creature was driven back and soon stumbled thru a great wall of ice revealing a hidden chamber its minions had not yet found.

With a shimmer of light a trident impaled the beast and it fell dead. From the soft blue light emerged a titan of a being. Skin a soft blue hair white as snow she smiled and nodded to the party and soon they conversed. The elder bard handed her the ring he was given and after but a moment she gave him her token, what held together the plans to build the portal. Not enough to stop Randharavanna but enough to buy time.

One ring, one piece of the treasure remained. One Jinni and all were converging upon him to be the first to gather his treasure. Yet the Jinni of earth is a fickle creature disliking of servants unlike his kin. In the dragon isles he thrives, flickering between the roots as would a Rhizome. So the party set forth for him and for their final destination on Layonara.

Shadows sprinted with the party then, neither stopping to fight, it was a race and the victor would decide the fait of the future. Into the swamps they strode, thru the peaks they crept and past the Satyr they ran all seeking the goal therein.  Before a shrine they would stand of natures precious lands. It is a tree that glows, in the dragon isles it is surrounded by pillars rather strange, none before knew its purpose thou many have wondered.

In a dark cavern they stood, weapons readied as shadows span along the walls. A dieing scream greeted their ears and a song of infamy. The arch-bards heckles rose and from him an unnatural growl, Randharavanna and he were one and the same. Some things did grow clear then and there. For only a bard could be so underestimated, only a bard so overlooked, only a bard able to unite hated foes as he had. Randharavanna had the shard he needed to complete the portal thou it would take much more needed time.

As the darkness flickered away the Djinn lay dead, slowly fading away. Rhizome stepped forward and set his hands upon the Djinn encouraging him to bloom once more. For tense moments they stood as life forces moved from one to the other and slowly the Djinn awakened. He spat up blood and looked around with a curse upon his lips.

This Djinn unlike the others was perhaps the cleverest or just the most aware of the bards dark history. He snarled and mocked laughing all the while. He had no interest in making deals with the Bard. He was tired of Moraken’s bad luck with jewelry and the tribulations it brought him only wishing to be left alone with nature. Ozymandias spoke for a time and gave the Djinn the ring of Veatana explaining the situation.

For a tense moment the Djinn watched the ring then shook his head in disgust. No want for these problems, the adventure was almost thru. Randharavanna had the tools to create his desire and simply put none could stop him. Why should he try or care, it only lead to defeat. Yet the bard’s words continued at him, and a plan within them was heard. Finally the Djinn relented and agreed to aid when the time did come. If not for revenge alone and being rid of his duty to the portal once and for all.”

The minstrel stretches for a moment looking about taking a slow soft tune gathering into a crescendo. Almost a whisper his voice echoes across those before him and lost in trance he continues the story to its completion.

“Upon Xantril the continent of demons the party set foot, in Arabel where Blood embarks upon this world. Faces grim knowing that that place of screams and horror may be the last they would ever see. Randharavanna had gained what he needed to complete his dream and his destiny. The only choice remained was to lay siege to his fortress and recapture the ring and the blueprints therein.

Their first steps might have been their last for Randharavanna was ready for them; his arm was long and his eyes keen. He knew of their arrival and sent forth his shadows to consume and delay. Every step, every shadow not sure if it would spring alive to strike at turned away eyes. So they traveled thru the demon continent to where Randharavanna resided.

In the shadows did lurk treachery, as they neared an abandoned castle’s great hall shadows leapt forth to steal the Djinn of water’s prize. Yet as fleet as the shadows the party dodged them, entering into the demonic fortress of ruin. In chambers of torture they walked, where demons clawed and fought. They persevered till before they stood a great shimmering door of red light.

Not on this world did the great shadow live, but in a place of darkness, cold and despair were his whims. The hateful heart from where demons come to roam, the Abyss is where he had made his throne. The party journeyed on to challenge the great Shadow in his citadel of hate. Till they came to a great planer gate where upon they took a breath and set foot into a place of death.

Snows swirled wildly blinding all but the bard, used to the fury of the plane. In Thanatos in the abyss they were in. Deep in snow as undead rose to strip away flesh and blood. So they took to a slow devastating war coming before a city which no living being wakes. It was there in that place where morality withers, and hope crumbles that they met the Djinn. Each had prepared a gift and gave a warning, a simple jewel with a magic spell hardly more then a cantrip.

Into the depths of the Crypt they strode, darkness burning without hope. As they did depart from the Djinn, a dire warning was granted unto them that perhaps would save their souls. Randharavanna was the eternal darkness, the great shadow for as such he was invincible and immortal. For so long as darkness existed he would remain unbreakable, only to reflect a light in which he could not survive would banishment give reprieve.

They entered those unhallowed halls ready to face all manner of creature in the dark, and so they met an army of fiends. Tooth and claw faced adventurers’ magic and wrath and slowly the party traversed onwards thru layer after layer of deepening dark. In halls where darkness dripped like fresh spilt blood the shadows became as one, mimicking the party as shadows of themselves. At last they came to a room where a beast stood Randharavanna’s second in command, she smiled and whirled into them blades in frenzy.

Death and hatred her calling cards, she brandished blades and sought to slay the heart. Yet the bard was not without his allies and they proved to be better then the ones Randharavanna had unleashed so far. The Bird Lord and eyes of Katia his magic did sing, sending forth light and fire into the demonic beast. With a steady hand drew back the bow as Enzo the green ranger unleashed a rain of arrows. Rhizome himself dug deep into the Abyss’s chaotic ire and formed around him the shape of stone striking at the demon and breaking her bones. Magic unleash by a drowses mage which has befriended the bard at an early age, soon the battle was won the party bloodied and weakened from the blades that sung.

Yet Randharavanna had not yet revealed himself instead the room was empty and time was drifting away, a great sand timer told them they had only an hour’s time. The completion of the portal would break only despair the party searched the room seeking a hidden entry to where the great shadow would be. Ozymandias found it and gazed with a mirthful gaze, a mirror that shined with a deep inner truth. A mirror on which shadows lurked and so he touched its edge.

Captivation on its glimmering surface, as shadows danced around a great fire. Within that image yet resided great pillars of stone with water ebbing and flowing in ribbons between. Most surely not an image to greet mortal eyes, but an image of the portal being fashioned and bound to elements and shadow with magic and sound. Randharavanna could most certainly be seen, but to reach the great shadow in a myriad of lies would be the puzzle.

A ripple across the surface warned him just how frail and how easy indeed it would be to fail the riddles secret. “To see the truth” the bard did whisper placing the four gems one by one upon the mirror. As each did touch it was absorbed and the mirror glowed ever brighter however from it came a demonic hoard. Perhaps those that built the portal destined to guard entry into its resting place, or Randharavanna’s own elite guard.

As the last gem touched the mirrors stand a great darkness surrounded them, they appeared in a room unlike any before Ozymandias clutching close the mirror. Great vaulted walls lead down a path, into a chamber smelling of corruption and death. Randharavanna stood before a great device almost complete to his delight. With a dark laugh he spun to face the party drawing a blade of twisted shadow. Without another word he lunged beginning the true war.

 No battle before could compare to what was unleashed, the great shadow determined not to be unseated. With a wave of his hand a burst of dark energy span forth scattering the party like dust in the wind. Yet to rise from the ashes they were destined and so they clashed with the shadow as he span and danced testing for weakness in each stance. Magic called from the netherworld to send them back time and time again.

With a clash of steel, the heroes met face to face with their dark foe that beckoned them onward into battle. The touch of his blade, withered away at the very soul and the song he sang crippled the adventurers as well as the bards uplifted them true. Evenly matched for a time it seemed, the great shadow undefeatable and invincible. Yet in a few moments hence all would be decided in a shower of light.

With a scream of pain light reached his being as Ozymandias held the mirror high, for a moment then he was weakened and Rhizome’s power breached his mortal coil. He fell to ash and dust then no more then a shadow within. The bard darted forward with a soft cry of victory lightly made. A mocking laughter upon unborn winds met their ears, a soft twist never would you wish to hear. Shadows spun and gathered then and Randharavanna stood once more before them.

A thousand times, and a thousand more strike me down it will do no good surrender for I am the eternal Darkness. His words were whispers as they were curses; he mocked them all and their weakness. He was known as darkness eternal for a very reason; he is the great shadow and defeat unknown to him. So long as there was dark to be had, he would live and soon rule the lands.

Twin red sparks of light met the off colored of the arch bard then and true. Words were whispered in a shadow tongue then mockeries in mortal tune. He spun the ring upon his wispy finger and watched the portal slowly complete. As the party gazed on he became many things, all they loved and held dear. A branch of nature’s father is what the Rhizome did see in Randharavanna’s shadowy bliss. The mother of forests did the bird lord see as he looked on like a startled falcon caught in mid flight. An old lover the green ranger saw and so his bow clattered upon the floor. While redemptions lady the drowess did see lowering her magic’s in adoration.

Yet what the arch-bard saw was impending doom, he glared at Randharavanna for a second true. He looked into the mirror and a smile touched his lips as he embraced the shadow and horrors of his past. So he began to glow and he looked towards the others and laughed catching Randharavanna’s gaze. He was but a reflection of the shadow that was true, but the shadow was also a reflection of him too. One by one the party then gazed into the mirror catching its light and joining in its light. Each to turn away from the illusions and gaze into their own imperfection at last all shone and Randharavanna moaned his portal almost complete.

Lifting his blade he strode down the steps determined to break the link, as he raised his blade a beam of light caught him full in the chest. With a cry of outrage he faded away as the room was consumed with light, the portal shattered and from his hand fell the ring. As the light dimmed and the party looked around they saw Ozymandias standing over where Randharavanna once was lifting the ring. With a shake of his head he slipped it away and sheathed the short sword Randharavanna had used in battle that day.

Turning to the party he showed them the mirror, therein Randharavanna resided waving to them as he flickered into shadow released from an abyssal taint that consumed him forty years ago. The allegory’s final chapter was done, Randharavanna had only almost won. But in a game as dire as the one that was played, almost was still defeat that day. With a wave of his hand and a few arcane words, the bard returned the party to their native land.

From Arabel they went their separate ways, to reunite the next time the world was threatened by darkness such as Randharavanna. What of the portal and what of the ring, of that so have been told many things. Some have said Ozymandias’ kept the ring it is the emerald ring upon his hand. Others argue that he destroyed it then and there scattering it across the planes in places no being dare tread. Perhaps the Djinn came and spirited the ring and pieces away. But I heard once in Arabel that the ancient bard took it to the erinyes queen falling upon one knee and giving it to her as an engagement ring.

So ends Randharavanna’s Allegory a bards’ adventure not all heroisms come from doing great things, some come from stopping the most wicked of all. In this tale a most unlikely hero saved the day but perhaps in my next tale he will be a villain known to all. That is the enigma of the arch-bard I’m not sure even the gods themselves know his nature.

Whatever the truth, this much is known; Ozymandias yet lives and no word of a great portal is known. So he walks these lands awaiting the next great evil to face but until that day he can be found in this town telling tales. Ask him if you wish and mayhap a greater truth you will be told then in this minstrel’s tale. Thou I hear he is writing out the epic story himself to be told someday.”

With a deep bow the minstrel holds out his hat collecting the coins thrown to him. As the crowd disperses he picks up his bottle of wine and turns to leave town.

7

Fixed Bugs / Emote Wand - Functionality Problems

« on: March 07, 2006, 11:11:29 am »

1)New commands such as folding arms, curling up etcetera are not therein.
- Tested on: West, Central, East
2) Functionality of "Toggle *Emote* commands" no longer working on the concept of turning them off.
- Tested on: West, Central, East

8

Trade and Market Hall / Equipment of Sinthar's forces

« on: July 27, 2005, 06:55:00 am »

Gleaned from the forces of Bloodstone within the Demon Mountains. These fine items are the first to be stripped from the intruder of our world.

Gauntlets of Oger Power ((+2 STR)): Sale Price: 12,000 Coins of Gold "Or best offer"
Adamantium Waraxe ((+2 Dwarvish Waraxe)): Sale Price: 22,000 Coins of Gold ((L Request on the doubled price))
Adamantium Double Axe ((+2 Double Axe)): Sale Price: 20,000 Coins of Gold (("))
Adamantium Wind/Fire Wheel ((+2, Exotic Monk Style Item)): Sale Price: 20,000 Coins of Gold (("))
Malar Leather Whip ((+2 Whip)): Sale Price: 20,000 Coins of Gold (("))
Greater Mages Armor ((+3 with +3 Lore and +4 Spellcraft)): Sale Price: 14,000 Coins of Gold "negotiateable"
Gloves of Greater Spellcraft ((+6 Spellcraft)): Sale Price: Free with Armor Above.
Boots of Danceing ((+4 Tumble)): Sale Price: 4,000 Coins of Gold
Story of the War: Free