Volume Six Issue Three
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VOLUME SIX, ISSUE THREE January 15th, 1999
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
- The Editor's Note -
- Upcoming Calendar of Events -
ARTICLES
- Questions & Answers: Transcript -
- On People -
LEGENDITES
- Announcements -
- The Conjurer's Guild: Part II -
- A Message from Lt. Collins -
- A Mysterious Note -
- Dragon Eyes: Part 3 -
- Tarn Ponders a Mystery -
- A Fearsome Message -
- A Mamluk's Tale -
- The Knight Recruitment Process -
- And the Devil Fled Murmuring -
- The Story Continues.... -
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/__| EDITOR'S NOTE |__\
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Hello All,
I wanted to, first off, thank all of those who contributed to this
week's LT. I'm amazed at the number and the breadth of the submissions
this week -- I've even had to save some for next week. Most issues
aren't quite this large! In addition, I'm pleased to get a number of
articles from some new writers. For those of you who read the LT but have
never submitted an article, I invite you to consider doing so. Don't
forget that you'll get either a token or a coupon for your article, if
it's printed.
Besides serving as a method of communication among players, the LT also
serves as something of a collection of invitations. An article about an
RP event is also a way to tell others what kind of an RP the writer and
subjects have going, and to invite others to consider finding a way to
join.
I've noticed a large increase over the last few months in the number of
players who choose to RP, but have been disappointed to notice that
they often seem to RP alone. If this is by choice, that's wonderful --
but if it's out of a lack of contacts with others, then I encourage you
to get out and publicize your situation a little bit. And take note
when someone else publicizes their own.
Love to all,
LadyAce
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/__| UPCOMING CALENDAR OF EVENTS |__\
'------------------------------------------------------------------'
[All times are system time unless otherwise specified]
<-^-><-^-><-^-><-^-><-^->January<-^-><-^-><-^-><-^-><-^->
Saturday, January 16, 7:00 pm - Dominic's Trivia Extravaganza
Science and Inventions
Thursday, January 21, 7:00 pm - Q & A in the OOC Auditorium
Saturday, January 23, 7:00 pm - Trivia! by LadyAce
Round 10 of 12
Thursday, January 28, 7:00 pm - Q & A in the OOC Auditorium
<0><0><0><0>February<0><0><0><0>
Thursday, February 5, 7:00 pm - Q & A in the OOC Auditorium
Thursday, February 12, 7:00 pm - Q & A in the OOC Auditorium
Saturday, February 14 Happy 5th Birthday LegendMUD!
Thursday, February 19, 7:00 pm - Q & A in the OOC Auditorium
___ ___
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/__| NEWS AND REPORTS |__\
'------------------------------------------------------------------'
Questions & Answers: Transcript
Q1: Leaving for a While?
Obsidian says, 'I know that I am leaving for home this sunday and I'm
worried that my character will be deleted...'
'Get archived!' the Slayer of Gods says.
'Archived?' Obsidian says.
The Slayer of Gods says, 'Yep.. they save your pfile in another
directory.'
'If you ask an imm to archive before you go, they'll put your file in a
special spot,' LadyAce added. 'Then, when you want to return, log in
with a guest and ask for an unarchive.'
'Oh, so I can ask you guys on sat and comeback later?' Obsidian says. 'Cool.'
LadyAce says, 'If you can't find an imm when you want to leave, pick
one who you know logs on often, and mail them.'
Q2: Directing a conversation?
Medea says, 'How do you direct says to a person so all can hear?'
LadyAce says, 'You use talk.'
The Slayer of Gods says, rather cocky, to Medea, '"talk person message"'
Medea says, 'I thought that was relatively private.'
'Tell is the private one,' you say. 'Ask is semi private, people with
listen can hear it.'
Q3: Areas?
'BTW who designed industrial london?' Medea says to you.
'If you type areas, you get a list of who wrote each area,' LadyAce
says.
'Is there any way to congrat designers?' Medea says to a simple
oriental peasant. 'London has a great feel.'
'Send mudmail?' a simple oriental peasant says to Medea.
/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\
On People
-----------================-----------
A note about people... (from LEDGEND)
People on LegendMUD are just as diverse as people in real life. Some of
the are nice, some are sour... some are happy to help others - and some
want to be left to thier own devices.
When you are mudding, there are times when you do not want to be
constantly asked: Where's this? Where's that? What does this do? And
times when you REALLY need help and begin to ask other players.
Relize then that EVERYONE is this way. The kindest [New Player Helper]
only has so many nerves a newbie can stomp on! And likewise, LVL 30's,
40's and 50's should feel inclined to keep LegendMUD the 'friendliest'
MUD on the net.
Keep these points in mind the next time you feel the old chemical levels
rising and be patient for the good of the MUD.
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________________________
/ \
o O | Wonder what folks are |
`\|||/ | doing over at LegendMUD?|
(o o) \________________________/
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/__| LEGENDITES: Information Regarding the People of Our World |__\
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Announcements
Description Changes:
To reflect his devotion to the cult of {S}, and in order to appear more
playfully evil, Lemming will now appear as:
Long: Dressed in a patchwork Lemming suit, an old man stands here taunting kids.
Short: a disturbed birthday clown
After many years of studies, Saga has now been chosen amng the best
saints to be elected as the Pope of the Order. She has just received
the golden armor of the Gemini and has now to fight for justice.
Short - The Gemini Gold Saint
Long - Cape floating in the wind, a gold Saint evaluates you and smiles.
A Note of Thanks:
This is a simple note to express a big thank you.
As quite a few of you know, i dted on New Year's Day, (what a great way
to start off the new year) and at that point i really wanted to just
get permenantly deleted like many of you who have dted before, prolly
cos i've never dted before, and the fact that i lost all my toys and
stuff i collected.
Anyway, Vandervecken told me to go offline and rest for some time and
come back later, that i shouldn't perma. I listened to him, something
i'm really glad i did, or i may have regretted my rash decision. I
came back the next day, and asked for some help re-equipping and i was
really surprised at the fact that so many people offered to help me and
I actually got re-equipped almost totally in one day, including a few
toys.
Anyway, i guess i've learnt a lot from this experience, i mean i
realised that things shouldn't be taken for granted cos you only seem
to realise it after everything is gone, but although everything seems
lost you should pick yourself up and try again. I'll never say die
again. (thanks Amecia) I've also made a few friends through this
experience, and I would like to thank them all for their help, in one
way or another, for without their help i wouldn't still be here today.
Once again, thank you Fairfax, Vandervecken, Zhang-Fei, Amecia, Chante'
and everyone else who has helped me or provided me with some comfort
during this time. Now i'm back and even better! Bwaheeheeheehee! :)
Alejandro
/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\
The Conjurer's Guild
(Part II - The great battle)
When Rhygol reached the old mages hideout a terrible battle began. Not
much is left from the old books which contain the Legend of the
Conjurer's Guild. But we were able to find a few pages telling us about
the great battle:
A mighty lightning shot down to Rhygol. He already felt the air filled
with electricity as he was able to cause a magical shield that easily
blocked the lightning. The invisible wall was big enough to protect him
and even the first line of his bodyguards.
One of them didn't realize the shield and suddenly he jumped high into
the air to catch the lightning, he raised his shield - the least
effective way to block. Rhygol saw it and tried to widen his spell, but
it was too late. The lightning hit the shield and the electricity
streamt through the shield into his body - his blood began to boil, hit
heart exploded and his body burnt to ash.
For an instant the time stopped. Rhygol - thinking about his friend's
death - nearly forgot why he was here but when he heard his enemies
crying out orders to their soldiers he woke and felt a changing in his
mind... he felt that something dangerous has taken place inside him...
he felt his powers raising and he wasn't able to do something against
it. He raised his arm and with a raging voice he called out to his
enemies: 'A flash ? You want to see human flesh burnt by a flash ?!?!
NOW YOU WILL SEE THE ENERGY OF THE SKIES !!!'
The sky became dark and it seemed that all the dark coulds were moving
to a point exactly above Rhygol. Rhygol's eyes were closed and his men
surrounding him stepped back. The air crackled and suddenly dozens of
lightnings shot down into Rhygol's raised arm.
Noone has seen such a mighty energy before and even the old mages
wondered about their pupils power.
Glowing and surrounded by the crackling forces of the sky, Rhygol
pointed to the center of their enemy's army and he cried out a very old
and dangerous spell. The energy left his body through the tips of his
fingers and formed a huge ball... people all over the battlefield had
to look into another direction and those who didn't became blinded in
less than instant. The ball forming before him grew and grew and was
shining brighter as the sun and then he released the spell and faster
than any flash the ball cut through the air and right into the enemy's
army. A huge explosion sounded all over the area and even 200 miles
away people wondered about its source.
Then the battlefield was frozen. The survivors stopped fighting sat or
kneeled down and began their prayers to the gods. When the brightness
vanished some mages with healing abilities began to work and checked
all the bodies lying around. They had a lot to do. While doing best
they were able to, they found the corpses of the old mages or better
they felt their energy fleeing from a heap of ash. And they found the
body of Rhygol... still living but in a bad condition. They tried to
revive him, but after hours they gave up and a few days later he
finally died.
After the healers finished their work, all survivors left the
battlefield and a few mages caused a horrible sandstorm to bury the
corpses.
Now only a few were left... they decided to stop the hatred they had
against each other and reunified the Conjurer's Guild ...
While they were moving to find a new home, the world realized, that the
number of mages in the Conjurer's Guild was small and now the peasants
and the usual population found their courage and they began to hunt
down the conjurers. Again, many of the mages had to die, but a few were
able to create a portal and the last survivors of the Guild entered
it. They found themselves on a hill and they looked out for a new
home. 'From this day on', they have sworn, 'our magic will never hurt
again! It shall be used only to help and to heal!'
10, maybe 12 families grouped together to find a new place, a hideout
where they could live unnoticed by the rest of the world. There they
wanted to build their self-supporting village.
Told by Andrea, Guildmistress of the Conjurer's Guild
as written in the books.
/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\
A Note from Lt. Collins
I, Lieutenant Collins of her royal majesties special air sevice,
have recently been set up by one individual in the service, forcing
me to abort my last mission. At a crutial point in the mission I
was attacked from behind by this individual, a member of the
very same service as I. This foul attack left me unable to
defend myself, and I fell into enemy hands shortly afterwards.
After some grueling days of torture, and no food I saw a chance
to make my escape and capitalized on it. And now I am free of
my captors, and looking to make my way back to a contact point,
so that I may contact my superiors in the SAS and get a lift
home again.
I request that those citizens I chance across in my journey out
of the desert aid me and in return I might be able to aid you.
Who Dares Wins,
Lieutenant Collins, her majesties SAS
/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\
A Mysterious Note....
The following note was slipped in under the door to the editor's office one
or two nights ago. Wrapped in an elegant rice paper envelope and written in
neatly calligraphed letters, it did not immediately appear like something
that should be lying around on floors.
Dear Mr. Conspiracy,
It is with some regret I read that you have decided to declare your
personal vendetta against my servant, Mr Sterling Silver. Heaven knows good
servants are hard to get these days, and the lad is distracted enough
already, what, with his wife and his fiancee running around, driving him
crazy. On the other hand, you do seem to possess some qualifications of
your own, and I rather appreciate your direct approach. What a man likes, a
man should take.
Therefore I am offering you this one chance to either back off immediately
or face the consequences. I *will* have a servant when this is settled. A
man in my position does not walk around among mortals unattended, or
sullying his hands with ridiculous affairs of your petty kind.
Whoever of the two of you are still standing when this is done, will be my
personal valet. I don't really care much which of you succeed, so get it
done with swiftly. You are quite disturbing my peace and quiet, and
besides, a little bloodsport always livens up the day.
Marcel Alexander,
Esquire
/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\
Dragon Eyes - An Epic
Chapter 3
If you missed the prologue and first two chapters, wherein Drako's past
is elucidated, then feel free to email Drako at [email protected] to
reserve your e-copy.
"Can I see these in a size eleven?" Drako asked. The
saleswoman, a portly, mumu-clad weaver, nodded her head in acquiescence
and locomoted her way to the stock room. She promptly returned with
the requested boots. The earthy brown and green canvas boots with
tank-traction bottoms and gray laces fit snugly on Drako's foot, supply
conforming to the contours of his active foundations.
"Nice," said the left little toe to his mentor, who was also
wriggling with satisfaction in the newly-purchased breathable boots.
Drako set out from the store, oblivious to the locution of his
ecstatic toes, to find the sun high in the sky. He guessed it was
about noon. He also guessed this by looking at his skintone
wristwatch, one of the rare few to be found in working order in this
land after the Shatterstorm. Of the ones that had survived the
technological breakdown, most suffered from depleted batteries, of
which the ability to create had been lost. Now that would be a useful
skill... Drako's, however, was solar-powered, so would last him until
he got mugged.
Regardless, it was a beautiful day. The sky shone with crystal
clear blueness that rivaled the beauty of the clear waters of
the Caribbean. A small breeze ruffled the leaves on the aspen trees,
which fluttered madly, as was their nature, exposing a cacophony of
visual variance as their uniquely-shaded sides alternated perspective.
Violets, roses, betony, and chamomile flowers dotted the fertile green
grass in clumps of vibrance.
Woodland animals and other little creatures ventured from their
hovels to bask in the warm glow of the mid-day sun. Squirrels ran
about chittering to each other, collecting nuts, berries, and whatever
else they could scrounge in the meantime. Mockingbirds filled the air
with their imaginatively whimsical melodies while eagles soared high in
the air, scattering flocks of smaller birds. Odd creatures such as
boggles and spriggans even emerged to snicker and collect oddments to
the music of nature.
The village teemed with human life, as well. Citizens
sputtered about on odd errands, moving lethargically in the open and
furtively in the shops so as to soak as much sun and life as possible
through their countless millions of pores.
Drako walked about the commons, all the while observing these
signs of effervescence. To him, life seemed fuller than it had in the
age of technology. The wholesome life led by those in the rural
community was pleasantly slower-paced. He noted all of this, for it
was his task to observe the new-formed world in all its glory, in hopes
that he might discover where the rest of it was.
His relaxed spiral finally came to fruition at the center of
the village, which was marked by a great dun, which the village was
known to use defensively in times of war. Its ivy-covered stone walls
and iron-studded oak gate soared happily in the springtime. Unlike
many such structures, this castle did not lurk ominously over the town,
but rather stood centrally, granting a feeling of unity.
Drako entered the dun, noting the corpse of the gate guard
while doing so. "Strange," he thought. "Violence here?" Unsheathing
his dagger, he cautiously stalked the environs. Nothing seemed out of
place. Besides the randomly strewn carcasses of guardsmen, everything
was normal. The residents failed to even notice the evidence of
butchery. Finally, Drako came upon the cause of the destruction. A
large townsperson was calmly strolling about, methodically dispatching
the warriors.
Approaching the fellow, who was stooping to loot the coins from
his most recent kill, Drako asked of the man, "What is going on here?"
"Hello," replied the man, flourishing grandly. "I am gaining a
bit of experience. You look new here, so I will explain. This world
is much unlike the old world." He knows of the old world? "For one
thing, I have found that only certain people can truly die. Regarding
most of these people, you can kill them for your own benefit, and the
others dont care. Oddly, the ones you killed will be there the next
day as if they had never died."
"Interesting," said Drako. The two chatted awhile more, the man
showing Drako some of his techniques. They discussed the old world a
bit, as well. Then Drako decided to move on. After all, this story is
starting to get a bit slow, and main characters always try to move on
before boredom overcomes the reader. Drako decided to travel to the
druid compound, acting on a random clue that the man dropped regarding
the druids. He traveled out of Tara, and south. Not knowing the way
there, assuming the path would lead the way, he awoke from a daydream
to find himself deep in the center of a swamp. "O, woe is me," was not
a thought that crossed his mind. Rather, he found himself busy fending
off the mosquitos that were buzzing frantically about. "Amazing."
Drako whirled about but detected no signs of a human. "Over here."
Unfortunately, not there, either. Drako scanned the vicinity,
searching for any evidence of abnormal swamp life. Aha! A light! He
ran towards the fading lantern. A hour later proved that the lantern
was as far away as it had been originally. Drako vaguely recalled
myths of the will o the wisp; those old-wives tales that hed never
heeded. "&#$%@*$^*!!" Now I'm even more lost!" he screamed to no one
in particular. He took his aggressions out on a small greenish-brown
frog, who never stood a chance, but licked valiantly d
Ouch. What a way to go. Or is it? Tune in next article (i cant say
LT anymore, because i seemed to have missed one and lost all my
credibility =P) to find out whether Drako gets a funeral or another new
pair of shoes.
/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\
Tarn ponders a mystery
The ordinary looking young woman sat on the riverbank, pondering her
life.
She was still in her teens, yet she seemed to have memories of another
life, another woman of the same name, also a surgeon. She had a hazy
dreamlike recall of dying in the arms of the elder gods shortly before
the new year. Surely that memory could not be real. And after the
new year, a rebirth of sorts, for she could not remember anything
before her 17th birthday, apparently she had sprung from the ground as
a young adult. Sometimes the ghost-like memories of this other Tarn
seemed more real than her own.
As she acquired skills, learned new techniques, it was like someone
was watching over her shoulder saying 'yes, that's how it done, do you
not remember?' Tarn was puzzled, the things she learned had an air of
familiarity about them, for example on the day the doctor in a French
Canadian fort said she was now a fully fledged surgeon, and handed her
a shiny new scalpel, she had hugged that scalpel as if it were an old,
much-missed friend. She wondered how had she *known* to study with
him, where to find him?
Strangers seemed to recognize her, even claimed friendship with her,
and many were surprised at her youth and pitiful collection of
skills. People seemed to expect her to be older and highly skilled.
Some strangers (yet not quite strangers, for she recognized them too
although she could not recall ever meeting them before) even helped
her gain experience, furnished her with suitable attire, and helped
her find the teachers she sought.
It was inexplicable.
She was a modern woman of the 19th century, a well educated
blue-stocking, yet she could find no reasonable explanation for the
situation.
Perhaps, she thought to herself, if I explore this world I live in, I
shall find an answer. There has to be an explanation.
There has to be.
/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\
A Fearsome Message
-This message was sent by a Dark Robed individual with four parting
words..."Believe and Fear Him."
As the darkness engulfs the City of Tara a mist slowly makes its way
from the Crossroads, where the bodies of the Sidhe Warriors who swore
their lives to keep the Dark Prophecy from coming true, were strewn
about as if a great force picked them up, ate them, and spit them out.
As the mist crosses over the damage that it had done, one could almost
hear it laughing. It didn't relish the carnage for long but moved on
to the prophetic meeting place...
"In the midst of peace and serenity the embodiment of
tormented, suffering souls who carry great power, will descend upon a
sacred holy ground to take the form of a deceased warrior, in whom
will their great evil be manifested."
The mist now enters the heart of Tara leaving death and carnage in
it's path. The only sound heard in Tara is the sinister laughing of
the Archdruid Diancecht, out of the Temple of Dana.
"Tonight shall the Prophecy be fulfilled. Come to me oh tormented
souls. Come to this new vessel and take refuge in it to be used by you
to exact revenge.
The Archdruid closes his eyes and places his hands on the body that is
void of a soul. He then proceeds to chant...
"Oh restless spirits, revengeful spirits, on this night fulfill the
prophecy and enter the vessel which I have prepared for you to dwell
in."
As he chants the mist seeps through the walls and into his speaking
mouth. He doubles over into a racking cough, but he never releases the
hold on the body.
He recovers and finishes the chant. "If my sacrifice pleases you,
leave my body and enter this one."
The mist seeps out through his fingers and into the body. The
Archdruid throws his head back and cackles with insane glee. As the
mist enters into the body the ground is racked with spasms and the air
is mixed with the sounds of thousands of cackling souls. The stained
glass in the Temple is blown inward....
Then silence. A silence more ominous than the noise which preceded
it, then.
"Arise my master. The prophecy is now fulfilled. Lord Linux I am
yours to command."
A red gleam flashes in the now risen Lord's eyes. "Where am? Where
are my fellow Sidhes?"
"Lord Linux your fellow Sidhes are dead...you killed them."
A silence
"Good."
"My Lord I must warn you that there is false evil parading around the
world. Such as the one called Ronnie. They will challenge your
power...and.
"Silence, my evil will be unmatched."
One lone flash the Archdruid blinked and Linux was gone..
/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\
A Mamluk's Tale
Many have sung the tales of brave Imp and his sacrifice to save the
life of Aisha Said, the Desert Rose, Princess of Zanzibar. Many of
these tales tell a story, others tell pure fantasy, few tell the truth
of the events that faithful day.
The singers of the songs and tellers of the tales are not familiar with
Aisha Said and her illness. They do not know the story as I do, for I
was there that day and have been with her since the day her illness
arose.
For many a lifetime I have served the Said family, using my magics to
keep my youth as the empire of Zanzibar has risen and fallen. Never in
that time has there been a princess with the beauty and strength of
mind as Aisha. When she was young her servants would complain of her
independent mind and her sharp tongue. None dared anger her, though, as
they knew that when they grew old she would decide their fate.
Furthermore, her father, the Sultan, cared for her more than the world
itself.
While she was still young, there was an uprising among the unpaid
servants of Zanzibar. Some fled Zanzibar in fear, some stormed the
palace. Finding themselves unable to get to the Sultan, in their anger
some found Aisha. She was not guarded those days, still being young.
One such servant managed to get a knife somewhere and poisoned it with
the sap of an unknown plant. Upon finding the young princess he thrust
it into her chest, piercing her heart.
Aisha fell ill, near death from the pierce of the blade and the effects
of the strange poison. She was ill for days, until a stranger walked in
town. This stranger was a tall, gaunt gentleman who promised the Sultan
that he could heal his daughter. They talked and a contract was made, I
know not the details of the contract, though the Sultan swore that if
the stranger made Aisha worse, he would die a slow and painful death.
But such was not to happen, as the stranger, Marcel Alexander, managed
to revive Aisha. I was not present as Alexander did his work as I was
busy guarding the palace from more servant attacks.
Shortly after her recovery, I was asked by the Sultan to protect Aisha
from further harm. Even in her youth it was clear that she would get
herself into much trouble.
What, pray tell, does this have to do with the heroicism of the
hermetic? Listen on, dear friend, and you shall see.
The day that Imp sacrificed all for the desert rose I was sitting
with Marcel (as I now knew him), his servant Sterling, and Aisha, we
heard tell a group of adventures in trouble. We found this group in an
argument with K'Mala, with whom I'm sure you're all already acquainted.
Imp was one of this group as was the Lady Solange de Saint-Cyr. Imp
was stricken by the princess and they went off, leaving us with the Lady
Solange. Solange. We went to Marcel's home land, I forget now the
reason, something about Solange's history, I think. Shortly afer we got
to the room where we had decided to talk, we heard rumors that Aisha
was stricken again by her illness: Marcel's cure had not been permenant,
but occasionally re-afflicted her on occasion. As we got to the room we
met BabaYaga, a friend of Marcel's from old.
We did our best via messenger to direct Imp to our location for Aisha
had fainted with her illness. As I heard of her condition, I went up to
lead Imp to Marcel. Marcel was busy discussing whatever issues it was
she had to discuss with the Lady de Saint-Cyr to go to Aisha. Aisha's
condition was very unclear at that point: messages can be slow and not
terribly accurate. After I had lead them back, it was clear Aisha's
condition was not good. She passed in and out of consciousness and had
little understanding of what was happening. It was lucky that Aisha had
managed to tell Imp to search out Marcel, or Aisha might not have
survived. The Lady de Saint-Cyr, being trained in the medical sciences
was unable to find anything wrong. Marcel, however, being of the other
world knew the problem in an instant.
Lord Alexander knew that the only healing for Aisha would be another
heart, to replace that which was failing her. Imp agreed instantly,
as heroic as always, thinking of the fair princess before himself.
Solange objected and tried to talk Imp out of it, but there was no
convincing him. He gave his life then and there. Lord Marcel
Alexander, master of magics regarding life and death, was able to draw
the life force out of an old fossilized creature and give it to Imp.
It wasn't enough to bring him fully back from the dead, but he lived
on, a servant of the princess he had saved.
That, good friends, is the tale of Imp's sacrifice as it
happened.
The Mamluk, Turmeric
/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\
Knight Recruitment Process
Greetings!
There recently has been some confusion over the recruiting process for
the Knights of Legend. Our Order has existed since the Formation of
LegendMud. It is a Noble and Distinguished Clan with a rich history.
Thus, we follow a selection process which may seem rigorous compared to
other clans. However, we feel it is necessary, in order to insure that
only those who can uphold the Code are granted the right to bear the
Title of Knight of Legend. This Recruiting Process consist of 4
Stages.
The First Stage involves contacting the Knight Recruiter of Legend.
Once contacted, you will be sent(via e-mail) the most recently revised
version of our Knight Code[updated 7/8/98]. You will be requested to
peruse our Code. If you feel that you can uphold the guidelines you
will then proceed to the Second Stage.
The Second Stage involves arranging a session with the Knight
Recruiter. During the session you'll discuss your reasons for applying
for Knighthood. In addition the Second Stage involves the Knight
Recruiter inquiring to your peers about you. This is in order to obtain
a general measure of your potential to live up to our Code, based on
your previous actions. If at this point you are judged unworthy for
Squirehood, you will not be allow to proceed further in the process. At
any time during the first two Stages you were judged unworthy for
Squirehood and feel that this evaluation is unfair, you may appeal to
the Deputy GuildMaster.
The Third Stage involves being assign by the Knight Recruiter to a
Knight of Legend for Squirehood and also the completion of the Ritter's
Quest. You will be guided by your Liege, who will determine if you
have the ability to wear the Honor of Knighthood. If your Liege find
you lack the characteristic that would enable you to uphold our Code,
you will be dismissed.
The Fourth Stage involves your investiture into Knighthood. Once your
Liege deems that you have proven yourself sufficient the Knight
Recruiter will be informed. The Knight Recruiter will then inform the
GuildMaster, who will confer with the other members of the Clan. If you
are judged worthy you be inducted into the Knighthood by the
GuildMaster.
Take heed, the Path of Knighthood is not for the faint of heart. It is
true that our recruitment process of past may have been somewhat lax
but this is no longer the case. Moreover, you may be subjected to barbs
and slurs from those who claim to understand honor. But hold the faith,
for you could be a member of a Clan that emphasizes Comraderie and True
Honor.
Life and Everlasting Glory,
Sir Tempus Kittredge, Knight Recruiter of Legend.
/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\
And the Devil Fled Murmuring.
A story? Well. Not all that much happens around here. Oh, you come from the
mortal lands? Really? How's the weather up there? Ah, yes, that's always
the same, go on a trip and it rains I guess. Well, I figure I can tell you
of something odd that happened here the other night. But only if you don't
pass it around, you see, I'd hate to get my tail stuck in some other
devil's business.
The crotchety stick-line crone cackled insanely. That was the first sound I
heard that night, as I showed up for work. There were other people in
there, but it was the cackling, a high pitched sound, that went straight to
my teeth. I had no idea what they were going about in the back room. We,
the nameless servants of Hell, generally contribute a good health to the
ability to refrain from asking questions.
There's a saying that purity cannot be hidden from sight. I remember that I
paid the man special attention as he arrived with the sick lady on his arm.
Not because he was particularly attractive - you humans all look the same
to me. He wasn't dressed as to attract attention, nor was he loud or
self-promoting. There was just a light in his eyes, a confidence in
innocence if you will. The girl wasn't half bad looking; she had this
fragile pale look to her of the mortally ill, but even so, you could tell
that for one of them, she had quite the bearing and charisma.
I do not know what they argued about in there. Words drifted out to us in
the tap room now and then, most of them angry or pleading. It's not a new
scenario. They say nothing new happens around here, and I'm inclined to
agree. Still the old woman's high pitched laugh went straight to my teeth,
making my scales stand on end.
At some point the demon disguised as a mortal man came out front, staring
about himself as if in great anger. We all pretended not to be there, of
course. The other man, the one with the pure soul, followed right in his
steps, more calmly.
'What do you want?', the demon said frostily to him.
Softly, the man replied, 'I will do it... Now, quickly... Please.' He
fell to his knees in an unexpected show of respect and plea.
'Ahh, no beast I am now, eh?' the demon retorted with the smugness of
his kind. 'Come.' And on that, they went back inside.
I guess I might as well admit that we all took up places close to the door
now. Curiosity killed the cat, and the occasional little devil, but
nonetheless this was too unusual to miss. A woman was protesting in there,
a youthful voice protesting the evil and futility of the task that was
about to be done. But the man with the noble demeanor, the shining one, was
in disagreement with her.
Then the scent of human blood spread on the air, fast as the beating of a
nightmare's wings, exciting us, drawing us as close as we dared get, for we
did not have the courage to pass beyond the threshold. We heard sloshing
sounds, and the throbbing of a heart about to give up on its labor, and
then faint protests in the voice of the frail lady who had seemed so close
to death before. She was recovering quickly, apparently, and not quite
grateful to her savior either. Harsh words of betrayal and old debts met
flew through the air. And still, that horrible old woman's laughter pierced
flesh and bone.
'Goddess, and Lords of Hell, grant the man's life to the woman!' the
demon's powerful voice called. And below it, a shrill voice that just kept
babbling and laughing, how we all had learned to shield our sensitive ears
from the old witch's ramblings already. Gusts of wind whipped about the
entire building, causing the tableware to fall from the racks and the
smaller devils to tumble about on the air helplessly.
'And once more, Lords of Hell, this man I grant a heart that suits him!'
And then again the frail woman complained. Evidently she had wanted her
noble hero to the rescue so that she might keep him as he was, not as her
sorcery bound slave with his heart beating in her chest, and a fossil
trilobyte in its place, cold, unfeeling. Where her own heart had gone I do
not know; maybe the cat made off with it to feast in some dark corner.
The demon's servant, a well dressed once-human, came out and asked our
master, the Keeper for something. Grumbling in its usual gruff but not
really hostile fashion, the master obliged, turning some dusty old book
over to him. Then the gentleman slipped back inside, quiet as he had come.
Shortly thereafter, perched close as we were, we heard the complaints of
the small woman, desperate protests against the ruse laid out to trap her.
She was a strong willed one, fighting even as it would seem futile. We
admired her for it, courage is a rare sight here.
A man arrived who looked odd even for Hell, what, with his greasy blue
spikes for hair and all. Another of those once-mortal ones, this one of the
variety that needs to replenish its life by consuming the lifeblood of
other mortals. He slipped in quietly, but even so we could easily see the
tell-tale astral bond between he and the frail princess who was only still
recovering from the magic that had been worked with her as a pawn. And
still the arguing went on.
And then there was silence. For a beat of a mortal heart, all of Hell held
its breath as one of the Heavenly ones did descend. Cowering, we dared not
dive for our holes and pits, but pressed our bodies against the floor,
hoping that we in our insignificance might escape his attention. Only I,
the bravest of the hellspawn here if I may say so myself, dared slip a head
across the treshold for this I felt I had to experience.
They all stood still, their faces unnaturally pale in the bright white
light of the celestial entity that stood among them, his radiant beauty
banishing even the most comfortable of shadows.
Of them all, only the demon-made-flesh seemed unabashed. 'Good day,
Raphael,' said he, with familiarity. 'And what might you be doing in this
part of town?'
The angel smiled at him. The small woman who was so strong in faith
glanced up at the angel with hope radiant in her eyes. 'Solange has a
different destiny than you,' Raphael stated in his harmonic, heavenly
voice. 'You will leave her alone.'
The demon sneered. 'Nice to see you, Raph, have a nice trip back home,
bye,' it spat. Behind him, the fellow with the blue spikes was whispering
to the frail woman - whatever happened there, it must have been love, for
that is the only power I know of that can render the meeting of Heaven and
Hell insignificant enough to ignore. 'I said goodbye, Raph,' the demon
added, annoyed. 'Be a sport and beat it.'
'Ooer, all this excitement is too much for me,' the old woman with the
teeth grinding laugh gibbered, nodding to herself.
'You've failed, crawl back into the hole you came from,' the angel said
overbearingly. It gracefully ignored the fact that the old woman was
feeling up its toes with a hungry look in her eyes.
'Please help me, most blessed one,' the small woman pleaded softly.
'C'mon, buzz off already,' inserted the bluehaired once-mortal.
'You are straining my patience, cousin,' said the demon coldly. Even
so, it was evident to us, if not to him, that he was losing the battle of
wills taking place as we watched.
'Go, Solange, and remember what I told you,' the man who had his heart
replaced with a rock said softly to the small, strong one. 'Do not fear
that one,' said the angel to her.
'Right,' the vampire sneered. 'He is nothing. Go freely,' Raphael
proceeded, indifferent to the interruption, prodding the demon in the chest.
'Keep your most holy hands off my chest, please, there must be boys
enough in heaven,' the demon sneered, jerking free of the angel's touch.
'Take her from here, now!' pleaded the hero with the heart of stone. 'Stay,
or your grandmother will suffer the more,' the demon threathened, to no
avail. He ought to have realized he had lost, at that rate he was just
embarrassing us all the more. I guess it's always like that for the nobles
of Hell, they lose their footing when the going gets tough. But not my word
again, mind you. It seemed about to come to blows, and as I rather like my
hide, every scale on it too, I slipped back out before anyone detected my
presence.
Oh, they argued for some more, of course they did. Angels always talk too
much, whether they're of Heaven or Hell. In my very personal opinion, the
Creator threw in a few Nagging Mother-In-Law genes when he made them. And
then the scream called out across Hell, the frustation of the fallen one
cursing as he realized his loss. It'd only taken him half an hour longer
than anyone else to realize. The demon swore to tear Heaven down around the
ears of the angel if he did not return the small woman to him.
'Best of luck,' the angel called back gracefully. He could laugh, of
course, he was safe out of Hell and besides, no one here has the power to
hurt him anyway.
'You will pay for this, you pathetic excuse for a religious feather
duster! For this, Raphael, I swear I shall destroy not only that single
frail soul but a thousand! Blood shall drip in my wake, the rivers run ruby
with grief!'
The threats fell dry, though, as the angel laughingly retorted: 'You
vowed that last time too, if I remember. 2 down, 998 to go, is it?'
I did not stay to hear the rest of the name calling. As I said, I rather
value my hide. Besides, angels are like little boys when you take away
their toys: They get petty and mean, and then somebody has to pay for it.
So you folks probably ought to keep a low profile if you're still bent on
pressing down to the lower realms of Hell. But what do I care? I'm just a
servant. You asked me for a story, I gave you one. Now, what can I get you
gents?
/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\
The story continues...
As all seemed quiet, while the group of witches and one bodyguard rest
in Germany, the silence is broken by a pair of Knights storming into
the room. The young Knight, revealed as Sir Ganymede stands angrily
before the group, spouting words of a demanding nature.
'I wish to speak to this shadow of yours, Marcel,' he demands, 'I have
a question for my 'father'.' Lord Alexander ponders for a moment, and
agrees... Lord Marcel Alexander whispers to Crowe's soul. It doesn't
really respond much.
Sir Ganymede waits patiently.
Lord Marcel Alexander nods at Crowe's soul indicating some sort of
agreement between them and then stands.
Tempus, the second Knight, demands, 'Marcel, let my blood brother's
soul go.' the quiet Celtic lass with Marcel stands, and turns to Tempus
with anger in her eyes, 'Shoo.' she says to him with an annoyed
expression across her face. 'Shoo?' Tempus returns. 'No witty retort?'
'You are not worth it!' she fires back at him.
Dark shadows leap from the soul object, creating a shadowy form which
proceed to assume the position of Lord Marcel Alexander's shadow.
'Peace, Tempus,' the younger Knight says as he turns to his friend, 'I
doubt now that this man possesses what he claims, and I shall have
proof.'
'Ask ahead,' Lord Marcel Alexander says, looking self-assured, to Sir
Ganymede.
'Father?' Sir Ganymede says as he peers around the room. The shadow
lowers his posture as he looks out at his son with a definate
embarassment of his condition.
'Father,' Sir Ganymede continues. 'Answer me this. What was your
wedding gift to my mother?'
Only a nod in reply from the shade is seen as all await the answer.
'Damned knight, put him back before he begins to ramble,' Abigail
mutters in a obviously annoyed voice.
The shadow lifts his head, as if trying to think of a way to respond.
Lord Marcel Alexander says with courtesy, 'Hurry up a bit, Crowe, old
boy, you should be able to remember that.'
Sir Ganymede says hurriedly, 'My dreams have troubled me much of late,
and at last I shall have the truth of it.'
Aisha, another of the group, begins flirting with Lord Marcel
Alexander's shadow outrageously. As if taunting him in some way.
'You'll have to bear with him having a bit of a problem communicating
with mortals sometimes,' Lord Marcel Alexander says politely to Sir
Ganymede. 'Give him the benefit of doubt, though, he loves you dearly.'
The shadow nods eagerly in agreement with Lord Alexander. But the
words, 'How convenient,' release themselves from a suspiscious Knight's
lips as his eyes narrow.
'A soul?' Turmeric, the bodyguard says to his princess. 'That's not
much. Certainly'd make Ronnie jealous, though...' 'Hardly,' the exotic
princess returns.
'Convenient is not the term I'd use,' Lord Marcel Alexander adds
courteously, speaking to the young Knight. 'I can't stand the sight of
you, nor you mine, so what's the convenience in being kept waiting?' he
continues in a rather disinterested voice.
Seeming disinterested in the goings on between the two Knights, Marcel
and Abigail, Aisha says with a flirtatious wink to Sir Ganymede, 'I
have heard many tales of your bravery.'
Lord Marcel Alexander's shadow's lips move as if trying to squeeze out
sound. Unfortunately, only the faint breeze rattling is heard from the
belltower above.
'Ye are mistaken, sir,' Sir Ganymede says to Lord Marcel Alexander as
he tries to overlook the woman beside him. 'I dread not your sight, nor
dislike it, and I care not for your feelings on mine. But an answer
shall I have here, or your story shall be revealed as a falsehood.'
'Perhaps you'd tell me something of them?' Aisha continues as she
smiles at the Knight. 'A knight seems to lead such an exciting life,'
'Fair enough where I'm concerned,' Lord Marcel Alexander says with
courtesy to Sir Ganymede. 'If it's not your father I have here after
all it makes no difference to me.'
'Well then, "father," does this little trinket arouse your memory?' Sir
Ganymede says as he pulls a tiny onyx knight chesspiece from his sack
and waves it in front of the shadow.
Lord Marcel Alexander's shadow winces and nods slowly. His appearance
changes to that with a sorrowful glow.
Lord Marcel Alexander says, chuckling slightly, 'Errr, oops, Crowe.'
The moment of silence is broken, as Sir Ganymede shouts out for all to
hear, 'Hear this. The Lord Marcel Alexander's claim to my father's
soul has proven a falsehood. My father's whereabouts are indeed
unknown.'
'Thankee-sai, and good day,' Sir Ganymede says smuggly to Lord Marcel
Alexander. The shadow behind Marcel reaches out a hand towards
Ganymede in an attempt to stop him. The Knight ignores the gesture,
and both he and his companion turn to depart the room.
Aisha sighs loudly.
'Makes no difference to me,' the aristocrat returns with a
disinterested tone, 'The old boy claims to be Crowe, that's all I need
to know.'
The young Knight turns to his friend, 'Sir Tempus...the time has come
to discover the true whereabouts of my father, and your friend, and
allow him to rest at last and for all time.'
'Your cowardly ways cloud your vision, knight,' the quiet Celtic lass
fires back at the Knight's tone her hand on the hilt of her dagger, and
disapproval of the knights readily apparent.
'Every negative word of yours but fuels my fire and makes me stronger,
witch,' Ganymede turns to her, 'Your long deception is at an end.'
'Oh, drop it, Abigail. I'd really rather keep it anyway.' Marcel says,
in an attempt to calm the young lass as he places a hand on her
shoulder.
'I fear your father was too shamed by your actions to speak with you.
But go on, quixotic to the last,' Aisha says in an attempt to convince
the knight.
'And you, self-proclaimed patron of chivalry, you will not assume that
tone of voice when addressing a lady of nobility if you have any shame
left in your armored hide.' Marcel threatens the knight with an annoyed
tone.
'I will not be called a liar by one that walks into a room, demands an
answer that is a joke to the one he asks. And then storms out when
Crowe is unable to speak,' Abigail continues, 'You see, what we have
here is a knight unable to fulfill his quest. That he then resorts to
these petty quizzes, and namecalling of one higher nobility than
himself.' Her tone turns cold as she goes on, 'Now then knight. Prove
that I am wrong. Finish your quest, and admit that this is indeed y our
father. As you know it true, as well as I do.'
Aisha adds, as she too attempts to calm the lass, 'He must have other
things on his mind, Abigail, than the recovery of his father's soul. It
is all that can be concluded.'
The Knight speaks up once again, 'A quest which has proved to be for a
false goal. The true quest lies ahead of me, and in it, the deceptions
of Marcel and Abigail shall have no part.'
'You flatter yourself in assuming I'd take the time to deceive you,
knight. I have rather more important people to concern myself with,'
Marcel says to the young man.
'Ye are the one, Abigail, who will be proven wrong. It will be shown.'
Ganymede continues.
'False goals?' she yells out angrily, 'Let us see. Tempus, what were
the goals of your quest?' The elder knight remains silent as the lass
continues, growing more angry, 'This quest you agreed to. You dare back
down now? Please, do not make it so easy for me to be amused by this.'
'I quest not for false tokens or smoke and mirrors,' Ganymede states,
'My quest lies elsewhere.'
The lass' anger interupts the knight, 'Your quest lies here, or do you
now say that your word too is useless?'
'Sounds reasonable,' Lord Alexander returns with a smug grin, 'Go
search the folds of the Lady of the Lake's robes long enough, perchance
you'll also find a purpose in life there.'
'I gave my word to find my father's soul and see that it is at rest,'
the knight says, ignoring Marcel's words, 'I have every intention of
keeping that promise.'
'Complete your deal, and his soul is yours,' Abigail shouts.
'Good day, Marcel and Abigail, the knight says as he turns away once
again, 'May ye be as entertained as ye might by your pets of shadow. I
shall be busy locating my true father.'
'Oh be quiet and go look, knight,' Marcel says as the knight walks
away.
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Legendary Times is published by the immortals of LegendMUD. Please send all
replies, additions, or corrections to our address at [email protected] for
inclusion in the next edition. We, however, reserve the right to moderate
this discussion, and may object to some submissions.
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