"Like mi new outfit, huh.  Bit of a change fer me too.  Been used
ta runnin all round ta battlefield.  Won't be able ta do that in this
armor."

    "See, I'm a jump in and bash them sort.  Works ok, but I get bashed
a lot too.  Way it goes, but it'd be nice ta get hurt a little less
often."

    "So not so long ago I do this guy a favor and he offers me this
floatin shield.  Just ta thing fer your big sword guy like me.  I was
so happy."

    "Then I starts ta think.  He can instead offer me this full plate
that will protect as well as the magic shield, and some magic bracers,
and he still feels he owes me.  That's a much better deal."

    "I tain't never gonna be safe up front, but ya sees these here
scratches?  Just got this armor and already it's prevented 2 big holes
in my hide.  Don't think either woulda killed me, but they sure woulda
hurt.  So guess, I'll be waddlin round ta battlefield in ta future."

Due to the recent spam on this and other Yahoo! groups, membership to
this list is now restricted.  Basically, one of the moderators will
have to approve all new members before they are admitted to the Nyrond-IC list.

While this won't be 100% effective in stopping spam, it should help
reduce the amount that we see.

Thank you.

Troy


--
T. Troy
McNemar
Troy@...

The moons where slim crescents in the dark sky. A dank mist crawled
its way through the trees and over the bushy hills. The blackness of
the old forest called to anything, "I can hide you."

At least that's what the creature thought. Horrible by any measure, it
stood seven feet tall. Its horns gnarley and curved. It wore dark,
abyssal metal armor that failed to glint in the moons light. Foul
smelling sweat dripped from its head. It was running. It was scared.

How can a demon be scared? Did not the Dark Emperor rule these lands
only a short time ago?

The demon did not care. It's cloven hooves dug deep divets into the
soft ground. It was running hard, hard and fast.

(Twap, twap, twap, twap)

A splutter of blood poured over its back. Four more arrows set
themselves deep in its flesh. "No!" it roared in a foul language few
knew. It stopped and gestured. Instantly, a huge wall of ice shielded
it from its attacker.

The demon turned to continue his run to the comforting darkness of the
woods. "He won't find me here." It spat under its breath. Rank blood
drooling out of its mouth.

(Bamphf)

The demon's eyes dialate as he hears the unusual sound. Its head turns
  wildly, looking in the darkness for his attacker. There, next to the
far tree. A humanoid of some type.

(Twap, twap, twap, twap)

The last arrow sinking deeply into his head. The demon tries to
identify the mysterious figure. "Ah, yes a human." In a vain attempt
to save itself, it casts an unholy blight at the man. But it wasn't
fazed by his evil magic. "How?"

(Twap, twap, twap, twap)

The man walks up to the dying demon. He looks around for anything
else. "It's okay Zelda. It's dead."

"Are you sure Bandric?"

The Flan Horizon Walker kicks the rotting flesh. "Yup."

The priestess comes out from behind the safety of a tree. "How many
have you tracked down and killed since the return of the King?"

Bandric thinks for a moment. "Too many. Dark spirits in Mithat's
sewers, demons in the Gamboge, devils in the city. I'll find them all
and kill them."

"But surely you're tired. You should rest, or at least retire for a
spell."

His shoulder bounce with a held in laugh, "Retire. Not for me. I've
died too many times trying to save this world and the Kingdom. I'll
continue this fight for a little longer."

Quickly, he loots the body. "Priestess, do your thing and bless this
foul hunk of garbage so it won't return to the outer realms. I don't
want my name and face on some salon in Baator or the Abyss. That would
really be bad for me."

"As you wish." replied Zelda.

She performs a few blessings and spells. Suddenly, her eyes light up.
"M'lord, there's another sighting. A devil by reports, near Oldred."

A thin, roguish smil crosses Bandric's face. "Excellent. I have plenty
of arrows left. Zelda, hold my hand."

Once she touches his hand, they blink out of existance with a (bamphf).

*bang* *bang* *BANG* *smash* *clang* *tinkle*

Merileena Crosspatch sighs as the workers break another …
something.  At least her real valuables and memories are nicely
stashed away from prying eyes, and fingers. It should not be much
longer until the repairs to her house will be complete. She looks
around her public room, imagining what the winter will bring:

A cheerful fire roars in the fireplace, warming a St. Bernard and
her puppies.  Merileena laughs as she imagines what an interesting
time Mindy had when she was whisked away after the fall of Rel
Mord.  Her puppies are a mix of adorable dogs, none of which
resemble each other.

Looking at the happy puppy family stirs vague thoughts of
loneliness.  Emerald Green, her first love, always preferred the
solitary life of the road to companionship.  But, although her love
life leaves much to be desired, the friends that she made make up
for that lack.  Friends like Windstar, Jordan, Vazentar, Garzac,
Arem, the beautiful Delian, Qorvyl, Vardamir, Jessera, Xanthanon,
Miricent, and, of course, her favorite fighting pal Borick.  And
still, so many other faces and names fill her thoughts.  She knows
that the friendships will continue even though her adventuring days
are over.

Ah, the adventuring days!  Merileena pictures the first time she met
King Lynwerd, and then his lovely wife and heir.  What a long way
she'd come from the slums of Rel Mord!

Merileena picks up a lemon tart and sits down to write her cousin,
Mirabilis.  Along with an invitation to join her at her newly-
finished home, she has a few words of advice: "Never charge headlong
into a fight with a hydra!"

**CRASH**

Merileena jumps as her thoughts are jolted back into the present
with that sound. As she gets up to find out what her workers broke,
again, she wonders if her retirement will be as quiet as she first
thought it would be.

It's amazing how alone one can feel when sleeping in an Inn
overflowing with customers.  Today began as any other day in the
newly freed city of Rel Mord.  Inn keepers were busy applying new
coats of paint or receiving newly purchased bar stools trying to be
the first to attract the returning customers of Rel Mord
businesses.  The sky was clear, the temperature was warming up, and
children were finally playing games in the streets once more.  Why
then was there a dwarf in an Inn who couldn't even muster the energy
to order a drink?

Redfist stared at the table while sifting through old memories.
Childhood in the Flinty Hills was normal enough yet lacked the
excitement that Redfist craved.  Upon entering adulthood, Redfist
struck out to the fabled cities of the Realm in hopes of making a
difference.  He learned of many professional organizations where one
could lend their talents yet none seemed to appeal to his dwarven
nature.  He wanted to help in some meaningful way but didn't want to
be a mere peon lost in a human army.  On occasion, he would join up
with other like-minded adventurers to selflessly help the Realm and
cherished those moments but he still felt like an outsider.

After the fall of the treacherous Prince Sewarndt, Redfist hoped
that the world about him would reshape into one that truly
appreciated his aggressive talents.  As all adventures do during
downtime, he scanned the boards looking for work.  Missions worthy
of a hero in the making!  He saw postings that would have been
appealing earlier in his career, but seeing nothing challenging
Redfist finally decided it was time to move on.

Traveling to his home in the Flinty Hills, Redfist knew that his
steps upon these all too familiar roads may be his last for years to
come.  Consulting with the town elders he weighed the options of
seeking adventure in the lands of Geoff or in the nearby Theocracy
of the Pale.  Geoff is fabled to have dire need of dwarven folk to
fight back the evil giants of their land, however, Redfist's heart
still remained loyal to areas at least bordering on his homeland.

With a heavy heart and a feeling of loneliness more profound than
ever experienced in the dwarf's short 50 years of life, he said
goodbye to his friends and family and started his journey northward
to "The Pale".

--Redfist

--- In Nyrond-IC@yahoogroups.com, "Shawn" <shawn.putnam@h...> wrote:
>
> Hey guys / gals.. doesnt anyoje else ahev anything to share about the
> greatest battle in modern Nyrond history?

((sorry, but Arafeld is still asking members of the Church of
Heironoeus to lie low... sharing thoughts might lead to the compromise
of a current hideout))

<eg>

The Harvest Festival of Mithat is over and slowly the city is getting
back into its pre-war rhythms.  Near the naval docks a scared and
burned dwarf dressed in an NCO's uniform of the Third Fleet tells his
story to the gathered seamen...

"....Twelve arrows in half that many seconds, and they still could not
take me down.  Guess I am too stubborn to die.  Well at least not to
those fiends. Nope, I laid the final blow on two of those pin-cushion
makers me-self.  Though It was though the grace of Clangaden
Silverbeard and the rest of the companions.  Boy did they really drop
their arrows when the Guardsman was able to transpose me and our
fallen archer."

One of the seamen pokes up..."What about the dock that disappeared."

The Battered dwarf chuckles. "Yeah, I heard that, even over the din of
our own fighting...Though that was not us.  We cleared our dock."

At this point a graceful Oredian Male in clean and press 1st Legion
uniform approaches the assembled sailors.  The Soldier interrupt, "My
apologies, sir, but I have your orders."

"Sir?" reproaches the dwarf, "Sir? Lad I work for a living!"  Some of
the other sailors nod and whispers of "..tell'em bosun" and the like
are heard.

The Oredian smiles.  "No, I am afraid not, Captain."

Eying over the soldier the dwarf takes the orders and looks at them.
The Oredian chuckles.  "No point fooling me, Sir, but I know your
education.  The orders are that you have been transferred to the First
Legion and been commissioned a full officer of the Kingdom.  For your
services.  I am Corporal Fichser, and I will be your aide."

"Captain Cynifred..." The dwarf ponders the new title and the name.
"What is the Kingdom coming to? Well boys, the King calls and we must
all obey."

....And thus the Civilizing of Cynfred begins.....

From the Journal of Cpt. Arem Dashar – IXth Legion, Nyrond Army

     The reclaiming of Rel Mord and the fall of the Usurper solved a lot of
problems, but created many others. So much to rebuild. But the bigger question
was where were all the Usurpers warlords and fiendish allies? We certainly
didn’t kill them all. And how long until they found another city to terrorize?
I’m an adventurer sworn to the King, that means when they resurface, I’d get
to see it, if I wanted to, or if someone local called me in. But I’m kinda
hoping to be left out of it. Is that cowardly? Maybe. If I thought I was the
only one who could take them on and save the day, I’d do it, but I’m not the
only adventurer in Nyrond. Let someone else have the fun for a change, I’ve
had about as much fun in the last few years as I can take, and I am so tired. So
damn tired. I mean I’ll go if I’m asked, but I’m not volunteering. No way.
There are always more bad guys, always. There is no way to win this war. You can
win a battle here and there, but the war just keeps going. You kill one
villainous evil bastard, and another one just as bad or maybe worse pops up. It
never ends.
     I’m trying hard to remember what I thought I was doing when I started
adventuring and helping out Nyrond. I used to think I was doing something noble.
That there was a reason and a purpose to it. That it meant something. I used to
know that I was the good guy. But lately it just feels like I’m shoveling one
pile of shit, so another one can take its place. Like the bad guys are an
avalanche, and I’m trying to stay one step ahead of it by shoveling like a
maniac. Maybe I’m just tired of it all, or maybe I’m wondering if that seer
from the Pious Pilgrim was right. Maybe you can’t be one of the good guys, if
you spend most of your time killing people. I don’t know what bothers me more,
that I can kill someone who’s begging for their life and feel nothing, or that
usually there isn’t any other survivable option. I don’t mind killing to
defend my life and the lives of others. I don’t mind killing if the person
really deserves it. I’d kill any of the Usurper’s warlords in a heartbeat.
But what if these people are only evil because of the situation they find
themselves in? What if they had no choice? What if away from the main bad guy,
they aren’t bad guys just misguided folk? Oh hell, I don’t know. The only
thing I know for certain is that it isn’t my job to worry about how the poor
bastards became an evil killer. It’s my job to make sure they never hurt
anyone else again. That’s what I do. I’m not an adventurer, I am an
executioner. Murder someone in my town, and I am the one you get to see. Once.

Hey guys / gals.. doesnt anyoje else ahev anything to share about the
greatest battle in modern Nyrond history?  Clearly nothing matches it
since the batle of a Fortnights Length (when the old Nehron kingdom
was conquered).

Thoughts?

"It was your classic doorway trap.  One feller on each side just
waitin fer ya ta step in.  Been hit bad by them in the past.  And
steppin in's just what I did.

    "But I ain't ta wet behind ta ears chump I was last time I tried
that.  This time I knews what I was gettin inta, and fer they knows
it, they is bitin wood and I was walkin over their bodies to do their
friends too.  Did so too.

    "I can't say I won that fight all bys myself.  Fact is I hit ta
floor myself and ta others had ta deal with what was left.  But I's
still pretty proud of my part.

    "I had a pretty gud group of helpers, but I used more charges from
mi wand ta curin after that one fight than I had in mi whole career up
til then, and there was 2 cleric types among them."

Lahrneh, who is making a habit of wearing the medals he was awarded
in the captue of Rel Mord, along with several earlier honors, is once
again buying the drinks.

   "You are lucky tonight that I do not have more gold, in which case
you would have to buy your own drinks.

    "My finances come agonizingly close to affording the Boots of Haste
that will be quite useful.  But only close.  I can afford them, if I
spend nearly every spare copper I have and sell some of my less useful
possessions.  But that would leave me beggered and if something bad
happens in my next adventure, I would suffer badly.  Since I died at
Rel Mord, and was lucky not to have died in my most recent adventure,
that seems a risk not to be taken.
    So I will await the riches fate may send my way.  But that will
likely be a considerable sum, assuming I survive.  That in turn means
I have some coins that have no purpose, except to give you a pleasant
evening..."

"..We had pretty good intelligence in general, but I suspect they
will not be bragging about their efforts on the docks.  We were
greated by demons, not the devils we had been told, and who were the
archers I wish I was.  They cut us up pretty bad.
   "I understand those fighting to clear the other docks had even
more trouble with these demons, but we had it hard enough. I tried
to go bow to bow with them and was thoroly spanked for my
presumption.  Our barbarian tried to attack them hand to hand and
would have been even deader than I was except for the protective
magic we had put on him.  I could have used that spell myself, but I
would have agreed I was about last in line for that spell.  If the
foes had been different, I would not have been touched.  But this
time, I needed to expose myself to shoot them, and they shot better.
     "We were really shaken, and an "orderly withdrawal" was
definitely in the air.  It might have been our choice, but our
barbarian was much too deep in enemy territory to rescue if we fled.
So we made the effort to keep on fighting.
     "Our casters had a number of fire spells and these proved
effective.  So our courage paid off.  But it was a near thing.

    "Having done so well with distance fire spells, we tried the same
on the next set of barricades, and those proved even more
successful.  Instead of the monsters there greatly distressing us,
they barely slowed us down.  We suffered not a scratch.  "We" of
course did not include much imput from me, but I would have urged
the tactics they adopted.

    "The last foe we had to dispose of was some hidden creature that
had considerable abilities to mentally dominate people.
Fortunately, our barbarian was more resistant than it had hoped, and
after we added a little more protection, we needed to merely search
it out and dispose of it.  Compared to those demons, it was only a
nuisance.  In any case, we found ourself in possession of one
section of dock at least.

    "Ray of Pelor was able to raise me.  And it was noted that I had
an adamantine sword.  This made me a volunteer for another mission.
     "The idea was to use ships to land troops, but the defenses to
Rel Mord that Lenwerd had spent so much gold on to improve included
adamantine chains in the river that would block the ships.  That of
course was hardly the only time all those efforts to make Rel Mord
safe ended up biting us instead of foes of the king.  We all
complained of having to beat our own defenses.  At least, we knew
what we faced, but...
    "But it would take adamantine to cut thru adamantine, and so I
was on a mission to cut that chain by swimming to it, despite being
an archer whose utility in the water is pretty dismal.

    "The guards apparently detected us, but they were either unable
to get help or overconfident.  So they used water elementals to
capture 2 of our party. I suspect they felt we would abandon them
and stick to the mission, leaving us with a weakened party they
could have handled, tho they may have been trying to lure us into an
ambush.  In any case we rushed to the rescue of our friends and
either surprising the guards who had been expecting to deal with
just the 2, or falling into a badly set up ambush.  Either way, we
had little trouble with them.
    "'We' again was mostly the others.  I have already mentioned the
frustrations of an archer under water, and this was definitely one
of those cases.  Time after time, my arrows just floated away from
the target.  [ooc-DM set a 20% miss chance and I 20%ed 3 times in a
row, one a confirmed crit.]
    "But soon enough we were free to continue and reached the chain
with no further problems.  Then it was just chopping down a tree, a
big tree with very hard wood, and using a rather soft and none too
sharp axe, but still just a chore.  Eventually we were done, and the
attack was free to proceed.

    "I played only a minor role in the actual attack.  We archers
were largely supplying suppressing fire and once the armies met,
there was little we could do.  I eventually ended up clearing out an
area that needed very little clearing.

     "Such is my story.  What happened to you people?"



>    Lahrneh, the arcane archer, his chest covered by the medals the
> king was handing out with a free hand, agrees "Yes, let us tell of
> their final heroics, and how it was not in vain."
>
> > A halfling recuperating a few seats down seizes the
opportunity.
> Standing
> > on his seat, he raises his tankard.
> >
> > Then, with a glance to a chair that will likely remain
> empty:  "And, to
> > Absent Friends."
> >
> > >
> > > A tall, slender female elf walks into the Three Creeks Inn and
> takes her
> > > usual (but long empty) seat at the bar, after a long hard
fought
> battle.
> > >
> > > "Bar Keep, Victory drinks all around until this is used up!",
as
> a sack of
> > > 1000gp is tossed onto the bar.  "And don't stop serving them
> until its all
> > > gone."
> > >

--- "ranmakun.geo"
<AngryLittleAsianBoy@...> wrote:

<snip>
> Stepping out of the
> hospital tent, his
> eyes were overwhelmed with the devastation and
> rubble left strewn in
> the city.  He looked across the pitted avenues and
> cracked
> cobblestones, stepping around craters and crevasses.
>  As he neared the
> Via Regus, he blinked and saw a small kobold-like
> figure tossing
> debris and rubble over its shoulder as it seemingly
> burrowed with a
> mad sense of intensity.
>
> Smiling over a wince of pain, he joined the side of
> the scaly figure
> and offered a bandaged hand and spoke the usual
> greetings of an
> adventurer.  "Let me help you."
>
>
Trees are toppled. Walls are shattered. Once proud
buildings lie in undignified piles of rubble. Fires
still burn. Dust and ash cover everything.

Without stopping his labor, Arem croaks back, “There’s
a search team trapped down here. The upper floor just
collapsed on ‘em. Grab something and help me dig!”

There is little that anyone can do in the face of such
large scale disaster. Little change that one alone can
make, but little by little big things happen.

Arem Dashar
- as scribed by Eric W. Brittain





______________________________________________________
Click here to donate to the Hurricane Katrina relief effort.
http://store.yahoo.com/redcross-donate3/

From blackness...

Everything had gone horribly wrong.

The young captain of Rel Mord desperately searched around the smoke
and haze of battle.  Next to his side, he could hear his comrade
Moreno "The Lucky" cry out for their friends trapped on the other side
of the rickety remnants of the Eastern dock bridge.

"Peregrym!  Spole!  Rochar!  Vardamir!  Where are you?"

As part of the first assault against the capitol, Eriador and his
party had been tasked with clearing the Rel Mord's Eastern Dock Bridge
of enemies.  No one had yet gathered the intelligence on the enemy
defenses, and so the entire fellowship was overwhelmed from the skies
with fiendish assaults whenever air support was initiated.  It had
taken several efforts, but everyone had pushed through without benefit
of air support in the end.

Precious time and resources had been lost, but they had finally
breached most of the bridge, only to encounter a terrifying Witch of
the bright and her giant guards.  With a gesture from the witch, an
unseen obstruction suddenly cut off Eriador and Moreno from their
advancing comrades ahead of them.  Magical and giant devastation was
cutting a swath through the others trapped up front.  Looking at each
other, the wizard and Eriador sighed and knew what had to be done.

"Dimension door past them?"  Offered up the arcanist with a grin.

"Aye, and let us lose no time!"  replied the Fharlaghnan knight as he
reined his mount up tightly next to Moreno.

The spell was cast, and everything suddenly looked different.  Eriador
spun about, trying make heads or tails of his surroundings.  Moreno
stood dazed and unable to offer any words of help.  Frustrated,
Eriador cried out "Where is everyone?!"

A sharp yell caught his ears, and he saw that the battlefield had
somehow shifted, his comrades were retreating and looked far worse off
than they had just a moment ago.  The witch and giant had their backs
turned to Eriador and were concentrating their fire upon the hapless
adventurers, who had backed against the invisible wall and bridge
railings.  Moreno began to stir from his daze and call out for their
comrades, he too seemed unsure of what had transpired..  Eriador shook
off the confusion.  His friends needed him.

With a spur and a cry of "For the King!", he charged the witch.  The
spacing on the bridge left no room for adjustment.  There would be no
ride-by.  There would be no second charge.  He would end right on top
the two foes, and he prayed one charge would be enough to bring the
woman down.  His lance struck true, and he expected to see the shock
of the massive damage from the charge bring her to her knees.  But
something turned the point of his lance, and as the attack shifted her
body even as it delivered its lessened blow, she looked over his
shoulder at him and simply smiled, as if she had foreseen this all.

There was no time to react.  The giant turned and swung at him.  Once.
  Twice.  Three times.  Each blow crushed the air out of his lungs.
Still in the saddle and alive, he looked up at the giant and saw that
it had spent its breath, and was done.

"I yet live!  Praise be the Walker." he thought with relief.

The swift murmer of spell from the witch turned his head, and even as
he blinked and understood what was about to happen, the giant seemed
to shimmer with serpent-like fluidity and swung one last time.

The blow nearly lifted him out of the saddle, but his body remained in
the stirrups enough so that it slumped back down after the momentum
had spent itself.  But the life was drawn out of him.  Everything had
gone dark.

Eriador awoke in a hospital bed.  His elven friend, Ray of Pelor,
stood nearby administering to other fallen soldiers and casualties.

"Did I fall?"  He rasped, throat dry and sore, as though it had not
felt moisture for days.

A nurse hurried over to him with a tumbler of water.  "Yes, yes, you
were gone.  But your mount eventually carried your body back to camp,
and we were able to bring you to a priest's attention."  She smiled
and tilted her head towards Ray, then handed the cup to Eriador's
outstretched hands.  "Welcome back to the Kingdom of Nyrond, Captain."

Eriador sighed with relief and sipped the cool liquid thankfully.  He
slowly finished the drink, and after a moment of thought, he rose from
his bed.

"I've wounded men to see to.  I need to help out with the fallen."

Over the protestations of the nurse, he painfully dressed himself and
retrieved his arms and kit.  Stepping out of the hospital tent, his
eyes were overwhelmed with the devastation and rubble left strewn in
the city.  He looked across the pitted avenues and cracked
cobblestones, stepping around craters and crevasses.  As he neared the
Via Regus, he blinked and saw a small kobold-like figure tossing
debris and rubble over its shoulder as it seemingly burrowed with a
mad sense of intensity.

Smiling over a wince of pain, he joined the side of the scaly figure
and offerred a bandaged hand and spoke the usual greetings of an
adventurer.  "Let me help you."

Slogging along the Via Regis through the havoc wreaked
by the recent fighting, Arem continues to work with
the rescue crews. Ash stained and trembling with
fatigue, it seems that only the fires of his will keep
the dragon-gnome moving.

Adventurers often forget that there are other people
who were trapped in Rel Mord. People who could not
escape, who had to live within the horror that the
Lynwerd’s dead brother had fostered. People that were
still inside of buildings when they were reduced to
rubble by arcane might, people who still needed help.
Arem knows that this is not the time for rest. Just
because the battle was won doesn’t mean that it is
time to kick up your feet and think things will be
dandy tomorrow. This is not a time for tale telling,
there is work still to be done, lives to be saved. Not
glorious work and certainly nothing that songs will be
sung about, but as long as he can stand the
dragon-gnome toils on.

The growing nests of fire that have sprung up in the
aftermath hold no fear for Arem. The dragon-gnome
could wade through lava and withstand the hottest
arcane flame. He knew what fear was but it wasn’t
something he would find in a mere burning building.
Those that the fire companies cannot contain, Arem
wades into ripping away the burning timbers and
tossing them into great piles stopping the fires
spread by taking away anything that could possibly
burn. He starves it, herds it, corners it and stamps
it to death beneath his small feet. Glowing rubble is
hauled away in his small hands. His scaled skin glows
brightly in the pillars of flame as he throws out
burning floorboards into the street where they are no
longer a threat.

During one of his rare breaks Arem thinks, “Perhaps
when this is done I’ll head up into the Flinty Hills
again for a while. At least the monsters there have
the decency to look like ones.”

A quick gulp of water and all to soon he is back on
his feet taking his place back alongside the rescue
crews.

Arem Dashar
- by Eric W. Brittain







______________________________________________________
Click here to donate to the Hurricane Katrina relief effort.
http://store.yahoo.com/redcross-donate3/

Lahrneh, the arcane archer, his chest covered by the medals the
king was handing out with a free hand, agrees "Yes, let us tell of
their final heroics, and how it was not in vain."

> A halfling recuperating a few seats down seizes the opportunity.
Standing
> on his seat, he raises his tankard.
>
> "Ladies and Gentlemen, to His Majesty, King Lynwerd!"
>
> Then, with a glance to a chair that will likely remain
empty:  "And, to
> Absent Friends."
>
> >
> > A tall, slender female elf walks into the Three Creeks Inn and
takes her
> > usual (but long empty) seat at the bar, after a long hard fought
battle.
> >
> >
> >
> > "Bar Keep, Victory drinks all around until this is used up!", as
a sack of
> > 1000gp is tossed onto the bar.  "And don't stop serving them
until its all
> > gone."
> >

A halfling recuperating a few seats down seizes the opportunity.  Standing
on his seat, he raises his tankard.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, to His Majesty, King Lynwerd!"

Then, with a glance to a chair that will likely remain empty:  "And, to
Absent Friends."

Rochar Whitehill, Corporal, Flinthill Skirmishers

Norman R. Thallheimer
Keep your bowstring dry.


----- Original Message -----
From: "Linwood Knowles" <linwood.knowles@...>
To: <Nyrond-IC@yahoogroups.com>
Sent: Tuesday, September 06, 2005 10:01 PM
Subject: [Nyrond-IC] FW: CHEERS!


>
>
>
> A tall, slender female elf walks into the Three Creeks Inn and takes her
> usual (but long empty) seat at the bar, after a long hard fought battle.
>
>
>
> "Bar Keep, Victory drinks all around until this is used up!", as a sack of
> 1000gp is tossed onto the bar.  "And don't stop serving them until its all
> gone."
>
>
>
> Xanthanon Strongbow
>
> Monk Extraordinaire
>

_____

From: Linwood Knowles [mailto:linwood.knowles@...]
Sent: Tuesday, September 06, 2005 12:47 PM
To: 'Nyrond-IC@yahoogroups.com'
Subject: CHEERS!



A tall, slender female elf walks into the Three Creeks Inn and takes her
usual (but long empty) seat at the bar, after a long hard fought battle.



"Bar Keep, Victory drinks all around until this is used up!", as a sack of
1000gp is tossed onto the bar.  "And don't stop serving them until its all
gone."



Xanthanon Strongbow

Monk Extraordinaire



[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

We are victorious. Though we have endured many trials over the past
months, the King's evil brother Sewarndt has finally been defeated.
But even in the bright light of triumph, there are more trials to be
endured. Some of my companions have given their lives in this
battle, and the great city of Rel Mord has much work ahead to repair
the damage wrought during the battle.

However, like many around me, my faith has been renewed. It seems
that justice has been served truly, and I feel blessed by Saint
Cuthbert to have narrowly escaped my own death. The very powers of
Hell conspired to throw us back, and yet we have emerged victorious.

As I stand shoulder to shoulder with my companions outside the Three
Creeks Tavern, each one meets my gaze squarely. These tired and
battered men and women have given their all to this fight, and yet
by the gleam in their eyes, I know they could reach deep and find
hidden reserves to fight on if neccessary.

Where will we be called next? What evils lie around the corner that
must be faced? These questions occupy my mind, but do not seem to
trouble me. For I know that whatever comes, I will stand by these
proud heroes and face it bravely. Thatt is enough for me.

Drakar Korellian
(Jeremy Hurren)

Torrin walked up the short steps outside of Three Creeks Inn and
turned around to survey the street in front of him. It was a ghastly
scene. White-skinned female devils and hideous bearded monsters lay
in pools blood and ichor. Patriots of Nyrond and allied heroes from
abroad also lay motionless among the dead, their faces pulled tight
into death grimaces. Sickened plants and dead-looking moss growths
twisted up from where the blood of devils and men soaked the ground.

The warrior was exhausted, and he half-lowered himself and half fell
to a sitting position on the inn's steps. Three days of hard
fighting with little rest. The horrors of the last few days would
forever remain with him. The swift, living fire outside of the city;
the deadly fighting at the docks against creatures from another
horrible, evil world; fighting in the streets against more hell-
borne monstrosities; hiding from these malicious devils in
warehouses to find even the shortest respite; friend and foe zooming
through the sky locked in deadly combat where losing meant something
horribly more frightening than death. Events of the last seventy-two
hours were almost more than the young man could bear.

Torrin held his sword in front of him. Recently imbued with powerful
divine enchantment, he noticed that the blade was free from blood.
Neither a drop of blood nor a spot of gore marred the weapon. The
sword refused to be blemished by the blood of fiends no matter how
many it had slain and sent back to the Abyss. Torrin reverently laid
the sword on the steps beside him.

He looked at Teannon, who was cut, bruised and covered in blood. Her
orange hair was soiled with grime, sweat and blood. She leaned
wearily on her quarterstaff and grinned broadly. Torrin returned her
grin with his own wide smile. He gestured to the carnage in the
street and they both shook their heads, sharing the unspoken
sentiment.

Drakar stumbled into Torrin's view. His hands were swollen and
raw
from the seemingly endless magical discharges they had invoked and
the many blows they had landed over the last few days. He also
flashed a grin at Torrin. The warrior shook his head and returned
Drakar's grin, too. Torrin wondered if either the fighting
arcanist
or the female monk had any fight left in them. He certainly felt
like he could neither deliver another blow nor take one. He hung his
head and closed his eyes.

He would find no peace on the steps. He heard the soft, cheerless
murmur of Mattheio, the paladin-arcanist he'd recently been
thrown
into the breach with. Matthieo had reverted to his  slender elven
form. He sobbed and grimaced, then fell to his knees. He cradled the
small, lifeless form of the gnome illusionist Honeymine in his
trembling arms. She had done terrific damage to the forces of woe in
recent days. But, she paid the ultimate price for her bravery and
loyalty to king and country. Quirnul, the other mage of the party,
kneeled next to Matthieo and gently rested a hand on Honeymine's
pale head. Her face was covered in soot and dirt, but she still bore
her proud expression in death. Not even in unlife, Torrin thought,
would we see this amazing and talented gnome-woman's face express
pain or fear – she conveyed any fear she had to her enemies as
she
was usually the last earthly thing they saw before she smote and
slew them with her powerful magic.

Torrin stood, sheathed his sword, and walked over to Mattheio.
Torrin lifted the gloomy elf from the ground – their enemies
would
not see them bow down in despair – not now, not in the streets.
She
will get a proper mourning in the company of her kin and friends.

Torrin laid his hand on her small body, too, and bowed his head in
respect. Teannon and Drakar made their way through the shambles of
the street and also laid their hands on the gnome's body.
"Perhaps
there was more they could have done," Torrin thought. Her death
would haunt him for the rest of his days, he was sure. As a whole,
the company gently laid Honeymine on Mattheio's horse. They all
drew
and readied their weapons and began to make their way through the
slaughter and din of Rel Mord's streets – a personal honor
guard for
Honeymine.

Torrin glanced behind him, considering what each of these people had
brought to the fight. Every one of them was critical to their
success, and each of them was heroic at so many crucial moments with
their individual skills, talents and courage. "Whatever lies
ahead,"
Torrin said to his friends, "it has been a privilege fighting
beside
you. I am thankful that providence brought us together. I shall
remember your actions and sacrifices all my days. You, my friends,
are truly heroes – to me and to Nyrond." Torrin left it at
that,
nothing else he could say would add to the moment.

There were occasional shouts, clanging of weapons, and occasional
magical detonations resonating in the streets. But nothing compared
to the magnitude of earlier fighting. There seemed to be a general
movement of people toward the royal palace. With their precious
cargo on Mattheio's mount, the five somberly migrated toward the
center of the city.

Torrin Huldane of Midmeadow

In character post by
Don Kenneth Brown
Salt Lake City, Utah

Captain Arem Dashar, of the IXth Legion, hovered in
front of his heavy assault company. With great passion
he Arem raucously shouted,

   “Friends who have for Nyrond bled!
   Friends who Lynwerd has often led!
   Welcome to your gory bed, or on to victory.
   Now's the day and now's the hour,
   See the front of battles flower,
   See approach black Sewerndt's power
   Chains and slavery!

   Who will be a traitor knave?
   Who can fill a coward's grave?
   Who’s so base as be a slave?
   Let them turn and flee!
   Who for Nyrond's king and law
   Freedom's sword will strongly draw?
   Freeman stand or Freeman fall
   Let him follow me

   By oppression's woes and pains
   By all those in servile chains
   We will drain our dearest veins,
   But they shall be free,
   Lay the proud usurper low,
   Tyrants fall in every foe
   Liberty in every blow,
   Let us do or die!”

With that the battle was joined.

Arem Dashar – gnome of pain
- as inspired by Eric W. Brittain




____________________________________________________
Start your day with Yahoo! - make it your home page
http://www.yahoo.com/r/hs

The lone woodsman had run for weeks after the fall of Rel Mord. He
bolted right out of Oldred seeking his friends but instead found
enemy forces all over the country. Finally, he managed to locate some
of his previous associates. They banded together and got rid of a few
Imperials.

But then one of the loyalist Dukes drafted him into the Irregulars
that this purpose seemed clear -- take the fight to the Emperor. In
those bloody next days in the army, (loosing his gnomish militia rank
BTW), he fought with friends and knights.

One of his missions required extensive recon of Rel Mord. He was
there for several weeks under the very noses of the Emperor's
patsies.

The city is quiet during curfew. Two guards in their dark uniforms
patrol through the streets comforted by several months of control.
Bright moonlight from two moons paints the nearby buildings in a
tapestry of shadows.

In the distance, a soft "bampf!" is heard.

The tall guard looks around. "Did ja hear that?"

The stockier guard sighs. "Nah. There hasn't been trouble here for
weeks."

His friend replies, "Ya mean ya haven't heard about the Sniper?"

"What? That's just made up. Thar's no Sniper in Rel Mord. The Emperor
or his staff would a kill 'em by now if he really existed."

The tall guard shakes his head. "They can't track him. He moves too
fast."

"Ya mean like some sort of Barbarian or monk?" replies the stocky
fellow.

"No. Like fast. He's in two places at once. Arrows just fly'n all
over the place."

"Bampf!" The sound is much closer this time.

Both guards look around. Finally the tall one whispers, "You heard it
that time right?"

"Thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap."

The tall guard looks over at his friend's astonished face. Blood
drooling out of his mouth. Four arrowheads protruding from his chest.
The stocky fellow falls over dead.

"By Hextor!" He takes off running down a dark alley.

"Bampf!"

At the end of the alley he sees a dark silhouette. It brings up a bow
to bear. "Thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap."

The next morning as the cobbler takes throws out his morning trash;
he is shocked then a little smile on his face emerges. A dead guards
lies on the ground and graffiti written in his blood upon the wall.
Soon, a large unit of guards arrives and pushes the locals back. Two
of them begin to wash the graffiti off the walls.

The local city folk mumble under their breaths. Who would dare to
write such things on the wall in the capital? "Gods save the King. He
shall return!"

-- as reported by Bandric, mild-mannered reporter of the Daily Rel
Mordian.

From somewhere in the distance the call of a Crow
breaks the morning's silence. Dawn begins to flow over
the deserted city streets as the last of the dark
retreats to the shadows, waiting for night’s cool
embrace once again. The crow's cries echo strangely
above, alone and unanswered, fading into the distance
as the creature searches for home and hearth.

This moment of peace is shattered by an enthusiastic,
and very off key serenade:

Now there’s a sergeant major, enjoys life while he
can.
He proves to all ladies he’s a soldier and a man.

He sticks out his chest, two pillows in his vest,
A bolster under his rotunda, Our Sergeant Major.

His medals break our hearts, he won them playing
darts,
And while competing, who was cheating? Our Sergeant
Major

He’s far away the worst friend we’ve ever had,
When he’s far away well, we’re mighty glad.

In the canteen bar, well you know what sergeants are,
When we’ve passed out, who’s the last out, Our
Sergeant Major.

He’s got a raucous voice, his language isn’t choice,
In jail we’d shove him, how we’d love him, Our
Sergeant Major.

His weight about he’d throw, the wicked so and so,
Who’d even smother his own mother, Our Sergeant Major.

He’s far away the worst friend we’ve ever had,
When he’s far away well, we’re mighty glad.

Our bugler goes his rounds, and with the bugle sounds.
Forever lasting, who’s he blasting? Our Sergeant
Major.

Now he makes raw recruits, just tremble in their
boots,
He calls them slackers, who’s gone crackers? Our
Sergeant Major.

His feet smell up the road, knock-kneed and pigeon
toed,
We’d sooner shoot him then salute him, Our Sergeant
Major.

He’s far away the worst friend we’ve ever had,
When he’s far away well, we’re mighty glad.

The mascot goat we own, so big and fat has grown,
Wild and warlike, he’s far more like, Our Sergeant
Major.


Arem continues to hum as he struts down the street,
while on his head amidst the continual flames sits the
proudest toad the world has ever seen. It is to this
small amphibian that the dragon-gnome speaks.

"You were incredible G! I don’t think anyone has ever
mastered hands as fast as you."

The toad puffs out his small chest at this praise and
Arem reaches up a taloned hand to gently scratch his
familiar’s neck.

"It took longer to convince that wizard and bard I
hired that I was serious than for you to understand
what I wanted you to do . . .  when the time is
right."

Arem’s wicked grin reflects the dawn’s light as he
begins to chant, the toad begins to croak in time.

“'Crush the shell on my head!
Soon our enemies will be dead!
Drink the potions!
First the red then the blue,
This will stop the pain for you!"

He  snorts, “'Never was any good with verse."

	 "Braaaap", responds the toad mockingly.

"Always a critic, aren’t yuh. Glad I got that bard to
help me rewrite my pre-battle motivation speech.
Welcome to what may be your incredibly bloody painful
lingering death . . . or maybe not, just didn’t do
it."

	 "Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap", responds the toad
rolling his tiny eyes.

The sound of Arem’s jaunty humming fades as he
continues strutting down the street in his search for
his own home and hearth.


Arem Dashar - Dragon-gnome of pain
- as versified by Eric W. Brittain


__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Tired of spam?  Yahoo! Mail has the best spam protection around
http://mail.yahoo.com

Sir Barok rides through the assembled armies of King Lynwerd with
pennant flapping in the wind. He has slept little for several weeks
but duty calls.

He stops as he recognizes commanders, and even simple soldiers; his
words are almost always the same "Courage! The day of trial will soon
be upon us, and we will show the usurper that the good people of
Nyrond will not bend to his tyranny! His armies will quake as our
shouts of defiance shake the heavens themselves! They fight for power
and greed, we fight for our families and our freedom! The skies may
burn, and the earth itself may tremble but we will not relent for the
future of our children and our kingdom rests in the balance. They may
have fiends and priests of Hextor but we have the Grey Seer and mighty
men of magic, and we have the assembled might of the holy men of Pelor
and Cuthbert and Rao and Kord and Heironeous and even Pholtus. And we
have something that they will never have, the knowledge that we fight
for good and justice and freedom! Sharpen your swords and harden your
resolve for soon we will do battle to defend all that you hold dear,
and we must win for right and justice is on our side!"

To the groups of knights he stops to talk with it is a bit different.
"Account yourselves well brothers in arms for it is for days such as
this that we train and prepare. Fight with courage and honor for king
and for country but never forget that you must also be the shining
examples for all. Let your courage and your strength be an example for
all to see, let the flame of your  determination and resolve fuel the
fire in others. Never forget that we are not mere warriors, we are the
protectors of the people and the defenders of justice, we are the
Knights of Nyrond!"

After a long day among the troops Barok returns to his tent for a
brief rest, but memories plague him. How could it have come to this?
After all that had been done to prevent this from happening, how had
evil managed to get such a foothold again? Few of these soldiers would
remember the Greyhawk wars, and though the forge of battle would
temper many of them into heroes in the days to come, many would also
lose their lives. Then will follow the corpses and graves and widows
and orphans just as before. The true warrior prepares himself for war
but prays that it will never come, not for himself but for those who
will suffer in its wake. Clangeddin bless all those who must now fight
for their families and their freedom.

Two wars in his lifetime should be enough for any dwarf...

--
Sir Barok Sarun-Zaghal of Deep Water
As inspired in Brad Hawks

The following can easily be read over the shoulder of a
winged gnome as he furiously writes in a battered open journal (at
least the other patrons assured you it was a gnome and not a half-
dragon goblin aberrant fiend thing, which is reasonable to assume
due to the fangs, claws, strange manta ray like wings, scaled skin,
continual flame burning on the top of his head, burnished bronze
eyes, and strange smell of hot sand that surrounds him).

Flying into town carrying the scruffiest dog you have ever (and who
had obviously seen better days), he recently came into the
taproom with a bag full of A.A.A.A. purchases and ordered an
absolutely insane amount of gnomish brandy (which he proceeded to
mix with hot-sauce). He then started scribbling in the journal while
drinking heavily.

In the flickering light of a nearby lantern the following is written
in gnomish.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Sometimes I think that G is smarter than me. And to be honest other
times I just know it. G wouldn't have gone off and smacked that
floating jeweled gold globe thing just becaused it hummed and moved
toward him. How was I to know it would explode! I really did think
it was going to take him a lot longer to figure out hands. Thought
it was going to cost me a whole lot more money to get him to learn
this trick. A whole lot more trips down to the A.A.A.A. But like I
said sometimes he is smarter than me. I'm the one that gets beat up.
All he has to do is sit there with his bulging eyes and wait for
them to come to him. You know I don't think he has ever so much as
gotten a scratch in all the time together. What's that been? Going
on 5 years now I guess. Yup, looking at it from the outside he is
the smart one. Hands confused him the first time, for a bit.
Watching him try to move at first was a hoot. Didn't realize his
legs worked all different, that they weren't jointed the same way.
But little bugger was scampering and climbing around in nothing
flat. Still I could see the look of relief in his eyes when it all
wore off. That little guy is a trooper, better than most that I
trained in the `gade. Wasn't long at all until he was nosing around
my pack trying to find another vial. Seems like he likes it. I guess
he's seen or at least heard enough weird stuff what with all the
places I've been. Wonder what he thought of the moon? Maybe I should
hire a druid to ask him. Maybe hire a druid to explain things a bit.
Or maybe that something I can get in a vial or a scroll. Have to
check on that.

<current entry>

Turns out you can't make a potion outta that spell. Something about
the focal nexus of the thaumic energy being all wrong. Can't get it
to take on the liquid. It keeps trying to grab onto you instead of
all the bubbling stuff. Ah well, bought some scrolls that should do
the trick. Plus I found out that folks like Vazentar, or Aria can
make `em work. Maybe I'll look up Ragnar. Scratch that, he's
probably going to get all moral about what I want to do. Vazentar
will always use 150 words where one would do so Aria is probably
just about right. Nothing clouds her sunny disposition or spends
much time worrying her pretty little head. She'd probably think the
idea of talking to G would be `neat!'

Don't get me wrong I like her, she is good to have around when the
hammer drops. Surprised me that did. Doesn't look it, but she's got
more to her than you get from first glance. Not that most men's
first glance ever makes it all the way up to her eyes. Not in the
first 5 minutes at least. Plus she'd probably have fun talking to G.
Not many people other than me ever have.

I'll ask her. Just gotta track her down.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He rapidly puts the journal away and stands on his chair, unaware or
unconcerned about anyone who was reading his scribblings.

Looking about Arem wonders if somehow he is lucky and Aria is
actually in this tavern. He scans the common room for the large knot
of distracted men trying to out do each other that usually surrounds
her.


Arem Dashar
- as prattled about by Eric W. Brittain

The redhead looked up in the middle of her forms practice.  "Too bad you
deserted your monk training.  So sad."

The elven woman sitting on the nearby stump looked baffled.  "What do
you mean."

"Well, you were obviously thinking about your future, and you were
scowling.  Obviously you were upset that you couldn't continue advancing
your monkly skills."  She moved into a fighting crouch and destroyed yet
another innocent bag of sand.

The elf chuckled, "not at all, Teannon. Playing the monk was too
restrictive and confining."  Leaping up, she started pacing around the
stump - apparently unable to keep still.

Teannon replied, "but now you see, by giving in to your whims instead of
sticking with your monk training you have limited your options."  Used
to her friend's fidgety nature, she didn't attempt to look directly at
her, but instead resumed her forms practice and spoke mostly over her
shoulder.  "Return to the order, listen to master Wynderen, and you may
yet regain the path of enlightenment."

"Teannon, that wasn't what I was scowling at.  No, I just have to do
something that might be somewhat distasteful - in order to accomplish
what must be done at the time it needs to be done. You never have
learned that waiting does not always result in the desired outcome."

"Sara, the ends do not justify the means - that is why I despise the
Church of the One True Path.  If you accomplish your goal by doing
something 'distasteful' then you have lost the real battle!"

Sara shook her head again.  "At times they can. As much as I hate the
Brotherhood, there are some truths they have discovered - and that would
be one of them. They have twisted it for their own purposes, but it
still remains a truth." She paused for a moment, "besides, it is only
personally distasteful - not evil. There is a difference."  The lithe
blonde elf stopped pacing, but only for a moment, as she turned instead
to a rope stretched out for hanging laundry.  A quick jump and she was
pacing again - balanced on the taut cord.

Teannon stopped her forms again, rocking back on her heels as she
contemplated what next to say.  Standing, she strode over to the pole
holding the line and gave it a swift kick.  "Ahhh, but once you start
down the slippery slope of self gratification...."  Shaking her head
disdainfully, she watched as the pole cracked, bent, and finally snapped
free.  The elf tumbled towards the ground in a flutter of tassles and
ribbons, yet easily twisting in the air and landing perfectly on her feet.

"Teannon, tis not about self gratification. It is about doing what is
needed instead of what is wanted. Sometimes you must do what you dislike
or even hate - because it needs doing and you are the one who can or
must do it. This is one of those times."  She turned back to face her
friend, holding the slightly taller human's gaze with her bright blue eyes.

"But Sara, if it is something you hate that is 'necessary it would seem
that either your ideals are misplaced, or your judgement is flawed.  The
blinding light illuminates my decisions, so that what I hate is what
must be hated."

The elf thought for a moment, "I see it as the path of nature. There is
a place and a purpose for everyone. The animals do not question their
place because they lack the faculties to do so. It does not occur to
them to do so. We are reasoning beings. We question everything. But it
does not change the fact that we still have a place and a purpose. I
have discovered mine. I find it distasteful only because I had not
resigned myself to it earlier. But it does not alter that I still have
this purpose. As I accept what needs to be done, the distaste fades and
is replaced with a sense of completeness - of fulfillment. In time I
will not hate my choice - for in reality, I did not have one."

"Well, Sara, I certainly cannot argue with you if you are sure you have
found your purpose. In a way, you have agreed with me - you have
admitted, as it were, to being part of a larger whole. What you call the
path of nature I call the law of the universe, supervised and
administered by He of the Blinding Light. In specifics, though, I guess
we will have to agree to disagree. As Geldon Burnstar has said, the
meeting of two opinions is like the slicing of a turnip. I think that
says it all. One day....one day, you will understand."  Teannon then
bent and picked up her staff and overshawl before stepping back onto the
nearby road.

Smirking, the elf rewrapped the chain around her waist and gathered her
own few belongings.  Catching up with her friend she casually remarked,
"So, you going to fix that family's clothesline?"

- Sara and Teannon
as posted by John and Josh

Once again Lahrneh is telling those at the bar of his adventures.

    "...This was another time being good hurt.  That the fellows were
suspicious was clear enough.  But shoot 1st?  They weren't that
suspicious.  Until they started attacking of course.  And that ended
with me on the ground.  I would have still been standing if I had shot
1st, but...there are just times you can't do that and call yourself
good..."

   "...I can't say I agreed with my companions' strategy, but their
eagerness to rush into battle before the magic wore off did pay off
this time.  Next time...maybe we will fall into an obvious trap that a
little scouting would have found...but this time, charging worked
great.  We just went barrelling over the opposition.  It was no picnic
of course, but our buffs were twice as effective as normal.
    "I still don't think it's that wise a strategy, but clearly, it
works sometimes to move as fast as you can."

The sign was written by hand.

"Help Wanted:  Arcane spellcaster(s) needed to convert large quantity of stone
(illegally dumped in Woodverge Province) into flesh.

Carpenters and Masons needed to construct inns to be supplied by the above.

Cooks and other permanent staff will also be hired.

Contact McStone at the Parlor Excelle, Midmeadow."

Norman R. Thallheimer
Keep your powder dry.

[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

"I tells ya.  Lynward's free and gonna come outta hidin soon."

    "Oh really?  Let's see.  So far today I've heard he's a prisoner
of the emperor, drowned in the Marsh, fled to the Duchy, on another
plane, and hiding a half dozen places, and I have just finished
lunch.  So where is he?  And why should I believe you?"

   "Because...  No.  I can't tells ya without sayin what I
shudden't.  But he's ready ta move, and will soon."

     "So what has been delaying him?  Every day of delay costs him
support."

    "Not sure he's got a reason that makes much sense.  People do
stupid things wh... Ah never mind."

    "I suppose it does not matter.  "Soon" does not protect me from
the "Now" of the emperor's soldiers.  I can stall them from taking
my gold a little while, but it won't be long before I am paying the
new taxes with a smile."

>
> >    The elf finally enters the conversation with "What elf are
you
> > looking for?

>
> "I doubt you know him, which is why I haven't already asked.  I am
> looking for a grey elf named Doctor Renn Wa.  I need to speak to
him
> about a personal matter, but have never met him before.  The only
> information I know is that he attended the Rel Mord College of
Magic
> just under 70 years ago.  I have heard word of him since, both in
> Nyrond and in Greyhawk city, but it has been limited, and I have
not
> yet been able to track him down."
>

    [Ahvain does not do the math involving the lass being just under
70 years old.]
    "No, I fear I have never heard of him, and know little enough of
mages to boot.
    "But he should not be hard to track down.  Everything is
disrupted this year of course, but once things settle down, it
should be no problem to find him.
    "..if he wants to be found of course, and there are a lot of
people who don't.  I know a few of them, and of a pretty good number.
    "No way to guess now why he would want to hide, from who, or
how.  We don't even know if he is trying to hide at all.  But a year
or 2 from now, if you don't have a real good idea where he is, come
see me.  I probably won't be able to finger him, but I might be able
to get you in to those who can.
    "But that type doesn't help out of the goodness of their hearts.
They want gold, and likely in large amounts, with not much in the
way of guarantees you will see anything for it either.  Better not
to try them until the easier ways have failed.
     "But if they do fail or this is some dire emergency, come see me
and I will see what I can do."

   The human continues to argue about Nyrond foreign policy.
>
> "  No, the province is a
> vacuum
> > and the Pale will rule it."
>
> Tatiana looks puzzled, and the words burst forth from her mouth
> clearly partially unchecked by a brain that had decided to try to
not
> say much more.  "The agreement doesn't turn over any provinces to
the
> Pale!  All it does is allow a Palish order to garrison the town of
> Midmeadow!  Midmeadow is just one town, quite a distance from the
> Pale border, within Woodverge Province.  The agreement actually
> specifically reiterates that it remains an imperial town.  I'm not
> sure where you got this strange idea."
>
    "I get the idea because it is the only one that makes sense. You
just don't invite foreign troops into your home, not if you want to
keep it.
    "There are limits in the agreement?  They are worthless.  It will
be the Pale who decides what these limits actually mean.  How many
troops are in that "garrison"?  Not hard to define that as the
entire Pale army.  Any other limits fail just as easily.

> >    "Not quite.  And a very major not quite.
> >    "The treaty allow for a limited right to cross the border in
> > pursuit of criminals, which would certainly include Royals.
> > Technically, this right is quite limited, but in practice these
> > limits could entirely vanish.   Under this treaty a determined
> > Emperor can hunt Royals all over the County and I don't see the
> > county daring to insist this is a violation of the treaty.
> >    "Moreover, the very existance of such an exception is
> > extraordinary.  It normally implies a level of trust between
> > governments that can hardly exist when one state is less than a
> year
> > old, and created in a secret coup to boot, or there is some
third
> > pest that both sides want to dispose of without the bother of
red
> > tape.  Here that has to be the Royals, and labels the County as
not
> > neutral, but very much on Sewarndt's side."
>
> Tatiana snorts, clearly getting back into the discussion.  "The
> treaty does no such thing.  In fact, it makes it clear that the
local
> law enforcement is in charge of catching a escaped criminal, and I
> have no doubt that either side will forcefully enforce that
right.
> Technicalities are everything, meek, and I in fact suspect the
> Contessa has every intent to pin Sewarndt to the wall with every
> lapse.  Such stipulations in a treaty are fairly normal, but they
> give each side power over the other within their lands--an
advantage
> that I am sure the Contessa plans to take advantage of.  Trust has
> nothing to do with it.  I highly doubt that she wants to 'dispose
of'
> the Royals, considering the King has not had a very keen eye on
her
> border, while Sewarndt has boldly stated that he intends to
> reestablish a Nyrdi-Aerdy nation.  The only side that the treaty
says
> the County is on, is their own."
>
   "Technicalities are everything, when they are not nothing.  Here
the important technicalities favor the Emperor.  He can use this to
chase Royals in the County.  What can the County use it for?  I
suppose she can label her entire army a posse, but Sewarndt is not
going to accept that, and it is far more likely he would use that
definition for the Nyrond army."

    "So the hunt is to be turned over to the local law?  What makes
you think Sewarndt's men are going to be strict in honoring that?
Or paying attention at all?  I trust you have been spared much
contact with them, but you have surely heard the stories.  I don't
rate them as the lowest of the low, but..."

    "You think the County will be forceful in restricting Nyrond
forces?  It is a whole lot easier to be forceful when we are not let
into the County in the 1st place.  This sort of thing has been done
before, and the lesser country learns to put up with considerable
abuse."



> >    "If the County lacks the military force, as is likely, the
> treaty
> > can only mean a desire to placate the likely winner while the
price
> > is low.  I grant that even a paladin can bow to the needs of
> > political chicanery, but as a smokescreen, this treaty makes no
> > sense.  The County is simply not in a position to backstab
> > Sewarndt.  And if it wanted to stop him, now while he is
unsteady
> on
> > the throne is best, rather than a year later when he may have
> > dispersed the Royals."
>
> "I doubt the Contessa will wait a year to make her move.  I
suspect
> that she will wait until Lynwerd makes his move, and then move to
> support or thwart, whichever way her allegience lies."
>
    "Support or thwart" acknowledges that you too are not sure which
way she will jump, which is of itself a victory for the Emperor.
Before this treaty came out, all assumed the County would help the
Royals, or at worst do nothing.  That the Royals can no longer count
on their back being safe costs them 10,000 men.

     "Which reminds me.  Where is Lynwerd?  There are thousands that
would rally to him, if they knew that.  And every day, these men are
being jailed or replaced.  I can think of no good reason why he has
not shown himself.  My own guess is that he had some escape plan
that went wrong some way and he can't get free.  But if he can't
show himself soon, he had best not bother."

> She stops in her tracks then, looking at a dark warehouse.  "And
here
> we are, at my destination.  Thank you for the escort, gentlmen,
but
> now we must part."
>
   "Good luck in your mission.  If you need aid, feel free to look us
up."