1999 Aug 29
Tan robe and white turban shroud the craggy features of this wizard in
mystery. A pair of quartz cryztal flight goggles caked with layers of
dust rests at his forehead, and in a black scabbard rests the fabulous
scimitar Sunaarashi. Slender hands, weathered by years of travelling,
heft a fluted silver staff. A water faerie hovers at his shoulder.
You are in a small room filled with gears and levers and a dusty, oily
atmosphere. A single bare, flickering light bulb hangs by a wire over
a drafting table which sits next to the small doorway to the north. A
rickety swivel chair sits in front of the table, which is stacked with
Firelight shines off of a suit of armour which sets next to an immense
limestone hearth that makes up most of the west wall. Facing the fire-
place is an expensive leather chair, from whose mahogony arms and legs
stare hideous gargoyles. To the left of the seat is a round table with
a large tome sitting on it. A rug sits in front of the chair, and two
tapestries hang to the left and right of a high window in the northern
wall, through which you can see a starlit sky. A wood globe encircled
by iron rings sits in the centre of the room.
Narrow teak doors carved with fantastic friezes stand open either side
of the doorway north that exits to the armoury. An oak ledger, stacked
with sheets of oiled parchment and a swan quill-feather, is positioned
against the west wall beneath a high, square window that looks onto an
elaborate garden below. A mahogany wardrobe is against the south wall,
and eastwards a door leads to the studio. Near the swivel chair in the
centre of the room hangs a strange device made of brass and iron bands
which is aimed at the vertical slit in the domed ceiling.
Wheels of all sizes protrude at various angles from this object, and a
series of four glass spheres arranged in four brass rings sprouts from
the top end of the cylindrical form. From the bottom extends a jointed
arm at the end of which is an alligator clip that holds a fresnel lens
in front of a small glass tube.
The narrow teak doors are carved into horizontal registers. The first
depicts the violent mating of two centaurs in a dim forest. Below that
is an engraving of winged naiads serenading mermaids who sit on barren
crags rushed by the foamy sea. Further down are panels with ash dryads
cavorting wildly in an ancient marish. Below those reliefs are carved
scenes of a lake plied by elegant swans with a fair maiden standing at
the shore gathering reeds in her long golden tresses.
Clock Tower: Library
You are in the library of the clock tower. The musty smell of ancient
tomes bound in leather tickles your notrils, as dust motes waft lazily
in the shaft of sunlight shining in through the open bay window to the
south. Several rows of pine shelves, filled with books, stand in neat
rows on the carpet of green felt. An oak desk with an open book bound
in red leather sets in front of the window. Small, sturdy wooden steps
Garden Path: South of Clock Tower
The sun shines brightly in the azure sky, making the alibastine marble
of the clock tower glow incandescently. Comfortable park benches line
the flagstone path which leads from the south into the tower. A rabbit
hops happily among the well trimmed grass around you.
Clock Tower: First Floor
Your footsteps echo on the varnished wood floor of the entrance of the
clock tower. A staircase leads upwards as it circles around the white
plastered walls. Pale light filters down from a window several levels
above you, which casts a golden square on the floor.
Thousands of glittering drops of crystal shatter the soft yellow light
of candles and splash it in cascading rivulets down the silk curtains.
The polished wood floor glows with a liquid warmth in the gentle light
of the great chandeliers, and the son basso of a string quartet drifts
over the clink of wine glasses and murmur of conversations. Leaning on
the stone railing of the balcony overlooking the garden to the west is
a young woman, whose closely-cropped auburn hair frames a comely face.
An elegant satin evening gown wraps around her and white gloves sheath
her slender arms. An opal pendant rests upon her throat, and her bare
shoulders glow in the golden light. She gently cradles an isil'zha in
her hand, long fingers caressing the timeworn gem. Her eyes are pools
of sorrow comingled with hope, bottomless basins of dark liquid framed
by shining emerald as she turns her lovely gaze to the endless expanse
above spangled with thousands of glittering drops of crystal.
Adventurer's Guild (Regular)
Menacing shadows flicker on the wooden walls, cast by the fire burning
uneasily in a deep stone-lined firepit centred on the slate floor. An
echo of the voices of adventurers long passed to dust whispers in your
mind, and a musty smell wafts through the smoky air. Hides of fearsome
beasts hang on the north wall, and a staff fashioned from the polished
femur of some unlucky giant stands upright near the firepit. This is a
place where you can advance your level, and buy new abilities. A sign
is on the south wall next to an arch wreathed in blue energy, and next
to the firepit is a pedestal with a memorial tablet.
Adventurer's Guild (Yule)
Cheery shadows dance on the wooden walls, cast by a blazing fire which
burns in the stone-lined pit in the middle of the slate floor. Echoes
of merry adventurers gathering here over the ages at this time whisper
in your ears. The walls are draped with yuletide decorations, and the
femur staff is topped with a wreath made of holly leaves. If you wish
to advance your level and buy new abilities, do so here, blessed be. A
sign is on the south wall near an arch wreathed in blue energy, and an
interesting tablet is on a pedestal next to the pit.
Al Daraq, Mor Tywod 1
A blasted desert stretches out endlessly before you in all directions.
The silver dunes roll about you in uncertain rhythms, like the heaving
sides of sleeping dragons. A hot wind whips at your clothes and stabs
your body with daggers of flying sand. The clouds of silica shroud the
sun in a murky halo.
Al Daraq, Mor Tywod 2
Dry dust chokes you as wind swirls around you, whipping up dust devils
that play among the silver dunes. To the south, the wall of the Cliffs
of Starlight juts out of the sea of burning sand, and mirages dance on
your sun-seared eyes, just out of reach. Rivulets of sweat stream down
your cheeks and burn your cracked, dry lips. If you are going to be in
this area for a long time, you should get a cloak or other protection.
Al Daraq, Mor Tywod 3
The sands of the desert writhe about the sky, twisted by a reproachful
zephyr into ophidian streamers which coil around the sullen copper sun
and hiss in your hollow ears. The great dunes march forever in silent
procession, bowing low to the eternal power of the winds. Gold mirages
shimmer distantly and tantalise you with promises of food and water.
Al Daraq, Mor Tywod 4
You stare bleakly at the undulating dunes of this desolate erg, hiding
your eyes from the baleful scrutiny of the hot sun. The dry wind howls
down from the northwest through this barren basin, and sends the sands
scraping past your flesh. The shifting dunes further hinder your sight
and voyage, removing any discernable landmarks.
Al Daraq, Mor Tywod 5
On the southern horizon, a jagged spine of cliffs breaks free from the
sandy skin of the desert. The hot breath of the wind blows feverishly
against you, and the unblinking eye of the sun sears your body. Dunes
curve sensuously in all directions, writhing under the blistering sky.
Al Daraq, Mor Tywod 6
The blinding sun shimmers at the apex of its daily journey across this
tortured, translucent dome of pale blue. A hot breeze hisses past the
eroded mounds of pumice and through ragged furrows, grating upon their
twisted forms. To the south, great spires of rock puncture the desert
and weave together into a gigeresque cliffscape.
Al Daraq, Mor Tywod 7
Contorted cliffs loom above you, the gross striations of red and black
rock rippling in the oppressive heat. Precariously balanced megaliths
cast dark shadows which do nothing to relieve the heat, and the air in
this region is motionless and repressive. To the north, the open bled
burns as molten gold.
Al Daraq, Mor Tywod 8
The warped strata of the upthrust batholith tower over you and seem to
be eager to plunge downward, crushing you. The tenebrous shadows feel
as blisteringly hot as the barren wasteland to the north.
AREA 2:FOETID SWAMPS OF GNAAR/RYOKUSHOKU FOREST
AREA 3:KINGFISHER'S VILLAGE/CRYSTALMIR LAKE
Kingfisher's Village (Midwinter Night)
Ghostly snowflakes descend from the silver moon and kiss your face. A
grey cobblestone lane reaches north and south, brightly lit at regular
intervals by wrought-iron gas streetlamps. To the east, you can see a
path leading to the frozen shores of Crystalmir Lake. On the dark ice
dance young couples wearing shoes fitted with slender blades. Merrily
twinkling high above you are thousands of stars, diamond-bright in the
clear coldness. Kingfisher's Village lies to the south, its buildings
decorated with knotwork made from long evergreen needles.
Kingfisher's Village (Autumn Twilight)
Cold autumnal drizzle drums on your cloak and mists the land in a thin
fog. The foliage of the great trees in the forest to the north blazes
with colour. On the shore of the dark lake to the east, a bonfire has
been kindled by a group of the village's youth. The crisp wind brings
the sound of shouts of laughter and the smell of burning leaves. Just
visible through the fog is a lone island in the middle of the lake. A
stand of tall evergreen trees on the north end of the island litfs its
boughs to the overcast sky which conceals the disc of the setting sun.
There are men walking up and down the main street of the village south
of here, lighting iron streetlamps.
Kingfisher's Village (Midsummer Night)
Fireflies dance in the velvet darkness of a warm eventide, their wings
of gossamer weaving among tendrils of soft green light reaching out of
the floating magick orbs. Musical laughter echoes distantly, drawn to
you by a light breeze. The strong branches of aspen and yew sway, and
a young maiden races across the overgrown flagstones of the courtyard,
giggling uncontrollably and clutching an unfastened dress to her bared
bosom. She glances over her shoulder, and her garment floats off into
the night, and a fawn leaps onward from where she stood. A loud snarl
proceeds from the entrance of the courtyard, and the massive form of a
dire wolf leaps in, and changes into a great centaur, whose coal-black
flanks shine with sweat. Smiling broadly, he charges forwards, intent
upon catching up with the maiden.
You are in a stifling hot jungle. Monkeys chatter from the
trees overhead, and you think you see the fluid black form
of a panther glide into the mist. Through dense foliage to
the west you can discern a moss-covered building crumbling
into ruin among the the blue-green trees and vines of this
You penetrate the dense green foliage and enter a darkened
circular room. The polished marble floor is cool after the
heat of the jungle. Your footsteps click quietly and echo
into the dim silence. A raised dais with a sculpture is in
the centre of the chamber. The domed ceiling is open above
it, allowing a shaft of light to illuminate the sculpture.
Wrought iron braziers with the forms of two snakes twining
around each other in a double helix sit to the left and to
the right of the dais. The snakes carry bronze vessels in
their mouths, which contain delicate incense that suffuses
the room with its scent. Ornate alibaster statuary rest in
small dimly lit alcoves in the round walls.
You stand on a rough dirt road running east-west through a
grass-covered plain. Distantly, you hear the mournful wail
of Uillean pipes. Great banks of grey thunderheads billow
across the sky. Icy rain whips about you and plasters your
hair to your forehead. Jagged mountains pierce the horizon
to the north and east. North lies a hill upon which is an
abandoned caer. South, two great standing stones puncture
the lonely moors.