June 2001

Sent in by a Mysterious figure:

The mists swirled around the harbor near Caelum Mortuus. The clock on top of the bell tower seemed frozen at the eight position. Moonlight reflected off thunderstorms approaching from the east.

Boromir backed away from his telescope and spoke to Kandalor, “The stars say something dark approaches, but they also say it will be good for us. What else they say, I can’t figure out. They say something, but it is too blurry. I can make out that whatever it is that approaches, is said to arrive on July 1st.”

Kandalor looked from Boromir to the floor beneath them, then from his Shrine to the Temple’s doors, and then from the Temple’s doors to the lighting playing upon the ocean from the thunderstorm. “Something does approach, and for the life of me, I have a feeling it will be good for us.” With that comment, a gust of wind blew in from the ocean, whipping Boromir’s hair back in the wind and skimming over the skin of Kandalor’s head. A grin spread across Kandalor’s face, “Aye, a great need has presented itself. Prophecies always come true.”


OOC: Those wishing to witness a joyous occasion for the dark forces come to the tower north of the Temple of the Black Dragon at 8 CST, July 1st.

Another report from our friends at BNN:

Guilhem marveled privately at the craftsmanship of the city, though his contempt for its creators prevented his showing it. Instead, he affected a sneer of disdain as he strode its streets, being careful to make no eye contact with anyone, and ignoring the stares that followed in his wake.

He would have liked to try out one of the keenly honed swords, or even one of the more exotic weapons displayed in the merchants' booths. But he had more pressing matters on his mind, and his role required him to use the more primitive weapons of the savages. The savages were loath to rip holes in the sides of mountains and poison the ground by smelting ore. Instead, they fashioned axes and spears out of rock and wood and bits of strong vine. They hunted for food and used everything they killed. When they broke down an encampment to move on, mere hours would remove every remaining trace that a tribe had once resided there.

Not much else caught his eye as he wound his way through the bazaar en route to his destination. He had made this journey many times, and the novelty of the city had long since worn off. Finally, he strode up the long stairs, sneering at the guards. In the courtyard, he washed his hands and feet in the center fountain, seemingly oblivious to the stares and small gasps generated by his horrible breach of protocol. Guilhem considered urinating on the cobblestones, but decided that would be too far across the line. As his status in this strange army was low and his position tenuous, Guilhem was hardly in a position to push their limits.

"You!" A strangely dressed human, one of Guilhem's new Master's lackeys, said, as if even addressing Guilhem was distasteful. "Clean that mess off." He tossed a dirty oil rag at Guilhem, who caught it without breaking his stare at the other man.

"These are my badges of honor and status," he replied. "I wear them as is my duty."

"That," retorted the lackey, "is food. Why those people insist on wearing their dinner I will never understand. But the Master says if you don't clean up before your audience, I am to have the palace guards wash you. Forcefully. Use the fountain, since you've already defiled it."

Guilhem glowered but didn't say another word as he turned to comply. It took only a few moments with the cloth to rub off the painted lines and swirls and glyphs. He felt naked without them, more naked than he expected he would. Perhaps it was his time spent with the so-called savages or his growing dislike for the minions of his new Master, but he found himself looking forward more and more to donning the paint.

That done, Guilhem followed the other man into the palace proper. He was left in a room, sumptuously decorated with wall hangings and thick carpeting and a small fortune in marble statues and brass lamps. He crossed his arms, shifted his weight to his heels, and stood in the center of the room, awaiting his audience. After a short delay that Guilhem was certain was caused simply by social custom, he was bade into the Master's chamber.

Guilhem could never get accustomed to the constant whirring and clicking and lights in this room. He hated it; it felt unworldly to him. A huge oak dining table was laid out with what must have passed for a feast for the Master's allies, but Guilhem felt no desire to eat. Guilhem truly hated his new role and often pondered if the payment was worth it.

His thoughts were quickly driven to other matters as the Master spoke to him, its grating voice assaulting Guilhem's ears. "Nice of you to respond so quickly to my summons."

Guilhem nodded his head but said nothing, fearing his voice might betray the disgust washing over him in waves.

"Eat while we talk," the Master said in its eternally gravelly voice as the whirring and clicking quickened in pace. Guilhem interpreted the statement as an order, and approached the table. Nothing looked particularly palatable, so he selected a whole cooked fish and proceeded to tear the skin from it. Guilhem discarded half of the fish skin onto an empty platter, and proceeded to peel away layers of the succulent fish flesh with his fingers and pop them into his mouth.

"Well, let us get on with it, then," the lackey said, scowling. "What have you to report?"

"Everything is well, m'lord," Guilhem replied, speaking to the Master and not to the lackey. "The Tribes are driving the greenskins from their camps. The land is bountiful and will make a good home for them."

The other human spoke before Guilhem could continue. "Have you any news from your advance scouts?"

"We have seen cities. They are too deep in greenskin territory for us to risk scouts yet. We have seen them from a distance. The architecture is obviously beyond the greenskin's capabilities. Whoever lives in them look to be as civilized and advanced as you, m'lord." Guilhem's expression remained carefully blank as he studied the other human's face for any reaction. In response, the lackey merely nodded, completely unsurprised by Guilhem's defiance.

The whirring and clicking stopped for a moment before the Master spoke again. "The tribes are to continue their attacks. Drive the greenskins from their homes. Take over their territory." As the Master ponderously issued orders, the lackey retrieved a scroll and a quill from its desk and began to mark it carefully.

Guilhem was dismissed and hurried to another, stranger portion of the palace, where the smell of magic was strong indeed. He presented his orders and was rewarded with a bag containing some jars of paint. Just as quickly, he was escorted to the palace gates, and began the journey back to the Clan. He repainted his body as soon as he left the city, and returned to the village. The last of the orcs would be driven out of the land, and maybe they would take out that other civilized race in the process. He had much work ahead.

From Marquis Alazraham:

Hail Britannia!

I am happy to announce that the first wave of Trinsic senators has been chosen! When next you vitis Trinsic, be sure to greet Senators Kyla, Tajqa, Lothar, and Solusek!

Four chosen, Five positions remain. Are you interested in running community events? Do you enjoy working with other people to build a thriving community? Trinsic wants to hear from you, Contact Marquis Alazraham for more information on applying for Senate!

Best regards to you all,

Marquis Alazraham

Off in a clearing near Ocllo, a rabbit sat chewing on some grass. It was an ordinary day for the rabbit, just another day to go out and try to make its way to the farms. Not very far away from the rabbit a human made his way out of the brush towards the clearing. The figure looked tired, but nothing that fighting off orcs would cause. The man made his way towards a rock and sat down on it resting.
The rabbit moved a bit to the west ignoring the human. A great shadow fell upon the rabbit, which it noticed and froze thinking its end had come. Yet nothing happened, the rabbit curious tilted its head towards the sky. A great thunderstorm had appeared out of nowhere. The rabbit wasn’t the only one puzzled; the human was also surprised and titled his head towards the sky. The man didn’t know it was supposed to rain today, otherwise he would have brought his robe with him.
The man started to stand when a huge thunderbolt of lighting ripped its way out of the sky and struck where he was standing. The rabbit was too petrified to move. It kept its eyes locked on the crater where the man was. A hand reached out and grabbed the edge of the crater pulling a burning figure from the crater. The figure stood up straight, it seemed to be smiling under the burnt flesh. With that smile bristling, the figure moved his arm and brushed off the burnt flesh. It fell off as if it were dirt being brushed from clothes. The figure started to walk towards the brush, but stopped, turning to face the rabbit. The rabbit mind was bombarded with images of a cause it could not understand. The rabbit’s mind was then bathed in a sense that what was about to happen to it was for a good cause. With that the figure raised his finger to his lips and made the ‘sssh’ noise. The rabbit fell over dead, the only thing in the world that had seen the return,.

The Black One had returned to Britannia.

More mysterious news from our friends at BNN:

A group of crows screeched angrily and flew into the sky as the knight shooed them away from the corpse. He surveyed the area, looking for any evidence of the creature or creatures that had attacked the caravan. As he approached the body, he spotted an ax, covered in blood, laying in the dirt.

"Orcs, m’lord," the knight called out to his young leader, holding the ax high. The fact that the word "m’lord" was spat out like a curse did not escape the young noble’s detection.

Jarvis turned to regard the speaker, trying with little success to hide his revulsion. This was the first time he had ever seen dead bodies this closely. He had only just recently been given command of a company of knights...a favor to his father from the local lord. Jarvis knew well enough that few of the knights respected him. Every day he listened to their jeers, spoken just loudly enough for the noble to overhear. He was determined to show no sign of weakness, after spending the last two weeks dealing with their snide remarks and thinly veiled insults. He would get the job done, and win their respect in the process.

Jarvis surveyed the area, pushing aside his discomfort, looking for any signs of a survivor. After a thorough search, it was apparent the massacre had been complete. Not a single human had survived the attack. The entire caravan that had been sent to help reinforce Cove was destroyed completely. The stench of the dead lay thick in the air and Jarvis silently hoped he could maintain his composure as he bent low to examine the body of a fallen man. He glanced up at the sound of footsteps approaching. It was the ranger, the one man in the party who he actually liked.

"Look at the holes in his armor, and that wound along his leg. Orcs don’t make cuts like that," the ranger said, as if he was reading the young noble’s mind.

Jarvis noticed it too. Virtually all of the cuts were small, piercing attacks and slender slashes, not the usual large gash from an ax or the dents from an orc’s club. Jarvis nodded grimly as the ranger continued.

"My guess would be brigands. These attacks are too precise to be orcs."

"We haven’t seen brigands in these parts for a long time, Dustin. Besides, they didn’t take any of the valuables, just the food and other perishables. No, not brigands, someone...or something else did this," Jarvis said as he stood up, gaining confidence now that he was in his element.

The young noble always fancied himself as tracker or a detective, not the knight that his father wished (and had forced) him to be. He much preferred the company of the free spirited scouts and trackers ("common men", as his father would say snobbishly) to the strict discipline of these knights.

A hand on his shoulder pulled Jarvis from his thoughts. He stood up and faced the ranger, expecting him to disagree. After all, this was the ranger’s area of expertise, and he was just a nobleman! He should known no one here would listen to him. Instead, the ranger gave him an approving nod and smiled slightly.

"Well done, M’lord. We’ll make a ranger out of you yet!"

Pleased and more than a little surprised, Jarvis turned and was about to call out to the knights when he heard Dustin make a sound. Jarvis turned to regard Dustin. The ranger’s eyes were wide, staring at Dustin, his lips moving but no words escaping. Jarvis looked from Dustin’s face down to his chest, where a spear point was sticking out, covered in the ranger’s blood. The ranger fell to his knees, then to the ground, taking the spear with him. Jarvis would have gone to his friend to try to help him, but he stood transfixed as a large group of strange looking humans charged into the knights’ ranks.

The enemy had finally shown itself.

Hail readers!

Recently, I've begun to acquire a list of hyperlinks to various roleplay communities on Great Lakes. If you have an RP community webpage and you would like a link to it on our front page, please use our Message Board and let me know your URL.

I am optimistic that this will help people who are new to our community to find a roleplaying group that is right for them.

Regards,
Nick Seafort

Wandering around aimlessly, Raticker visited the old Temple of Mondain. Cleaning out some cobwebs, re-arranging some furniture and re-stocking the armory, Raticker remembered previous times. Summoning the spirit of Mondain, the ancient evil still exists...but was difficult to see in its faded form, nothing could be communicated.

Feeling depressed and alone, Rat went back into training. Perhaps archery was the key to new hope. A battlemage, who would have thought? While polishing a mirror, in his small abode, a dark fog slowly swirled around the main room. Grabbing his trusty bow, Raticker backed up against a wall. A horrible form began to shape, glowing red eyes glared out of a black dragon's head, "Young fool, did you believe I would let my pawn slip out of my control?"

The bow fell to the floor as terror struck through Raticker's tight muscular body. Nothing could have prepared him for this encounter, how could he have know his departure of BD would result in this? How could he have mattered? Preparing a spell to recall to the safe haven of a town, he was paralyzed.

"Stupid humans, believing they can overpower their betters. Well, know this - NO ONE leaves my service. And I am charging you with a mission." bellowed the foul creature. "You will hunt down those who have lost their way and bring them back to the fold. Fail and I will claim your soul to eternal suffering."

Turning its head the dragon exhaled a great fireball, killing Raticker. As his ghostly spirit was entering another Realm, he was called upon to open his eyes, Rat was in the great hall of The Temple of the Black One. Kandalor was there. "We have been expecting you...."

Lord Raticker has been restoned.

This announcement from Caprial:

The Jhelom Town Council announces the Great Jhelom Slime-Off!
Place: The Dueling Pits of Jhelom, Trammel
Time: Sunday, June 24th, 2:00 pm Central

Now, just what the heck is a slime-off?

Well, it's a competition for mages, and the goal is to summon slimes. Groups of three mages will go head to head summoning creatures, the first to summon 3 slimes will move on to the next round. It's that simple, but it promises to be a lot of fun. So if you can cast 5th level spells, grab your reagents and come out to join us!

Entry fee is 5k, prizes to be awarded as follows:
1st place 50% of the entry fees
2nd place 30% of the entry fees
3rd place 20% of the entry fees

OEK and the Jhelom Town Council will be sweetening the pot with a few surprise items for the winners as well.

The following was a speech made by Alec Deleon of the BKP during the funeral proceedings of Deputy Commissioner Gabriel Carson.






Hail and well met friends,

My name is Alec DeLeon, I am the commissioner of the Royal Britannian Kilted Police, former friend to, and employer of Deputy Commissioner Gabriel Carson. I have been asked to speak here today.. to pay tribute to a fallen colleague.. perhaps as a means of lessening the sorrow felt in the hearts of his family and friends. I do not know that I am qualified to do such a thing, nor do I believe that such a thing is truly possible.

Instead, today I will tell you a story.. a story of Valor, of Courage, and of Justice! I will tell you the story of Gabriel Carson. Carson has always been quite capable of managing on his own, and so it seems appropriate that his lifes story should also be his eulogy.

Gabriel Carson was born in the year 280 To a wealthy family who lived on the Outskirts of Britain. His father was the Chief guard at Castle Britannia at the time, and young Gabriel couldn't think of anything he would rather do than protect His Majesty, Lord British.

Growing up, he had all the advantages a nobleman could ask for.. tutoring, pampering, prestiege. It was said of him that he should one day make a fine Guardsmen, or perhaps even a member of the Parliament. His good nature and strong dedication to study made him quite popular with the other children, but the House of Carson would not last.

When Gabriel reached the age of 15, all of his dreams of becoming a Royal Guardsman seemd right in front of him. His application had been accepted, and because of his father, he could be assured a quick advancement through the ranks. How Ironic it is that his father should be the embodiment of this desire, and at the same time the very instrument of its shattering. For on the day before Gabriel was to be admitted, his own father was caught stealing from the Royal Treasury.

To this day, nobody really knows if Lord Carson was embezzling royal monies from the treasury. Suffice to say that he was sent through due process of law, but died while in a forced mining camp on Dagger Isle.

The Carson family property was stripped, the land divided among neighboring nobles. Among this property was the Vogath, the carson family sword, forged through some extraordinary magical means which I do not pretend to understand. The guard saw to it that Gabriel would never get a Royal Commission. Gabriel, hopes dashed, set afoot to the town of Minoc. There, they lived peacefully for several years in a modest, but adequate home. Gabriel spent a great deal of time practicing with a wooden sword. Though not a Royal guardsman, he considered his mother to be royalty, and considered himself to be her protector. Believing in this, he found solace.

With time comes age, and with extreme age comes infirmity. The good Lady Carson was no exception, and so it came to be that her spirit returned to the Ether in the Winter months of the year 305.

This is when I first met Gabriel Carson. When I first saw him, he was standing outside the Vesper Mint, arguing with 2 burly fellows on horseback. In my own mind I thought him a fool, but I continued to watch.. Certainly this man was in a pickle, and I was curious to see how he would get himself out of it.

One of the two fellows had stolen Carsons purse and was taunting him with it. Repreatedly he tossed the bag to his partner, just out of Carsons reach. As this continued, his entire demeanor changed.. his speech filled with Righteous Tndignation. When the strain was too much to bear, he drew his cheap blade and menacingly decided to get his pouch back wether the thief wanted to return it or not.

Surely, he knew these were hopeless odds, but still he went on the offensive. Both the thief and his accomplace retaliated in kind, and you can wager that in this particular conflict, Carson was dispatched with great ease. Still, during the battle he made no attempt to run, no attempt to hide. With unflenching devotion he stared death in the face, and this time death had gotten the better of him.

The thief and his friend set their greedy sights on the recently fallen corpse, but an arrow sent through the thiefs left hand persuaded them that I should have Carsons belongings.

Minutes later, I returned Carsons belongings to him at the Infirmary. In exchange, he related to me the story of his father. Because of his Valor, I decided to take him on as my squire. I knew that if he were well trained that one day, his deeds of Valor would not seem so much like foolhardy acts.

We Trained together for some time, moving from guild to guild, finally resting in the Order of the Golden Rose. Though I myself was dismissed from the guild, they allowed Carson to remain, and I bid him do so, for his skills were improving greatly, and I presently could not teach him as effectively as he deserved.

The errand I was called to was my own fathers death, and with it the subsequent discovery of my Earthy Lineage, and the foundation of the Kilted Police. As one of the founders of such an important organization, I could think of noone better to have at my side than the Valiant Gabriel Carson.

This is the main body of the life of Gabriel Carson. He understood Valor, identified with it. Carson lived with Valor, and most assuredly died with Valor. allow me to continue, so that you might know the story of the death of Gabriel Carson.

Shortly after joining the Kilted Police, I assigned Carson to escort a group of Gypsies who were being ferried by the Royal Navy from Vesper to Moonglow to Trinsic. It was Carsons second mission in His Majestys service, and he approached it with great enthusiasm.

Carson was not much of a Sea hand, he was always prone to seasickness, and such was this night. He did not take his meal that day due to the sickness.. perhaps fortune was smiling upon him, as the food was poisoned. By the eve of the same day, the entire crew had died, and the Gypsy passengers were dying. Finding himself the only able-bodied person on the ship, Carson defended it against the entire crew of the Pirate Ship Ondouin. In total, this consisted of 14 men.. one by one of which was either thrown overboard or slain on the deck. The real battle came when he engaged the pirate Captain, Malagris.

Malagris was a ruthless sort, wanted by the crown for some time, he was certainly the most dramatic and most famous of pirates in his day. Malagris had never been defeated.. until today. Carson never spoke of the battle with Malagris, save that it lasted until they were both exhausted. Neither could defeat the other, and so Malagris was forced to withdraw in shame.

With the battle completed, Carson tried his best to cure the afflicted passengers on the ship.. he had been trained in magery, but soon ran out of reagents with which to cast the cure spell. Little did it matter, because as Carson was doing this, the ship drifted into the outskirts of Brittany Bay, where it smashed into a shoal, sinking the ship. Try though he might, Carson was only able to two people from the doomed ship, one of whom died due to Malagris' poison mere days after the shipwreck. The other was a young teen named Branwen, who eventually became my own wife.

For this heroic adventure Carson was rewarded with the Vogath, his family sword. Impressively, when he held it by the hilt, the blade began to glow an eerie red color.. I believe this was the blades reaction to his Valor, as I have heard of the swords of the ancient paladins glowing with a purplish flame.

Even so, Carson was tortured by the experience, and perhaps rightly so. Despite his best efforts, he had failed in his mission. He felt the deaths of the crew and the passengers were on his hands.

Time passed, missions came and went, friends died and the cycle of life passed on around me. It was just last week that I came into Police Headquarters to find the Vogath missing, and a note upon my desk. It read simply:

Commissioner, located Malagris in deceit. With Vogath I will remove this blight from fair Britannia! Fare thee well, old friend. Walk in the virtues, Carson

In the ongoing orc crisis, we bring you the latest report from our partners at the Britannia News Network:

Grula scratched her butt. It was hot, she thought sullenly. Too hot. And she was starving. She had asked another scout to steal some food and cider hours ago from a nearby humie camp, and the stupid orc hadn't returned. It was a dangerous time for an orc to be out hunting and they were only doing it whenever they absolutely had to eat.

Turning to glance back down the path for what seemed to be the hundredth time, she heard a rustling. Finally! The orc scout she'd been waiting for burst through the bushes, panting frantically.

"Where my food? Where my drink?" she demanded gruffly, her throat parched from the dry heat.

The other orc looked momentarily confused. "No food! Humies chase then bonk then humies dead!" He pointed back the way he came. "Dere ledder agh rock tingy flyin agh bonk agh bonk, agh--" he gestured wildly and lurched to the side, throwing himself unceremoniously to the ground. "Humies get bonked, fall off four-legs!"

Grula tried to forget her thirst for a moment. "Ledder? Rocks? Who have ledder agh rocks?"

The scout stood clumsily, not bothering to wipe off the dirt that still covered him. "Nub know. Grendul thought it long way killers, but long way killers nub have rock. This different. Not kill, just bonk humie off four-legs. Kill come after but no see what kill." He suddenly stopped and looked around. "Tired. Need drink." He ducked as Grula threw her empty cup at him and growled.

Female orcs rarely fought, but Grula was an exception. Her cooking had been so bad as to have her forbidden from even touching the cookpots, and her smell was, to put it delicately, too much like flowers and spice to have a chance at finding a mate within the orc fort. Scouting worked fine for her... she had few friends, and spent most of her time alone, hidden. Watching. Although there hadn't been much to watch until recently, when every orc scout had been ordered to keep their eyes open for something. What that something was, they didn't know. They just knew that there was something out there, and that it wasn't friendly.

In the distance she heard the shouting of more humies in battle and coming her way on horseback quickly. Picking up the cup she had thrown at the other scout, she turned around and whacked him on the back of the head with it. “Hide! Humies come!” They dove into the bushes and waited for the battle to drift into view.

As they listened to the sounds of the fighting humies it was obvious that they were losing against whatever was in combat with them. Screams ripped through the air and fewer humies could be heard even though the battle was moving closer and closer.

From the bushes across the clearing a male on a four-legs burst through the foliage, panic twisting his face. Grula considered jumping out to meet him but a slight humming sound caught her attention and she hesitated. From behind the humie a blur shot out of the trees and slammed around his neck, knocking him to the ground. His horse, already galloping at full speed, continued running into the distance.

She sat in silence, waiting as the humie slowly got up, obviously dazed from his fall. Whatever did that to the humie, she didn’t want to meet. Thankfully, the other orcs hidden in the bushes had the same idea. Moments went by and nothing came from the bushes to finish off the male. Whatever had attacked was gone now. He stood and, thinking himself to be alone, pulled a jug from his pack and took a long draw of cider.

“Him have drink!” the orc beside Grula breathed as he stared at the jug as if hypnotized. “No see food.”

Finally Grula leaned over to her companion in the bushes. “He fit in pot?” she whispered.

“Chopper make him fit!” he whispered back excitedly.

And that night, the orcs feasted.

This comes to us from White Lotus of TPR:

The Town of Phoenix Rising and the people who reside within
will be holding a Faire and Witches Sabbat, Wednesday, June 20th at 7 PM of the Central skies.

TPR(Town of Phoenix Rising), S*E(Sisters of Enchantment) and B/G(The Blood Guard will sponsor a town Faire complete with games, contests
and a Witches Sabbat in conjunction with the beginning of the Summer Solstice. Come and watch King Oak battle King Holly for the changing
of the seasons.

There will be games such as.....a team Snowball fight.....Damsel in Distress.......Magery contests and the ever popular *Kissing Booth*.
The merchants of the town will be selling wares for you to buy. Be sure to get an *amulet of protection* from the local witches. A fortune teller will be on hand to tell your fortune.

Food and drink will also be available. Gates from banks in Major cities will be provided by S*E.

Phoenix Rising is located near the Desert of Compassion-Trammel Facet.
We hope to see you all there for some good fun.

The news was relayed to us through a Gypsy in Delucia. Truly, a sad tale:

The snow swept across the barren wasteland. The wind blew the snow so hard it was impossible to see two feet ahead. Yet out in the distance a dark figure was limping across the horizon dragging a corpse behind him. The torn robe on the fellow was frozen from the blood drenched in it. The gashes and bruises on the man's body would make any doctor wonder to himself how a being could still be alive after such punishment. Yet the figure moved on, dropping the corpse, looking as if he was searching for a place to lay. The eyes of the figure looked deep in thought. The type of thought that comes with remembrance. Only the remembrance of a life gone by: of being a child, born of the virtues into a wealthy family, struggling to garner the respect of his hard father. Of striking out on his own in piracy, trying to be something he was not, learning new experiences, seeing the world from another view. Of returning from such a life to try and make things right, of finding his old sweetheart, who would bare two children for him and die in labor. Of trying to raise two children with his limited time, knowing that he had done what he could. He knew how being cast from the virtuous court into Chaos would burden his soul with something he could barely bear. Of doing his best for a god he saw as the savior, for trying to free the people even when they looked at him as if he were the evil that lies in dungeon Deceit. He looked at himself, and now he was a sacrifice of life so that one younger could live. A woman full of knowledge and hope, one that would teach a generation plenty of new things that could change their lives, one that would keep on the fight for knowledge. The figure nodded at the spot he had come to. A rock sheltered him from the freezing wind. Yes indeed he had tried to live his life like a proud man, doing what was right. Smiling at that thought he rummaged through his torn backpack pulling out his dearest possession, a pipe with his name engraved on it. After stuffing some nightshade in it, he stuck the pipe in his mouth. The man's eyes seemed to fog over and his body went limp, slumping against the rock.

The life of Basil ended, in a cold, dark place, alone he had died, like he had always been, alone.

Marquis Alazraham still continues to seek more senators for the new Trinsic Senate. In a report releaed today, the Marquis reports that only one person has been through interview, and that only 3 people have ever applied.

If youre interested in helping the City of Trinsic, contact Marquis Alazraham at Marquis_Alazraham@yahoo.com

The Latest information from our Affiliate, the Britannia News Network:

Duncan winced as the local healer pulled the bandage tighter around his wounded arm. As he glanced down at the bloody arrow lying on the ground next to him, Duncan was reminded of his own mortality. The wound would heal in time, but he would have to fight without his shield for a while. As he listened to the healer's idle conversation and looked around the dimly lit room, he reminded himself he was lucky to even be alive after the last orc raid. Many of his fellow townspeople had perished trying to stem the never-ending tide of orcs.

"They can't keep coming like this! How many orcs can there possibly be in the world!?" the young healer suddenly asked, changing the subject.

A warrior laying next to Duncan, her head wrapped in a bandage, propped herself up painfully from her cot. "Seems there's no stopping them. There has to be a way to keep them from taking the town!" The warrior pounded her fist into her open palm as if to accentuate her point.

"They don't seem interested in controlling the city, though," Duncan said, more to himself than to the others. "Can't stop a siege if the invaders don't actually try to take anything over. It's almost as if each wave is a separate group of orcs, running from something and just smashing whatever gets in their way, rather than some organized invasion with a purpose. I've heard reports from other towns that the orcs attacking them aren't actually making moves to take control either. Something's got 'em spooked, that's for sure."

Another warrior joined the group, this one having just recently arrived from Britain. "I've heard that too. You know what I think? The orcs aren't the real problem... more like a symptom of something bigger."

"Aye," Duncan nodded. "And whatever it is that's doing this hasn't shown itself yet. So for now, the best we can do is protect our homes and hope for the best."

"That's hardly encouraging," the healer said, giving the Paladin a wink to let him know she wasn't expecting him to have all of the answers. Duncan smiled slightly for the first time in days. He knew the people of Cove needed him to stay strong and optimistic, but every band of orcs that attacked made it harder to keep his spirits high and his determination strong. He remained proud of his people, though, knowing that lesser men and women would have long ago fled along with the royal guards to the safety of Britain or Trinsic. As he looked around at the despair and carnage in the room, he silently vowed to himself that when he did find this unseen enemy, they would pay for the destruction their actions had wrought.

As the group continued to talk, a series of explosions from outside rocked the building, knocking the injured warrior from her cot and hurling glasses and healing bottles from their shelves. Duncan immediately rose, much as it pained him to do so, and gripped his sword tightly.

"Cannons!?" the young healer asked shakily, as she helped the injured warrior back to her cot, the fear evident in her eyes.

Duncan waved his hand dismissively, trying to calm those inside. "Orcs don't use cannons, never have. They must have found some new toys." He pointed at the warrior from Britain. "Come with me."

Both warriors carefully left the safety of their hiding place, warily looking for the new orc threat.

The Royal Britannian Army has had it's hands full this week, preventing the Orc forces from pushing their way into the major cities, but leaving the smaller cities exposed. Now, the medium sized cities such as Vesper Ocllo are threatened. Orc populations are soaring throughout the land and with them, hostility.

"I must have killed at least a hundred of these critters, but they still keep coming!" exclaimed one of the city defenders. "We have noticed the alarming trend that once we kill a wave or orcs, the next wave is even larger than the one preceeding it." explains Lieutenant Balbanes of the Royal Army. "If this trend continues, we are definately going to have a serious problem in our hands!"

The citizens of Skara Brae already have what might be considered a serious problem on their hands, the traditional city of spirituality has been attacked the hardest by orcish forces as of late. Fortunately, the city's piecemeal militia has been able to prevent serious casualties to innocent denizens of the area.

"This dosent seem to be an invasion, it seems more like they are after something specific." states the good Lieutenant. So, when will the orcs discontinue their assaults? What is their goal in attacking the cities?

More as it develops!

Later this eve, the Royal Knights of Britannia will be hosting a Dinner Ball and party to celebrate their acquisition of the Royal Britannian Kilted Police.

"With the Marquis' [Marquis Alazraham] Financial Trouble with the Britannian Tax Commission, it was all we could do to stay afloat," explains Commissioner Alec DeLeon of the Kilted Police. "We had to lay off most of our employees and start working with worn out equipment. Fortunately, by working woth the Royal Knights, we can now afford to hire more staff again, and get the Equipment we desperately need."

The party is said to be planned as a first-class bash, and is open to the public. Interested parties can find more information, including a rune at the Newcastle Town Hall. The event begins at 8 PM Central.

This news from Elijah of the RKB:

I, Lothar, have talked in length with our lord, Elijah, on this matter and I think it to be a good idea. The Warlord of Blood is coming and most likely, he shall have the legions of the underworld at his side. To combat this darkness coming, I offer to all RKB members and Allies to join a new order, the Horadrim (Don't tell Blizzard Entertainment).

This order shall find the evil of our world, document it and its strenghs and weaknesses, then attempt to destory it. All are welcome to join this order in hopes to defeat this Warlord of Blood. The Horadrim shall be the first line of defense against all evil and shall not rest until evil is destroyed or they all perish. I want all types of members including workers should they wish to join. Let this order be the beacon of unity between RKB and her allies.

Lothar the Wiseman

[OOC]: If you wish to contact me about joining this new order, my ICQ pigeon is 63469286.

Lord Elijah's reply to the urgent message sent from Lothar:

[IC]:

Hail Lothar! Tis good to hear again from you brother... Alas the skies seem to grow darker and darker with evil in every new day. I am not prone to fears of the underworld nor the minions which lie therein but I must say that the air has been rich with a foul stench that I've not smelled in years. Times of trouble and peril are close at hand, that has become oh so apparent in recent days.

The cult of the Black One must feel this evil, too, as their activity and evil ways have again risen to a level that is disturbing to say the least. One of our best Wilderness Corp men, Riel, is rumored to be in their clutches at the time of my scribing here today...

It's time to begin preparation and put the pieces into place for the Horadrim. Words such as these, I must admit, are words I hoped... no, not hoped... swore I'd never need to utter again after his Majesty brought us into the plush lands where we call home today.

Begin your preparations... you have my blessing... and my support.

*signed with the stamped seal of the First Knight*

[OOC]:

Lothar has written and developed a quest in which the classic story of good vs. evil is written and the RKB as well as others are welcome to join in the fun. It's not a set script, not written in stone, but rather something fun that we can mould and participate in to stretch our minds and expand the fun we have as a guild and as a community.

I have word that many other works are in motion from within our group as well as in the community. I urge you all to participate and help in whatever way you can. From an RKB standpoint, we may use some special titles for the event, we may use a special guildstone for portions, or we may just roleplay it through without those props.

In any event, it's intended for the pleasure and fun of you all. Creativity and imagination is critical and I applaud the efforts of Lothar and those who will join him in his quest.

Lord Elijah, First Knight & GM, RKB/RKR
ICQ Pigeon #79154655
Loyalty Above All!

If you are an Adventurer, you surely have noticed all of the Orcs running about the land. The "Mysterious Articles" we reported to you some time ago seem to be factual, indeed. There are in fact, so many Orcs around that the Royal Army is becoming concerned.

"The trouble with Orcs is that they tend to be indiscriminately violent," says Lieutenant Robert Balbanes. "Despite this tendency, they have not attacked any of our cities.. yet."

Some Rangers we have spoken to have stated that there are enough Orcs ranging about to invade at least one of Britannia's Cities, Should the orcs become organized and begin working together, it would spell disaster for their target.

"We believe that the Larger cities, such as Britain and Trinsic have nothing to worry about. The Army has a rather large investment in protecting both of those cities, but we simply do not have enough manpower to protect the entire realm from this potential onslaught." Lieutenant Balbanes contines, "Smaller cities like Cove will remain sorely unprotected. We will of course send some of our forces to protect them, but I am afraid that they will be of little use."

Added Balbanes, "We will be working closely with the Captain of the guards in each city to increase our potential"

In Response to the threat, Marquis Alazraham of the BAC held a press conference today to address the public:

"Friends, Citizens, protectors of noble Britannia! Many of you remember the great upheval caused by Minax and her Twisted followers. Today, we face a similar situation. Orcs are on the rampage, killing the innocent, pilliaging homes and encampments. Now they stand on the edge of invasion! Where their sheer numbers come from, I know not.. but I do know this: Their advancement must be checked! The Army does not have enough power to protect some of our fair citizens, and so it is time for us to give back to the community which has supported us all these years. It is not a time for politics, this is no time for Loyalist vs Secessionist debates.. It is not the crown who is in danger, it is hundreds of innocent citizens who must be protected at all cost! A Call to Arms, my companions! I pray, Followers of Virtue, scoundrels, farmer, and peasant unite! Only together can we successfully protect our realm!

The Announcement that Trinsic's new government would be a Senate caused some stirrings in the community. "New ideas and ways of doing things often seem scary at first", Explains Marquis Alazraham, Speaker for the Britannian Affairs Committee. "I think that once the system gets moving that it will hold up well, and those feelings will fade away."

When asked on the Progress of filling the Trinsic Senate, the Marquis was Brutally honest, "The Senate needs 9 people to function, and then those 9 people will choose the next mayor from the senate itself. The problem we have is that nobody seems interested in Becoming a Senator. There have been 3 people apply for senator.. Two have not yet replied to my request to meet, but the Third and I have had no trouble communicating."

Nobody knows how long it will take to fill Trinsics shoes, but all signs point to later, rather than sooner. "I'm considering holding another BAC session to discuss dropping the number of required senators from 9 to, say 3 or 5", declares the Marquis.

If you are interested in becoming a Trinsic Citizen, you must Register with the Britannian Affairs Committee Citizens Registry, and then contact the Marquis at marquis_alazraham@yahoo.com.

Every once in a while, things come over your desk and you just have to take them with a kernel of faith. Here are two stories that were sent to me, both involving the Librarian and Archeologist India West. If these are more than just fancyful stories, then something dire has happened in our land indeed.

India's Journal, Part 3

Basil looks back at the dock in Papua as it quickly disappears. He turns and faces the other way in the direction of where the ruins of Ral’clur are. He had been tracking India for quite some time with the dream sickle and knew her exact position. He heads down into the cabin to rest for the coming day.

Basil awakens to a loud racket from the crew. When he appears up on the deck he find the crew in a tangle with a small amount of undead. Surely he was closing in on India, maybe even have her by the end of the evening. Finishing up with the skeletons, Basil and the crew proceed inland. One of the scouts shouts up ahead that he has found something. Basil and the crew walk into a large clearing where the supplies of a large caravan remain. Basil curses, it is obvious they left hastily. He stomps around the area looking for clues, he comes across a piece of paper and unfolds it. Maybe the Black One hasn’t abandoned with the morsel of luck.



We have crossed over to another land mass. I’m not even sure why I continue to make notes as I’ve seen no sign of anyone following or finding these notes. Perhaps it is for my own sanity, which even now I question.

** the handwriting changes at this point**

He won’t be able to get away with this. Abanath will find a way to stop him this time. This time? Why do things look so strange? Why do I feel so odd?

**the handwriting changes back**

I black out now and see words here that I do not remember writing. Larcalin seems pleased with my progress, whatever that means. I have tried to thwart him in any way I can, but he is pleased nonetheless. The crystal is an amplifier, I think. He keeps it close to me. Maybe he thinks it’ll make me a better mage than I am. Fat chance.

**once again the handwriting changes**

I thought Abanath put the crystal away for safe keeping with guardians on it. It’s not this one really that is our worry, rather how it is used. Larcalin says the transferal is going well. I wish I knew what he meant.

** the handwriting returns to India’s script**

I am loosing myself. He says once I feel right, he and I will be together forever. That Tefia will bind us and we will be happy. It’s one of the few times he’s acknowledged that I am not Tefia. He says this is where Ral’clur was, that I should be happy to find the place.

Larcalin says someone has followed us and that we’re going to go north so he can drain the person and finish the ritual there. Says he’d rather have done it here at home, but “that man” is getting too close. Has someone been following us? Please – get here soon.



Maybe the Black One had actually abandoned him. Basil shivers with the thought of going any farther north. It would be cold and Basil dearly hated the cold. Basil pulls his robe closer to him as if anticipating the bitter wind that would be north. Basil turns and tells the captain he needs to travel north. The captain shakes his head and says he will not sail that for fear of icebergs. Basil sighs and reaches into his robe for bank notes, “How much do ye want for the boat?”



India' Journal, part 4: Basil arrives

The winds here blew over the icy landscape swirling snow and ice around corners and into the small cul-de-sac, stealing what little warmth there was between India and her ragged cape. The crystal of Ral’clur actually gave off a tiny bit of warmth as the bone-weary archeologist held out her slim hands to the green glowing artifact. Her mind was numb, both from the cold and from the low chanting that Larcalin had been doing for the past few hours. She’d lost track of time and would find herself waking up from a blackness that held no memories. A cold hand on her shoulder startled her and she looked up at the liche.

“It’s time, Tefia. Come with me,” Larcalin said with what one could call tenderness in his voice tinged with a subdued excitement.

India rose, as bid, the tattered cape fluttering to the ground. A small voice inside her clamored to resist, to keep up the fight, but she was so tired and numb. What did it matter that he called her Tefia instead of India? What did it matter that she found herself wearing black leathers and holding the Crystal of Ral’clur in her hands? Even the ring of undead seemed commonplace now. And yet, some part of her cried out at the wrongness of it all, cried out, but was too weak to do more than that.

**
The storm had been a nasty one and Basil was grateful that it had finally blown over. He hated the cold and he felt chilled to the bone by the storm. He’d sent silent prayers to the Black One that he not be too late, that this time he’d catch the liche before he broke and ran again. He was willing to do whatever was necessary to get India away from the liche. Her last journal deeply troubled him and he feared for the worst. He slipped the ship up alongside another ship and dropped anchor. Just over the rise he could see a faint green glow coloring the horizon. He sent up another prayer to the Black One and leapt to the shore and quietly made his way up the snowy hill.

**
The winds danced around the outside of the pentagram that Larcalin had dug into the snow and then filled with the blood of the crew from the ship. India barely noticed the still cooling bodies of the crew. Her eyes could only take in the glowing of the crystal that beat like a heart within her hands. The glow grew brighter and brighter while Larcalin stood behind her and chanted softly in a tongue she did not recognize.

“Drink this,” the liche ordered pressing a vial of greenish red liquid to India’s lips. She drank and the liquid seemed to set her insides on fire. Her only thought was that it was nice to be warm again, if only for a moment. “It is done,” Larcalin whispered, his hands dropping to rest on India’s shoulders. “We are forever together now. There is but one last piece and then no one will ever be able to touch…” The liche’s words were abruptly cut off as a bolt of energy slammed into his back, hitting hard enough to knock him into India, which caused her to stumble forward and step out of the pentagram.

**
Clearing the rise, Basil could clearly see the necromantic circles drawn into the ice below him. The bodies of what appeared to be the other ship’s crew lay strewn about, their entrails making bright red splashes of color against the white of the landscape. His eyes took in the liche standing behind India, it’s clawed hands resting on her shoulders. Indy had a glazed look on her face. The light of the Crystal of Ral’clur made her look almost as undead as the liche himself. He noted her attired in passing while he chanted softly to himself, raising power around him and then letting the energy bolt fly towards Larcalin’s back.

**
Larcalin howled as India fell out of the pentagram. It was as if everything were moving in slow motion, crumbling down around him much as it had when Abanath had struck him down all those years ago. The last thread of the spell disintegrated before his eldritch eyes and he howled his frustration once again as he turned to see who had interrupted his ceremony.

**
As fast as he could, Basil headed down the embankment, snow and ice flying about him, plumes of snow being kicked up by his passage. He stopped long enough to chant once more, casting his hands out toward the liche and sending a great gout of flame down on the fiend. India had fallen outside the pentagram; perhaps he was not too late, the Black One willing. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he raced towards the fallen archeologist. He stopped again, this time bringing up a wall of energy between himself and the liche to buy him time to reach India. He called out to her, encouraging her to get to her feet.

**
The cold bite of ice penetrated India’s awareness and she idly wondered if she were dying. Her eyes looked into the dead eyes of a sailor not more than a few feet away from her. A voice was calling to her, it sounded familiar. “Grandpa?” she murmured, her voice catching in her throat. No, not her grandfather, it sounded more like Basil Stag Hare. She must be delusional, what would Basil be doing out here? Then some part of her mind connected some of Larcalin’s earlier curses with the voice and she knew it was Basil. Knew he’d been following, knew he was there to try and help. She wanted to sob, but the tears froze on her cheeks before they could fall from her eyes. He was yelling at her to get up, to run to the boat. There was a boat? She struggled to her feet, wondering about the crystal lying in the snow nearby. So many folk had worked and died to bring it to the museum, she couldn’t leave it lying there, so as she stood, Indy scooped up the crystal and turned towards the redemption that was being offered by Basil.

**
Fire raced over the liche’s body and he snarled softly at the mage. “I will enjoy sucking the marrow from your bones little mage,” he snarled as he began to chant. The bodies of the recently dead sailors began to stir and rise from the ground. He ignored the magical barrier between himself and the mage; there was nowhere India could go that he would not find her. No mortal was strong enough to break the bond between him and her now. With a negligent flick of his hand, he sent the undead to deal with the mage while he began to cast spells of his own.

**
Basil yelled at India to move faster. Why was she moving so slowly? Why was everything else moving so fast? He felt the power around him grow as the undead sailors all shambled to their feet and began moving towards him. He sent out a chain of lighting and then turned and grabbed India’s hand and dragged her towards the ship. “Unless you wish to die here, MOVE!”

**
Move he said, the word cut into India’s brain as she stumbled over the snow and up the hill. “Basil?” she croaked out, the words catching in her throat once again. He didn’t stop to answer her; rather he pulled her over the crest of the hill and sent her tumbling down the other side. Some part of her thought this might be funny if things were not so dire. Basil raced down the hill and jerked her back to her feet. Pain shot up India’s arm, but it was good in a way. Her brain said it meant she was still alive and that this was good.

A boat loomed up in front of her and Basil quickly yanked down the gangplank and shoved India onto it. “I know you can sail. There is a map and a sextant in the hold. Just head south and you’ll find Papua.” The Cult mage ran to the back of the boat and ordered the anchor to be raised and then cast off from the shore.

The mental fog around her mind seemed to clear a bit and India noticed the mass of undead stumbling their way down the hill towards the boat. She set down the crystal and helped to raise the sail, sending a silent prayer of thanks to her grandfather for his love of fishing that had forced her to learn to sail.

“Remember, Papua is to the south, Indy, to the south. Go and don’t look back, I’ll be fine.” Basil gave India a long look, as if he wanted to capture her face within his mind. Then he turned and chanted softly, teleporting back to the shore. India screamed at Basil to get back on the boat. He only waved at her and told her to head south, he’d recall away once the liche was dealt with.

India didn’t have much choice as the ship’s sail caught the wind and she had to jump to catch the lines and secure the mainsail. Once tied off, she dashed back to the railing and looked towards the shore. She could see Larcalin and the undead in a ragged circle around Basil. Even to her magic limited eyes, the power that was being thrown around was amazing. She blinked a few times as she watched Basil tear through the ranks of undead to face off with Larcalin. Was it a trick of the afternoon light? She rubbed her eyes and looked again. There it was again, she had seen it. All around Basil there was a smoky form, like an apparition, an apparition of a dragon. Basil and the dragon apparition struck at Larcalin and were pummeled in turn. Indy tore her eyes from the shore and searched for a spyglass, but one was not to be found. She returned to the railing and squinted at the swiftly diminishing shoreline. Yes, definitely a dragon apparition. What could it mean? She sent up a silent pray to whatever gods might be listening to give Basil the strength needed to succeed in the battle. A sharp wind from starboard snapped at the sail and India had to return her attention to the matter of sailing the boat. South Basil had said, and so south it was that Indy set sail, fear and exhaustion warring within her as the adrenaline rush of her rescue began to fade.