............./ / THE LEGENDARY TIMES
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......../ /...../ /_.../ /....../ /_.../ /..\ >./ /./ /
......./ /...../ __/../ /____../ __/../ /.../ /./ /./ /
....../ /_____/__/__../ \_\ /./ /__../ /.../ /./ /_/ /
...../ / /./ /./ /./ /.../ /./ /
..../ /_/..\______/./_____/./__/.../__/./_______/ MUD
.../________________/ running on mud.sig.net 9999
VOLUME FIVE, ISSUE THIRTY-THREE December 4th, 1998
TABLE OF CONTENTS
- The Editor's Note -
- Upcoming Calendar of Events -
- Did You Know? -
- Survey Says.... -
- November Usage Analysis -
- Announcements -
- Dragon Eyes : An Epic -
- The Story of Tarn -
- Notable Grafiti -
- Confessing Childhood -
- A Long-Awaited Discovery -
- The Fallen One -
- How to Make a Barbarian Cry -
\ |------------------------------------------------------------------| /
/__| EDITOR'S NOTE |__\
This week, I want to talk about change -- not mud code change, but
rather social change. One thing I've noticed about mud social
interactions is that at least once a week, I see players getting into
arguments of one kind or another, and then one or more parties refusing
to work it out. At the same time, I see long-time players struggling to
change their image and make friends but meeting resistence from players
who have already made up their minds.
Why does this happen? In part, I think, because mud relationships are a
strangely concentrated and filtered form of relationships. You often
learn about people in small ways, from minor revelations of attitude
and personality. You can interact with someone, in a group or simply
hanging out, for hours, and still know less than you might learn in
five minutes with them face-to-face.
At the same time, we often see people to extremes -- they speak loudest
in triumphs, failures, joy, and anger. Since regular mud interaction
can take on such a muted tone, these extremes are even more striking.
We can't tell their tone of voice, or the look in their eyes, and the
subtleties that give so much meaning, are lost.
When I compare mud interactions with real life, I wonder if we would be
so quick to anger with each other, so quick to judge and discard, so
unwilling to forgive, so unrecognizing of honest attempts to change.
This holiday season, I encourage each of you to think about how easy it
can be to give the wrong impression online, and consider a change in
your own life. Whether it means an apology or forgiveness, another
chance or a resolution for change, do what you can to learn from the
past, but be willing to leave it behind.
Love to all,
\ |------------------------------------------------------------------| /
/__| UPCOMING CALENDAR OF EVENTS |__\
[All times are system time unless otherwise specified]
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Saturday, December 5, 7:00 pm - Championship Trivia: Round 8 of 12
Tuesday, December 8, 7:00 pm - Newbie Orientation by the NPH
Thursday, December 10, 7:00 pm - Q & A in OOC Auditorium
Subject: Immortal Applications
Tuesday, December 15, 7:00 pm - Newbie Orientation by the NPH
Thursday, December 17, 7:00 pm - Q & A in OOC Auditorium
Tuesday, December 22, 7:00 pm - Newbie Orientation by the NPH
Friday, December 25 Merry Christmas!
\ |------------------------------------------------------------------| /
/__| NEWS AND REPORTS |__\
/ _ \ DID YOU KNOW: Tips and tricks and little-used features
/__/ \ \
/ / Did you know that there is a difference between weapons
/ / that can parry, and a +parry bonus? Parry bonuses show
/__/ up in status, while the armslore skill will tell you if a
__ weapon cannot be used to parry. All weapons can parry unless
/ \ a builder sets them to NO_PARRY.
Subject: Pepsi vss Coke
I have done a survey on which drink MUDers like more, I asked 40
people, and about 27 of them like coke over pepsi. By my opinion I
think they taste the same but anyway.
COKE HAS WON THE CHALLENGE!!!
Thanks to all who participated, have a good day!
LegendMUD Connection Analysis
November 1 1998 - November 30 1998
November Peak Mortal Players 74
The table below shows the Average Mortal Players connected to Legend by
hour of the day polled approximately on the hour system time during the
period noted above.
hour 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
avg 41 35 32 25 24 21 21 20 23 26 28 31
hour 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23
avg 34 36 38 43 43 44 45 48 48 51 45 43
o O | Wonder what folks are |
`\|||/ | doing over at LegendMUD?|
(o o) \________________________/
\ |------------------------------------------------------------------| /
/__| LEGENDITES: Information Regarding the People of Our World |__\
I, Adso the Librarian, am now working with Eretz, the President, to help
re to help revive the SAGES.
Anyone who is a former SAGE or wishes to find out more about them,
Let me know by mudmail or a tell.
--New RP Clan--
It has come to the attention of myself and my fellow Legend women that
Legend is in need of an all-girl group (and we're not talking like the
Spice Girls. ;P ). I have recently found out that I am to inherit the
Amazon Queen throne. I will be leading this along with a few of my
friends and recent aquaintences, and we will be organizing this for as
long as it lasts.
Here are the requirements:
You must be at least level 5.
You must be female.
You must have the eloquence skill already learned.
You must have a decent weapon, suitable armor, and useful
These are the things that you must do before you are in:
You must be have written proof of friendship of at least three
You must show good judgement, character, and good attitudes towards all
You must be presented in front of the Amazon Council, and if accepted,
you must take an oath of alliance and loyalty to the Amazons.
If you are interested in joining the Amazons, then please send me a mud
mail, and I will be happy to answer and questions you may have about
Cara Ivy Sovereign, Queen of the Amazons
This is NOT a official Legend clan yet. We are working on getting this
to be an RP clan, which is not a pkill clan.
Dragon Eyes : An Epic
The tall man enshrouded in a deep, midnight blue cape cringed
in obvious pain, but, despite the lubricating beads of blood, retained
his solid grip on the jewel-encrusted rapier. Sensing that the time was
well nigh, and the moon at its zenith, he executed a well-practiced
sword-dance, weaving the rapier in and out, up, round, and about,
lithely tracing archaic runes originating from the annals of
long-forgotten mage lore. The path of the rapier cut a visible swath
through the stratum, leaving in its wake an intricate pattern of
glowing blue runes, which shone against the night sky with an unnatural
yet strangely satisfying glitter.
Faster and faster he danced. His sword swipes became blurs as he moved
with feline grace. A beam of iridescent moonlight gradually faded into
existence, surrounding him and his magnificent rapier. At its blinding
climax, the beam shattered. Millions upon billions of light shards
were scattered. They fled not to the four corners of the earth, but
rather lay in piles on the soft turf, their energy for travel
exhausted, their motivation spent.
Though the true conglomeration of all color could be noticed in their
radiance, the sprinkles had a predominantly blue cast. Distributed
with regularity among the moon shards lay pieces of the magnificent
runes, which had also fractured. The shards pulsed with a dull
luminescence. They were but a remnant of their glory days. Despite
the magnificent light show to which the stranger was a witness, the
world remained enshrouded in night. The moon shards were the sole
evidence of the crime.
The man regarded his work, his masterpiece. His energy to stand
however, was as spent as that of the light. His dance done, his
mission completed, he slumped to the welcoming dew-capped layer of
grass, which gleamed in the night with a pale blue hue. The man sat
there, half asleep, awaiting his fate.
As he slowly, agonizingly fought encroaching slumber, the runes
crumbled and the night sky burst, light flowing from undiscovered nooks
and neglected crannies, this time elucidated by a piercing white and
yellow sunburst. The man stared into the cacophony as if transfixed.
The blessedly, unbearably brilliant light gradually faded, leaving what
one would normally call day in its absence. Those just awakening from
their unnatural slumber knew not the time of day. The man, the
catalyst of this great change, realized that the time would be forever
He was unprepared for the extent of the reaction, however. Expecting a
few rumblings from the Powers he openly defied, he was astonished at
the extent of their fury. He had expected their attention, but did not
expect it in full. He did not anticipate this unprecedented anger.
The sky rent on all six dimensional axes - not just the three that had
once been the maximum limit imposed by stagnant human pontification.
With the destruction of the hemisphere came the destruction of the
biosphere. The ground split in as many places as one could imagine.
Trees were rent from their lofty erches as the ground beneath them
betrayed the immemorial pact between dirt and trees. The end of the
world seemed imminent.
It was at this point the agonized individual, now clad in a cloak of
such multicolored variation as to draw all and no attention, realized
that his task would have to begin anew. He cried. Well, almost. He
was a man, and men dont cry. He whimpered, anyway, and dragged his
rear from its worn indentation amidst the bleeding ground.
Thus the stage is set. But many questions remain: Who is this
eccentric, cloaked man? What is his history? What will happen to the
world? These and other questions will be answered in future
publications of the Legend Times, as the mysterious stranger travels a
new, strange world, filled with chimerical creatures and fanciful
quests. He will traverse a world of legend, a world created by
malevolent Powers who have a taste for mythology and ancient lore - and
The Story of Tarn
The ordinary looking woman rested comfortably, watching the soothing
waves gently lap against the shore. Another year had passed, and it
was time for some reflection on her life.
She had no memory of her childhood, her earliest memory dated back to
about her 16th or 17th year. One of the nurses at the London hospital
had found her naked and battered body, almost dead, lying in a dark
alley. The nurse had taken pity on her, and had taken her in, until
she was fully recovered to health. Upon recovery, she could not
remember anything, not even her name. The nurse, Susan, had owned
several soothing landscapes, including a lovely picture of a crystal
clear mountain lake, and as the girl had found great comfort in the
picture, she had taken the name Tarn. Since Tarn had nowhere to go,
Susan offered continued accommodation to her, and even found her a job
at the hospital.
Some months after Tarn's recovery, they were walking home from the
hospital when Susan was attacked and left for dead. Tarn felt
completely helpless, she couldn't fight, she did not even know how to
bandage her friend, and was unable to do anything but watch her die.
After Susan's death, Tarn was grief-stricken, and found she could no
longer bear to work at the hospital, as there were too many reminders
of warm, generous Susan. Without work, she was unable to pay the
rent, and she found herself homeless and alone in London once again.
Equipped with only a small dagger, a canteen, and a light, she set out
to develop some fighting ability, but her dream was to eventually
become a doctor. If she had possessed a surgeon's skills, she may
have been able to heal her friend's injuries.
While resting in the inn one day, she met a blood smeared pirate and
her life changed. With Guybrush she travelled the world, he took her
to many places, even other times, and helped her to find the people
who could teach her the skills she sought. With Guybrush's help she
gained some battle ability, and became a fully qualified surgeon. It
was a fun time in her life, because he was fun to be with, and the
pirate taught her other, more intimate, things too.
There came a day when they had a silly quarrel, Tarn claimed she was
grown up now, and wanted more independence, she wanted to explore the
world on her own. Angrily, she set off on a voyage of discovery, and
shortly afterwards while she was on the other side of the world
exploring dreamtime Australia, the pirate was killed in a senseless
brawl with an Irish innkeeper. Following the death of Guybrush, Tarn
vowed not to get romantically involved with anyone again.
For the third time in her young life Tarn was alone and friendless.
In the years since then she had wandered the world, increasing her
fighting ability, healing other fighters, occasionally stumbling upon
grand quests, and her reputation for her surgical skills grew, as did
her knowledge of the world around her.
For a long time Tarn was afraid to make friends, as her friends always
seemed to die on her, but as her skills grew, so did her confidence
(although occasionally she is still surprised that people seem to like
her). Now she has found her place in the world, healing, fighting,
praising, helping others, and enjoying life with her friends.
The Falcon Inn
C . /\ . . .
O . / \ . .
W . / \ . . *
S . / \ . *
- . | (__) | . . . **
I . /| (oo) |\ **
N . / | /\/\ | \ . . *
- . / |=|==|=| \ . *
S . / | | | | \ .
P / USA | -||- |NASA \ .
A |______| -- |______| .
C . (__||__) . .
E . /_\ /_\ . .
. !!! !!! .
Though the first of the Bovine Astronauts,
he knew he was not the last......
by the gunslinger known as Mariachi
I been living a series of lies for about the past thirty years
or more. With the magicks in the world, I lost track of time, and of
how old I really am, but I do know that I was a youthful sixteen when I
left San Francisco for the first time, and that the year was then
called 1852. A lot has happened to me since then, but I'm more
concerned here with clearing up what happened before then, leading up
to me leaving.
1836, the seventeenth day of March, Gabrielle Deschain of San
Francisco, California, gived birth to a young boy. She called that boy
Roland, and her husband Steven gave the boy his own name as a middle
name. That was as exciting as my life got for the first few years.
Local priest said I had somethin off about me, something deep in the
eyes, though he wouldn't say if it were a good thing or not. Deputy
Sheriff by the name of Colin McAllister saw somethin in my eyes too.
He saw that them eyes of mine, with a steady hand, would one day strike
fear in men's hearts if that hand held a gun.
So I were seven years old when I picked up my dad's six-shooter.
He weren't much of a deadeye, and his hands trembled. He was a barman
by profession, pouring drinks and hearing men's sins. They trusted him
more'n a confessional for sure. Within a week, I was shootin' better'n
Pa, and within a month I were better'n my teacher, McAllister. Only
thing I'm ever been good at were shootin, and the listenin' my Pa
taught me to do. Least he taught me somethin, which is more'n lotsa
folk can say. Time I was about ten years, priest had figured out what
was wrong with me. Skewed sense of justice he said. Don' know what that
meant. I always just thought what's right is right, and what ain't,
ain't. Don't know what's so skewed bout that, but that's what he told
1849, I turned 13 years old, and the gold came to California.
You'd think no one ever seen a rock before the way they all rushed to
diggin in the hills like a bunch of children. Sad to say, Steven
Deschain fell victim to that lure hisself. Left home in late August,
and I didn't see him again for about a year. Only income we had at home
was mine from takin' his job at the tavern, but they didn't pay me so
much as they had paid Pa. That's what led my dear mother to take up
entertaining men for pay. I tolerated it, since I knew she were doing
it fer good, but it were a shame to see mother sellin herself to feed
my baby sister and me. One night, I couldn't take it no more. I had
become friendly with an ol' lady down the way, and she agreed to take
young Susan into her care when I asked. I said I had to leave, and my
mother too. She didn't ask no more, and that was probably best.
I got home to find mother's 'client' leavin my house. His face
didn't have time to register surprise. I don't think his ears had time
to register the sound of a gunshot, before he hit the dirt, dead.
Mother were upset at me. She tried to explain that he'd done no wrong,
she'd welcomed him. I knew that, I said. And that's why he weren't the
only one to disgrace her bed and my home that night. With a heavy
heart, I laid down the justice that had to be done. Then I walked into
the hills to find my father and teach him the way of things. Upon
arrivin' at his wee claim in the hills, I found him hardly conscious,
and not really knowing who I was. He thought I were an entertainer on
account of my guitar, and called me 'Mariachi'. Nothing more, just
'Mariachi' like that's all I was. That became my name. My pistol spoke
once more, and the Deschain family disappeared from this Earth
forever. I don't know where wee Susan is now or if she knows anything
of who her real family is. She was only four when this happened. Pa
ruined us by leaving, and it were gold that killed my family. Weren't
long before people in town would start to wonder about a whole family
plum vanishing, so I made myself scarce.
In the years since, I been back to home a few times, but no one
seem to recognize me. Guess Roland Steven Deschain is gone. Gone
forever, replaced by 'Mariachi'. Did hear that name once, a young kid
mad at his Pa called out 'Roland Deschain had the right idea' before
stormin' off. Poor man looked more hurt by that than angry. The kid
were only eight years old. I asked the feller bout that name. He looked
almost amused that I didn't know. 'Kid killed his whole family few
years back. Cold-blooded murder.' I asked if they knew what become of
him. 'Roland Deschain don't exist,' he said. 'He ain't real. Just a
And so I am.
A Long-Awaited Discovery
Early morning. The forest of Sherwood is filled with the
melodious sounds of nature: the birds singing happily, rabbits
bounding along, and people carrying too much money screaming at Will o'
the Green. Also the whistling of some ancient tune can be heard.
Along strolls an ancient old man, the source of the whistling.
He stops and greets Will, oblivious of passerby, and continues on his
way. Suddenly he falls flat on his face with a curse. Warily, he
stands back up and looks in the direction he tripped, nothing but a
clear road. So he starts whisting again, and with an agilitly
surprising for such an elder, he launches himself at absolutely nothing
in the road.
After wrestling with it, and almost pinning himself 3 times, he
finally stops and cries out in triumph. "I have it!" screams
TerrorSpawn, "After all this time I finally found my solid chunk of
A traveller, after finally getting through Will, stops and
decides to take a different route around the crazed, but seemingly
joyous, old man.
The Fallen One
Thunder crackles overhead, lightning splits the sky, only moments before
perfectly clear. Shouts and clamour can be heard, even in the quietest
of country roads. In the middle of some rural town, a stunning young man
falls from the sky and cracks his jaw on the pavement.
The End of Time, lounge of the gods.
A gold inlaid marble footret flys past the head of one man (god?
deity? eternal being?) as the sound of bones crunching is heard over
the noise of a loud and bloody fight. Sprawling figures, male, female,
and centuar are scattered on the floor, and a almost solid wave of
still able ones are swarmed on a single figure. A bloody and rather
brutal fight wages on, but the lax and lazy gods are not a match. Soon
even the last standing falls, leaving only a visibly agitated man with
a lank figure and dark blue hair standing. Cracking a smile of
malevolent glee, he slits the throat of the fallen one by one and sends
them hurdling into a chute marked 'Togas'.
As the last one clears, the sudden silence deafens. The last man sweeps
up the splinters of broken furniture, and seats himself on a unbroken
That didnt work quite as I thought, he muses silently to himself.
Fidgeting, he waits for something to happen. And keeps waiting.
Throwing back his chair, he begins pacing across the floor, muttering
over and over about vikings.
How to Make a Barbarian Cry
It was all Chante''s idea, honestly. But what fun we had...
There's me, in Tika's, with Chante' and Urg hanging around. Out
of the blue, Chante' turns on me and says, angrily, 'You really should
stop flirting with Urg like that. He's taken, ya know.'
I caught on, knowing Chante' so well as I did. 'I know, and I
love Windy too, she's a dear friend, but, well, you know him.
He's tough to resist.' Urg hadn't been payin' attention, and missed the
mention of his name, which only made this better.
'Well, I don't care. He's not yours, and you can't have him, so
let it go.' She almost looked mad.
'I understand, Chante', and it makes it harder. But that's the
way I feel. I'm surprised no one noticed yet besides you."
"Um," Urg said. "What's goin' on?"
"Well, I noticed, and it stops now..." Chante' muttered a word
that I shall not repeat here. Very unladylike of her. I gasped, and
reacted as anyone would, with a swift slap to her face. She punched me
Launching myself at Chante' I pulled on her hair and scratched
at her face, all the while laughing inwardly. I could tell Chante' was
laughing as well, as she flipped me over her back barbarically, and
pinned me to the ground.
"Should we be doin' somethin?" Urg mused, to Ice, who'd just
walked in the room. Ice giggled at what he was seeing.
"Nah, looks like a good catfight to me." He hunkered himself
down and broke out some popcorn. Urg blinked at us, and whimpered
slightly. He still had no idea why we were fighting.
I flipped Chante' up off of me onto her back, and dashed to the
bar. I noticed Tika duck underneath as I picked up a stool and threw it
across the bar where it crashed mightily into the wall over Chante's head.
"Um, girls? Can we stop this? What's this about?" Urg stammered.
"This is about this tramp trying to steal you from my friend!"
"Tramp, am I?" I hollered. I put my head down and charged at
Chante', knocking her over.
"Um, guys?" Urg wondered again. He was starting to worry. All
the more amusing to us.
"Leave them be," Ice said. "Long as there's no weapons
involved, this is harmless."
Almost on cue, Chante' drew her staff, and made to smash me in
the head with it. Like a flash, my mighty crystal sword was out, and I
was charging her again. Urg shrieked. "Stop this!" He cried. He fled
the scene. Chante' followed. By now, a good number of people were taken
in by our ruse, and we kept it up a little further. Yelling across the
town of Tara, we goaded and baited each other, until we met again at
I walked toward her, and a snarl crossed her lips. Chante''s
husband had arrived, and Urg was whimpering helplessly to him. Talon
looked up at us lazily, and said 'What're you fighting about?" Chante'
blinked and turned to him.
A slight smile crossed my lips as I asked the same. "There's a
Urg stared back and forth between the two of us, smiling and
hugging each other, back to normal. "What's going on here?" he
screamed, crying, and ran off into the darkness. A day or so later, we
finally saw him again, and summed up what was going on. Amused as
usual, we explained we just wanted to see him whimper, the big galoot.
He stalked off into the darkness angrily...
For two days we thought he was honestly mad at us. We were so
Turns out, he was messing back. Big oafs that we are, we fell
worse than he had. Gotta love a crying barbarian, though.
Legendary Times is published by the immortals of LegendMUD. Please send all
replies, additions, or corrections to our address at email@example.com for
inclusion in the next edition. We, however, reserve the right to moderate
this discussion, and may object to some submissions.