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VOLUME FIVE, ISSUE THIRTY-FOUR                          December 22nd, 1998
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                             TABLE OF CONTENTS

           -                The Editor's Note                     -
           -           Upcoming Calendar of Events                -

                                 ARTICLES
           -                The Immortal Report                   - 
           -              Terror's Helpful Hints                  -

                                LEGENDITES
           -               Dragon Eyes : An Epic                  -
           -                  Hannah's story                      -  
           -         ENTER THE SADISTIC PROVOCATEUSE              -
           -                The Perils of War                     -
           -        Calliope & Herb finally get married           -  
           -                Solange's Journal                     -
           -                     Escape!                          -
           -           Gwendolyn and Her Magic Ball               -  

___                                                                    ___
\  |------------------------------------------------------------------|  /
/__|                         EDITOR'S NOTE                            |__\
   '------------------------------------------------------------------'


Hello All,

I'm writing to you all from 10,000 feet over the Dakotas, as I fly
from my home in Chicago to my home in Oregon. I'm looking forward to
the holidays, both with my family as well as with my online friends. I
hope you're all enjoying the holidays too, and I wish you all a merry
holiday season and a happy new year.

For some reason this week's LT reminds me of those much-maligned
Christmas letters which have becomes something of a tradition in the
United States. I hope you will find this one far more enjoyable --
we have no reports of Uncle Bob's colon surgery, and no details about
Aunt Louise and what she did with her bingo winnings last week, but this
issue is chock full of news and reports from some very talented writers
who we are priveleged to have as part of our diverse playerbase.

The next LT will feature a theme of 'New Year's Resolutions' -- as we
sweep into 1999, I hope you'll all consider writing down your own list
of goals for the coming new year. These resolutions can be IC or OOC,
humorous or serious. Whether you resolve to not jump into any more DTs,
to figure out that difficult quest, to write for the LT more often
(grin), or just to be nicer to your sister when she picks up the phone
while you're mudding...I'd love to see them all, and print the best ones.

                                       Love to all,
                                       LadyAce

___                                                                    ___
\  |------------------------------------------------------------------|  /
/__|                    UPCOMING CALENDAR OF EVENTS                   |__\
   '------------------------------------------------------------------'

         [All times are system time unless otherwise specified]

           _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _        _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
           _*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_December_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

Tuesday,  December 22, 7:00 pm  - Newbie Orientation by the NPH
Friday,   December 25                  Merry Christmas!
Thursday, December 31, 7:00 pm  - Q & A in the OOC Auditorium 

     <-^-><-^-><-^-><-^-><-^->January<-^-><-^-><-^-><-^-><-^->

Friday,    January  1             Happy New Year
                                  Immortal Applications Due  
Thursday,  January  7, 7:00 pm  - Q & A in the OOC Auditorium 
Thursday,  January 14, 7:00 pm  - Q & A in the OOC Auditorium 
Thursday,  January 21, 7:00 pm  - Q & A in the OOC Auditorium 

___                                                                    ___
\  |------------------------------------------------------------------|  /
/__|                          NEWS AND REPORTS                        |__\
   '------------------------------------------------------------------'


                      /*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\

                            The Immortal Report

ADMIN:
As a whole the Admin Department has been working on a way to speed up the
process of description request approvals; handling player requests for
descriptions, archivals and unarchivals, character deletions; updating the
help files and enforcing the rules.

BUILDING:
The Building Department is making progress on the Crusades, Alaska, an
expansion to Tortuga, and a revision to Tudor England and has been fixing
lots of minor problems across all the areas.

CODING:
The Coding Department has been busy fixing bugs, even some new ones
they've created! They've been paring down the existing bug list and
working to improve stability.

PLAYER RELATIONS:
The Player Relations Department has been busy with requests for strings,
restrings and registering descriptions. They've also been working to
foster role playing and have been working on new ways to entertain people!




                      /*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\

                          Terror's Helpful Hints

                 Hints to leveling fast when in xp holes.
 
1. Make many friends and get to know them.
 
2. Save xp rooms when in xp holes.
 
3. Don't die. 

4. Don't kill mobs that give you only a little xp, lower lvls need these
mobs more.


                    Hints to Making friends in Legend

1. Be friendly

2. Always be kind to your fellow MUDer.


                      /*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\



             ________________________
            /                        \
        o O | Wonder what folks are   |
  `\|||/    | doing over at LegendMUD?|
   (o o)    \________________________/
ooO_(_)_Ooo________________________________________________________________
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___                                                                    ___
\  |------------------------------------------------------------------|  /
/__|    LEGENDITES: Information Regarding the People of Our World     |__\
   '------------------------------------------------------------------'


                           Dragon Eyes : An Epic
                                Chapter 1

Missed the captivating prologue?  Email Drako at gmdrako@usa.net and politely request it.  ;)

	He yanked the dilapidated cloak from his muscular frame. {Pitiful
thing,} he thought, regarding the worn, tattered, and shredded green
woodsman's cloak.  Leaving the cloth on the ground to rot, the cloakless
man continued his trek.  Ever since the Shatterstorm, things had just
not been right.  His once magnificent cloak, for one.  It used to be the
envy of all who saw it.  Each day of travel, however, brought a lessening
of its variegated luster, until the cloak was naught but a worn hunk of
heavy cloth, unfit for the lowliest peasant.  He only kept it because
it represented his toils. . .

* * *

"Chop faster!"

"I can't, sir.  I just can't," he replied pathetically. "It's too cold."

"You must, or you will never succeed in life."	With a sigh of
resignation: "Here.  Take this cloak.  It will warm you." 

Yeah right, thought he.  Taking the cloak from his master's hand, he
proceeded to wrap it about his quivering body. Warmth instantly coursed
through his limbs, almost unnaturally. He found that his previously numb
hands could wield the axe with ease.  He chopped many cords of lumber
in that short hour.

His master was proud.  "I think you should keep that cloak. It seems to
serve you better than me."

"Thank you sir."

* * *

The man, being the only human nearby, did not cry for help, nor was
help needed.  This is what all that practice was for.  All that axe
swinging yielded rewards.  The wight grasped at his sword, slitting its
already mutilated hands, and managed to hinder the sword's arc, to the
hand's great disdain.  He kept hacking and hacking, just as his master
had taught him.  

Soon the wight lay crippled on the ground, twitching
spasmodically in a pool of its own blood.  Feeling dirty and defiled,
the man fled the area.	He sped straight to the first haven available: a
small copse of fir trees.  

Although not knowing why, the trees granted him solace.  He attained
an inner peace amidst the greenery that protected him from harm.
His well-trained senses detected silence.  Too much silence.  Not a
creature stirred.  Even the birds avoided chirping.  

He glanced around him just in time to see the massive hamfist connect
with his face.  Dazed, confused, disoriented, he stumbled to meet
his attacker.  A blur in his vision kept the assailant's face hidden.
The hamfist, however, was quite visible;  especially since it was again
right in front of his face.  More silence.  He stood again.

This time he noticed he was on the other side of the forest.  Apparently
the last blow had placed quite a distance between the two.  As his
mental faculties returned, he realized his true danger.  The massive
ogre advanced rapidly.

He reached for his sword only to find it missing.  A furtive search
rendered no weapon.  The hamfist again descended.  This time, mildly
prepared for the attack, he dodged.  The first fist, anyway.  The second
connected with his back, smack on his cloak.  

"Aarrgghh!"  screamed the ogre, cradling its hand to its chest.  The ogre
departed the scene, a never-before seen phenomenon.  Clashes with ogres
always result in death, and not the ogre's.

Still standing in the same spot he was when the ogre struck his back,
the man watched the monster's retreat.It was strange: he had not even
felt the ogre's lunge. He pulled off his cloak and noticed that it was
undamaged, also a curiosity.

Acting on a hunch, the man retrieved his sword, which he found to be
back on the other end of the copse, and thrust it through his cloak -
or tried to.  The cloak had other ideas altogether.  Apparently his
master's cloak was a greater gift than he had known.  It offered not
only warmth, but impenetrable (so he surmised) protection.

* * *

Hmmmmm.  Maybe I should keep it.  And he did.  Retracing his steps, he
found the cloak lying on the ground where he had left it.  He picked it
up and once again wrapped it around his body.  The cloak still brought
warmth, though far from a necessity in midsummer, but had long since
abandoned its protective attributes.

He trudged on, all the time pondering the ramifications of this new,
strange world.	It seemed to him that the world was now only one third of
the size that it had been before the Storm.  He could not understand why.
As far as he knew, matter still could not be destroyed, even by the gods.
It had to be somewhere.

Well, wherever it is, it is certainly not here, he thought, and continued
his hike.  The day long trek eventually brought him atop a small
mountain range.  So small, in fact, that it was actually a hill range.
However, it was enough.  From this vantage point he surveyed the land.
A wisp of smoke, most likely from a forge fire, attracted his attention,
and his footsteps.

By nightfall, he was in a small town.  A sign on the inward bound road
designated the town Tara.  He quickly located the inn, which was marked
by a few dead twigs, painted silver, hanging over its door.  Haggling for
a room with the innkeeper, Aengus, got him nowhere, so he just settled
for the 100 coin a night rate, and went downstairs for a bit of supper,
a spot of tea, and some crumpets.  

He found the mutton to be hearty, if a bit overcooked, but was unable
to locate any tea or crumpets.  What manner of establishment is this?
he wondered.  He wanted a little action and considered hitting on the
barmaid, but something in her stance warned him against it.  He retired
to his room, removed his boots and went to sleep.

What will tomorrow bring?  Who the heck is this guy?  Where is the rest
of the world?  Don't expect to find the answers in tomorrow morning's
newspaper.  These juicy secrets will only be revealed in future chapters,
to be published in the LT.

Drako

                       <><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

                              Hannah's story.

"I am Hannah Easton Fitch Legge and this is my story.

  "I was born in Massachusetts by Rebecca and Edward Easton,
my father died when I was still an infant, my mother disappeared six
years later and I was raised my Mr. and Mrs. Fitch, puritans to the core,
in Salem.

  "When I was 21 a handsome young sailor, with an eyepatch and
many fantastic stories, came to town in search of a wife. And I left
for England with my new husband, Gabriel Legge, a month later.

  "After two years my husband took me to India where we lived an
isolated, but bearable life for some years before Gabriel was killed as
the pirate he had become. I fled together with my native maid servant,
Bhagmati, and found myself in a fortress of Jadav Singh, The Lion of
Devgad. And I fell in love for the first and only time. I became his
concubine, his yellow haired Salem Bibi. Just as my husband had had his
Indian Bibi, and kept her and their children a secret from me.

  "The fortress however was under attack and Aurangzeb, the
great Mughal was determined to take over The Lion of Devgad's lands. The
fortress fell but Jadav, fled taking me with him and on the way to his
stronghold in the mountains we were set upon by an ambush, my lover
was injured badly and I was taken prisoner by Aurangzeb's general but
I managed to kill him with one strike from the jeweled dagger which my
lover had given me and we could go on to the stronhold.

  "In the stronghold Jadav rapidly became worse and within two
days he had died and his mother, filled with hatred of Aurangzeb wanted
to go on fighting, while I implored her to negotiate peace.  She did
not listen so I stole away in the middle of the night and sought out
Aurangzeb's headquarters. He was an old man, but when he saw me and heard
my story he was much impressed and sent me a magnificent pearl necklace.

"I could not refuse it as that would have been a deadly insult so
I promised to wear it always, and it was a very beautiful necklace.
No Queen had ever worn its equal. I wear it always.

  "The next time he called for me I begged him to stop the war, but
he said he was an old man, and there was nothing he didn't already have
but the power, and here he showed me the most perfect diamond I have
ever seen and calling me Precious-as-Pearls told me that it was called
The Emperor's Tear, for truly it is not easy nor pleasurable to be lone
emperor, but the rewards are great."

  "And that is the story of my name, Precious-as-Pearl."

                       <><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

                     ENTER THE SADISTIC PROVOCATEUSE
                             Lilian McGinty

    The old timber door was opened slowly from the outside, the eerie
squealing of its hinges shattering the near silence of the Inn's interior.
The patrons of the Golden Dragon Inn held their breath, wondering
who, or what, would be crazy enough to venture out into the furious
storm that had been battering the countryside for the last few hours.
Lightning raked fiery nails across the sky, briefly illuminating the
slight figure in the doorway,  its passage marked moments later with
several booming claps of thunder.

     The newcomer closed the door, stepping into the dimly lit room.
Conversation ceased and all eyes turned towards the entryway, in a vain
effort to gauge the stranger's identity.  Outside the storm continued
to rage, its  howling wind rattling the door in a frenzy as if it, too,
sought entry.  The stranger hesitated momentarily before turning towards
the innkeeper.

    "A room, if you please," the stranger demanded in a husky, yet
obviously feminine voice.  The innkeeper nodded and raised his eyes
to catch a glimpse of the woman's face.  She raised her gloved hand,
pushing back the hood that had concealed her features for the better
part of a day's journeying, and in the same movement, flicked the right
hand side of her cloak back over her shoulder.   Her mouth twisted in wry
amusement at the all-too-familiar expression of lust that spread slowly
across his face; the carmine flush that crept gradually up his throat;
the repeated licking of his suddenly dehydrated lips, as his eyes drank
in the lushness of her figure.

Oh how she enjoyed this.   She stepped a little closer, knowing how the
exotic fragrance she was wearing would heighten the flames of his already
well-stoked desire.  He stood as if mesmerised, eyes greedily absorbing
every tiny movement she made.  Licking her lips invitingly, she threw
him a teasing smile, his eyes never leaving her face, and therefore not
noticing the direction in which her right hand was gradually moving.

     He returned her smile, his feverish gaze settling once more on her
face.  Feet suddenly possessing a mind of their own, he unconsciously
moved towards her.  At his approach, she smiled, as if to welcome him.
He reached for her ... a small grunt of surprise and pain escaping his
lips at the extremely sharp point of the weapon she now pressed against
his inner thigh.  Leaning forward so that her lips slightly brushed
his ear, she whispered again in her honeyed voice, "A ... room ...
if....you....please......," punctuating each word with another jab of
her weapon.  The proprietor, finding himself unable to speak, turned a
ghostlike face towards one of the serving wenches lounging by the bar,
the panic in his face alerting her to the urgency of the situation.

     Perspiration beading his brow, he panted, "Show
mistress.....mistress......"

     "Lilian," she interjected, the flickering flames of the nearby fire
revealing cold, dark eyes, now alight with contempt.

     "....mistress.....Lilian," he whimpers, "to.......a......room....."

     The serving wench nodded, eyes wide, and motioned for the
leather-clad woman to follow her.  Chuckling quietly, Lilian placed a
tender kiss on the lips of the man before her, simultaneously removing
her weapon and slowly drawing its sharp point across the thin material
of his trousers.

     "Good boy," she murmured and flipped him a gold coin, the loud
clinking it made as it hit the floor once again causing a hush in
conversation.

     The proprietor stood rooted to the spot, staring in horrified
disbelief at her retreating figure.  A loud belch from one of his
patrons awakened him from his stupor and, after bending to retrieve the
gold coin from the dirt-stained floor, he headed back towards the bar,
pouring himself a stiff drink.  A very beautiful woman, he thought to
himself with a small smile.  Very beautiful indeed.....certainly she had
a magnificent figure, and the way that red leather suit moulded itself
to her form!  Her face ... the face of an angel...with eyes like...

     He shivered as a chill finger of fear tickled its way along his
spine.  He didn't want to remember those eyes. In fact, he thought
he'd sleep late in the morning.....one of his servants could deal with
her instead.

Tilting his head back, he opened his mouth wide, hastily gulping down
the last of the strong liquor in his glass before retreating to his
private quarters.


                       <><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

                            The Perils of War

She ran through the streets blindly.. weaving, twisting  Sometimes the
gunshots would fade behind her, at other times get closer.  Panting,
heaving, she paused.  Leaning against the wall, one hand supporting
her slight frame and dizzied head bent almost to her knees, she heard
them coming. Clomp, clomp, stomp, stomp; clomp, clomp, stomp, stomp.
The smell and taste of gunpowder got stronger.  A bullet pinged off a
wall not far away.  She ran again.

Farther, faster.. Still the marching grew louder.  There was no hope
of survival at the hands of the soldiers.  They had killed the Queen,
and she had been German by birth.  It won't matter that I'm German,
that I'm only here to study.  They'll kill me along with everyone else.
Slaughter was the sole thing on the minds of those swarming Belgium. Her
studies had been cut short when word reached them.  She'd left behind
a beautiful illuminated manuscript and had been running ever since.

She'd keep running if she had her way.  The gunshots subsided and the
boots receded.  She was able to slow her pace for a time, make her plans.
Then, there arose a great shout, then a tremendous blast, as if all
the firearms in Belgium had been discharged as one.  The silence
was deafening, and broken only by the sound of a single soul crying.
Another gunshot, alone this time, and the baby too had been silenced.

Standing, with her hand pressed to her mouth, and tears in her eyes,
they caught her.

The figure cowled in white had only seconds to duck, before the shots were
fired; only moments after to save the fragile life bleeding in her arms
when the soldiers receded.  Her magic wouldn't protect her much longer,
and as daylight approached she grew weaker.  The hood gathered back by a
slender, white hand, revealed features as fine and delicate as porcelain.
She gathered the woman into her arms, and bending forward whispered
gently into her ear.  "You will survive."

"On August 25 the burning of Louvain began. The medieval city on
the road from Liege to Brussels was renowned for its University and
incomparable Library, founded in 1426, . . . the Library included among
its 230,000 volumes a unique collection of 750 medieval manuscripts and
over a thousand incunabula [books printed before 1501 AD]. 

The facade of the Town Hall, called a "jewel of Gothic art," was a stone
tapestry of carved knights and saints and ladies, lavish even of its
kind. In the church of St. Pierre were altar panels by Dierik Bouts and
other Flemish masters. The burning and sack of Louvain, accompanied by
the invariable shooting of civilians, lasted six days . . ." 

"In Brussels the Rector of the University, Monseigneur de Becker,
whose rescue was arranged by the Americans, described the burning of
the Library. Nothing was left of it; all was in ashes. When he came to
the word 'library' -- bibliotheque -- he could not say it. He stopped,
tried again, uttered the first s!  yllable, "La bib-" and unable to
 go on, bowed his head on the table, and wept. . . ."

The pale figure - torn and bloodied shirt barely covering her small
frame, barely showing the newly healed scar from the gunshot - slept.
The basement was cold, dark, and empty. Upon reaching consciousness,
she would huddle in a corner, shaking, for three days.  Only when hunger
would drive her blind with need, and rage would sear the madness from
her haunted eyes - only then would she see the rose.  She would leave it
behind, but never forget it.  The single white blossom, lying silently
in a pool of blood.

                       <><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

                   Calliope & Herb finally get married

I have lived through many lifetimes, waiting for the joyful day when
my dearest friend & adopted sister, Calliope, would finally marry her
one true love, Herb. They had been engaged for ages it seemed, and I
was beginning to worry that they would never manage to make it to the
altar. Their love for each other was so true & pure, but their time
together as of late was limited...

Then today, Calliope sends word to me to meet her at the French beach, the
place where Herb first proposed to her. So I rush to meet her, not knowing
for certain what was going on, but figuring it was something important. I
see the two of them together, they smile at me, and kiss each other.
Calliope is glowing with happiness, and I ask her "what's going on?"
Calliope joyfully tells me, " we're getting married!"   "when!?" I ask and
she replies with "Now!"  My eyes bright up with this news.. and I cheer...
now, we just had to wait for the person performing the ceremony to come...

Several minutes went by, and they still hadn't shown. It looked like
they were too tied up to perform the ceremony. It looked like once
again.. the marriage would have to wait.... the disappointed look on
my sisters face, nearly broke my heart,  So, I offered to perform the
ceremonies myself... I had had enough experience from past lives to have
an idea what to do.. but that's a different story....

It was just the 3 of us, and of course, God smiling down upon them,
they looked lovingly into each other eyes and repeated their vows, both
were obviously a bit nervous.. but it was so heart warming to see and
hear the love they felt for each other, pledging their lives and hearts
to one another and to god. It brought tears to my eyes as they kissed
for the first time as husband and wife. I hope their life together now,
remains as happy and loving as it was tonight, when they were wed.

- Amecia BloodRose


                       <><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

                            Solange's Journal


	Solange wrote swiftly, filling the pages before her with
flowing black script. At the bottom of the page she paused, signed her
name, dropped her pen, and sighed.  It was very late, and the lantern on
her desk flickered in the draft from the nearby window.  Her eyes were
heavy with sleep, but she fought off the temptation to doze, knowing
that it would only bring nightmares.  Instead, she closed the book in
which she had been writing, bound it with a white silk ribbon, and set
it aside for the morning mail.	It would be sent to France in the care
of her housekeeper and friend, to take its place in the family library
with its predecessors.

	She could not remember how many journals she had filled over
the years, nor when she decided to make them part of the Saint-Cyr
library. The one thing she could remember, oh so clearly, was when and
why she had begun writing this way, so many years ago.	It had begun as a
harmless diversion for a very young child, whose father sought to spare
her the grief of her mother's death.  Solange recalled being told that
her mother had gone on a trip, and would not be back for a long time.
Solange had been concerned that her mother would miss her, and began to
share with her father "stories for Maman" - things she wanted her father
to write to her mother.  Looking back, the elder Solange realized that
this must have been torment for her father, who missed his wife very
much. Even in his grief, however, he could not bear to hurt his little
girl. He agreed to help her write her stories, but they would be kept
in a book, as a collection of letters.

	Months went by, and every evening, she and her father would sit
before the fire composing a letter to Maman.  Solange eventually learned
how to write and read, and took over the task for herself.  Her father
made himself available to assist with spelling or grammar at first,
but gradually left her to write in private. She never told him of the
discovery she made a few years later - the grave in the woods with
her mother's name - but continued to write and ask for new journals as
she filled the old. The habit had become a comfort, as her father had
intended, and helped them both deal with their grief.

	Even now, the journals are sent to France for storage only
because Solange does not know what else to do with them. She does not
care if they are ever read again. They are, after all, only the stories
of her life, and hardly important to the world in general. The secret
hope she keeps in her heart is that someday, if the priests are right,
she can tell her stories to her Maman in person.


                       <><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

                                 Escape!

From the desk of Professor Harris, department of anthropology:

Recently my collegues and I aquired a fine speciman of prehistoric
warriors, his body entombed in the ice of a glacier. We studied this
man determining that he was from a time near 40,000BC. As the unfreezing
process progressed, the speciman began to recover from his sub-zero coma.
This speciman, a breakthrough in prehistoric study and an invaluable tool
for learning escaped from our laboratories. He showed incredible strength,
and a very limited form of speech in the few moments we
had to observe him.

I ask that in the name of science, everyone aids in the search for this
creature. He is disorientated, lost, and very unpredictable, but has
strong instincts for survival.

We at the lab called him 'speciman LS-405', but during his escape, the
word 'Splerk' was said by him repeatedly. If you see 'Splerk' please
report his whereabout to the authorities.

-Professor Harris

                       <><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

                       Gwendolyn and Her Magic baLL

Recently i visited the carnival that travels around Legend...While there,
I went into Madame Zeena's tent to have my fortune told.  Madame Zeena
became very excited when she saw me because she said that my aura was
incredibly storng.  She read my palm and she said that i had the mark
of someone who could tell the future.  Well, this sure was news to me
seeing as i've never had any sort of premonition or the like in my life.

I told Madame Zeena this and she said that the "mark" does not lie and
that my skills hadn't been properly used, thus the reason for my lack
of psychic abilities.  She said that all i needed was a guide of some
sort to help me on my way to discovering all of my psychic powers.

She then said that she would be back and disappeared behind a curtain.
Wh When she re=emerged, she was holding a small, black ball with the
number 8 painted on the side.  Shes said that this was to be my "guide"..

Whenever someone asked me for advice, I was to direct the question to the
ball, and it would reveal the answer to me.  During all of htis, I was
thiniknig that this woman was a complete nutcase and that i needed to get
out of there as soon as possible.  

Sensing my skeptisicm, she gave the ball to me and told me to read the
fortune for the next person that came into the tent.  Just then, a young
man came in seeking answeres to the future.  He asked some questions
about the woman he was to marry, I directed them to the magic ball, and
to my incredible surprise, words began to form on the bottom of the ball!

Baffled, I answered the questions and every answer i gave was true.
The man left completely happy and promised to tell all of his friends
about us.  Madame Zeena smiled at me and told me to be on my way, but
also informed me that my gift was to b be used to help, not hinder and
that it wasn't to be abused.

I hugged her and promised that I would treat the powers with respect.

I left the tent, ready to use my new found gift to help people.

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Legendary Times is published by the immortals of LegendMUD. Please send all
replies, additions, or corrections to our address at lt@mud.sig.net for
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