............./ / THE LEGENDARY TIMES
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....../ /_____/__/__../ \_\ /./ /__../ /.../ /./ /_/ /
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..../ /_/..\______/./_____/./__/.../__/./_______/ MUD
.../________________/ running on mud.legendmud.org 9999
VOLUME EIGHT, NUMBER TWENTY-THREE October 26, 2001
TABLE OF CONTENTS
NEWS, REPORTS, UPDATES
Q & A Topics
Walking in the Modern Wasteland
A Conquerors Choice
The Loss of Faith
The Quest for Inner Peace Continues
\ |----------------------------------------------------------------------| /
/__| News, Reports, and Updates! |__\
/\ RECENT UPDATES
/ \ CODE UPDATES
| | Bug Fixes
| | o Greater elementals now properly check the charmy limit
|__| HELP FILE UPDATES
/ \ The following helpfiles were recently added or updated!
/_ _\ General Info
| | ------------
| | abbreviations, banking, buglotto, drunkenness, furniture,
| | immort, mark, prize machine, redeem
/\ Spells Info
/ \ ------------
/ \ firestorm
| | Thank you to all the players & imms who assisted in this update!
| | AREA UPDATES
/\ If you want to suggest specific improvements or new additions
/ \ to existing areas please don't hesitate to submit them with
/ \ the idea/bug/typo commands or drop mudmail to the builder
/_ _\ currently responsible for the area (check areainfo to find
| | out!)
| | Viceroyal Peru: Andes
|__| Fixes some errors in resets -- some of the stuff was
/\ going to ancient not medieval
/ \ 1802 Alaska, Aboriginal Dreamtime, Port of London,
/_ _\ Melbourne, Shadowlands, and Sherwood
| | Various minor bug and typo fixes.
| | In Progress Area Updates
/\ This section is intended to let everyone know what builders
/ \ are working on behind the scenes. It is not a perfect record
/ \ of progress as all builders will not make updates every week.
/_ _\ Players badgering builders about progress or a perceived lack
| | thereof will be flogged. Remember, the longer spent answering
| | questions, the longer the project takes to complete.
|__| Straussy R.M.S. Titanic
_______ ____ _______
/ ___ \ / __ \ / ___ \ Logs of Q&A sessions are available on the
| / \ | \ \/ / | / \ | web pages for those who are unable to attend
| | | | \ / | \___/ | or had to leave early. The most recent ones
| | | | / \/\ | ___ | are listed on the sitemap page or you can
| | /\| | / /\ / | / \ | get a complete list on the Q&A index page
| \_\ \ | \ \/ \ | \ / | at the url below.
\___\/_/ \__/\/ \_/ \_|
o Gagchannel Bug Fixed? o Deathtraps & Bad Recalls?
o Areas In Progress? o Channel for AA's?
o Commands for Big Groups? o Single Quote for Say?
o Upcoming Code Projects? o Unimped Spells?
o Wall Spells? o Deathtraps That Defy Logic?
o Why Delays On All Skills? o More on Gagchannel
o Different Imms - Different Answers? o Balm, Create, and PK
o O | Wonder what folks are |
`\|||/ | doing over at LegendMUD?|
(o o) \________________________/
\ |------------------------------------------------------------------| /
/__| LEGENDITES: Information Regarding the People of Our World |__\
Emrysia has reached 100 million experience!
Scream has reached 100 million experience!
Herbert has reached Lvl 50 yet again, hopefully for the last time.
The Guardians of Justice have been disbanded by Ganymede.
There are currently 20 RP clans and 9 PK clans in the game, leaving 3 slots
for new clans to form. For more information about clans, check the clans
Spider has been my best bud for only a few months now. It all started when I
was stumbling through the dark crypts in St. Denis Abbey, when a horde of
large fuzzy spiders attacked me. I detested putting them out of their
eight-legged misery, but they intended to kill me!
Moving along my way, I heard a faint little squeaking. The sound wasn't like
a rat, or any other kind of rodent, so it caught my attention. I peered
about (which was quite difficult considering the midnight darkness and only
an orb of light to guide my way) and there, trapped behind a wall of
spiderwebs was a little spider (well, quite little compared to the aggressive
arachnids) about the size of my palm.
Upon first viewing it, the spider appeared to be normal... fuzzy...
intsy-wintsy... eight legs... and what?? Two eyes!? Spiders are supposed to
have eight eyes, at least that's what the schoolbooks say. Those two
scared-looking eyes peered up at me and appeared to be saying <save me!>
Having a soft heart and sensing no present danger, I dug through the thick
wall of web with my bare fingers. The spider immediately hopped onto my
shoulder, as if it belonged there, squeaking madly. For some odd reason, I
understood what spider was saying to me, through all those rushed squeaks.
This is Spider's Story...
<Squeak squeeak, squick squee,. Squick squeak, squikie squeak.
Squeek squack squeee! Squick squeak squeek squieeakie squieak squieick,
squak squeek. Squeak, squick, squiee squickie squee squick squeck. Squeak!
Lachie's Translated Version...
<<One time, bad Leggies took me. I not same. They no like. Two eyes me.
Trap in strong web. Bad Leggies! Scared bad! Long time go by. Nice big
eyed lady kill bad Leggies. Save me. Yay!
The End >>
We have been inseparable since on our many adventures.
Lachie + Spider = Best Buds ferever!
Walking in the Modern Wasteland - by Dr. Herbert West
The battlefields have been drawn and the bloodshed has created the most
exciting atmosphere in a long time. These devil worshipers and their
insidious leader are defying the Irish republicans at every opportunity.
This is nothing incredibly new to some of us, especially those of us who have
had any intimate dealings with Lilian or her gang of thugs and ruffians
So how can those of us not actively in duty benefit from this difference in
With my research often taking me to dangerous places and experiencing
dangerous things, I have been using these battles as a way to study combat
psychology and the effects of adrenaline on those in battle. The interesting
thing about a corpse after battle is that the traces of adrenaline still
slipping through the veins gives the re-animated flesh a wonderful strength
never found in the naturally dead.
So as I walk this chaotic wasteland of death, I find myself in several
interesting predicaments -- one of which of course is my previous
relationship with the dark lord's favoured one, which of course causes rather
more arguments than I would like. So as is typical in the battle frenzied she
ordered me slain, which like the dutiful lackey he is....Devlin most
dutifully attempted to accommodate her.
Unfortunately for him, with my mind on other more important matters, I was
more concerned with my own survival and so I waited the hunter out, and when
he caught up with me several members of the Irish Republican Army decided
they would help an old comrade out.
A curious situation for me to be certain, as I awoke after a rather vicious
headbutt to see five new combatants come to my rescue.
With all my arcane knowledge knocking nicely about in my dazed mind, I
decided to summon hellfire upon poor Lilian who died moments later. Now this
is a deplorable act of cowardice to be sure, and I might regret it if I had
more of a conscience for these things, but knowledge is still quite the
powerful tool and I seek more of it before I choose a side to join in this
And so for now I wander the modern wastelands, simply striving to survive in
these frightful times, 'til I am ready for battle once more.
A Conqueror's Choice
The darkness seemed to be imposing on the convocation of mystics within the
circle. The circle of trees, one of each sacred type, stretched towards the
heavens and seemed to embrace the moon at its pinnacle in the night sky.
Within the circle, a ring of men, each wearing dark brown robes and a pair of
antlers upon his head, stood waiting for the master. A wizened old man
wearing a dark green robe embroidered with silver approaches the circle.
Behind the arch-druid is a tall, muscular man. Only his gray hair, tied into
a topknot that flows behind him in the wind, shows his age. His face is lined
with tattoos of strange runes and his arms are heavily corded with muscles.
His gray beard is neatly trimmed and his look is somber.
The newcomer walks to the center of the circle and kneels before the
arch-druid. The circle of men begins to hum and chant in low tones that echo
throughout the forest.
"Tonight you make a choice. This is a prediction and a judge of your future
path." The arch-druid looks down at the stranger and looks for a sign of
acceptance. There is no sign of movement and the arch-druid smiles. The first
test has been passed.
"Now rise and address the convocation. Tell us who you are and what you
seek." The stranger rises and stares straight ahead and at nothing at the
same time. He boldly states in a booming voice, "My birth name is Conan son
of Dunn. Most know me as the Conqueror, the Pict, and the derivation of my
name, Nanok. What I seek is a path that leads within." With that, Nanok falls
silent. The convocation stops singing and the arch-druid stares at him
seeking some sign of wavering or doubt.
Seeing none, the arch-druid nods and reaches into his robe. He pulls out
three items. One is a wand tipped with a crescent moon and hung with raven
feathers. The second is a metal amulet of intertwined serpents. The final
object is a plain, unadorned stave. He kneels and places each item on the
ground and then rises.
"You may choose one item. Feel free to handle each in order to gain an
understanding of its true spirit. When you have made your choice, rise and
state the reason for your choice." When the arch-druid finishes his
statement, Nanok kneels and begins his examination with his eyes first.
Several minutes pass as he stares blankly at the objects.
Finally he reaches out and touches the serpent medallion. As his fingers
touch the medallion he pauses and stares at it. Briskly shaking his head he
removes his hand and moves to the stave.
He picks it up and tosses it lightly in his hands to get a feel of the
weight. Closing his eyes he grasps the stave tightly and listens. He hears
the sounds of summer, of birds, and of animals. He opens his eyes and looks
down at the staves. With a sad look on his face he gently places the stave
back upon the ground.
Finally he moves to the wand. He crouches before it and ponders it for a
short time. Carefully he reaches out and pokes it with a single finger.
When there is no effect he picks it up carefully. No effect. Nanok grasps
the wand tightly and listens with his eyes closed. In his mind he hears the
sound of war. Screams of the dying echo in his ears and pictures of battle
run through his thoughts. Above the battlefield a spirit-raven cackles in
On the hill side across the field of battle, a small band of men dressed much
like the druids within the circle stand and watch. The druid in the lead
raises one arm and there is a boom like thunder. A flaming streak makes its
way across the sky and lands in the center of the battlefield erupting in an
explosion of dirt and gore. The small band of druids are suddenly hovering
above the smoldering crater. They look out around them at the men who have
stopped fighting. The leader looks around and yells, "You feed the Morrigan
with blood! This is not the way! Cease your battle and return home! "
Nanok opens his eyes with a start and wipes the sweat that has beaded upon
his forehead. Glancing at the other two items and then back at the wand in
his hand he nods to himself and stands. "I have made my decision."
"Why have you chosen the wand?" inquired the arch-druid.
"The medallion gave me a feeling of something far more powerful and far more
ancient than myself. It did not seem to be an object that reflects what I
seek properly. The stave gave me a sense of peace and tranquility. While it
is a tempting thought, I am not as old as to give in to the ways of a farmer
yet. The wand gave me no sensation until I looked within."
He pauses and seems to be troubled with an inner thought. "I saw a battle
that I was involved in long ago...only it did not end the same way. I looked
about but could not find myself. There were druids and one of them stopped
the battle." He pauses with his voice caught in his throat.
"Why did you choose it, my son?"
"I...I think that druid was me. When I was in the battle before, it ended and
only a few other scattered Picts and I survived the Roman horde.... I didn't
choose this wand....it chose me." Nanok's normally strong voice is now
cracking and he seems barely able to talk.
"Conan son of Dunn...Nanok, you are correct. Items of such power are not
chosen but instead do the choosing. The wand you have chosen is the Morrigan
Stave of Influence. With it you are able to bend the wills of others. You may
use it like the warriors in your vision...to conquer, or you could use it
like the druids in your vision...to bring peace. The Item has chosen you.
Your path has been set. The druids lend you their full support and we wish
you well." With that the arch-druid and all the others disappear in a swirl
of mist. Nanok is left standing in the circle of trees all alone and still
quite frightened. He spins around looking for a sign that what took place
really happened, but can find none....
...and he awakens with a start. Everything seems to have been a dream, though
his heart told him otherwise. He stands and gathers his things to begin his
travels again. Finally reaching for his large Oaken staff that he carved, he
notices a change to it. On the top is a crescent moon hung with Raven
The Loss of Faith
I am not numbered among the rebels. Their failings were more explicable.
Ah, to fall from His arms into the arms of a woman, what better excuse? For
me, that came later. And what of Shemyaza? Of Azazel? Of pride? My failing
was less dramatic, lacking the clash of weapons...and the melding of bodies.
No, lust was not my sin, nor pride. I lost my faith.
How like love is faith. It slips away, and until it is gone, you do not
notice its passing.
On a day like any other day, it all rang false. The beauty was false, His
hand on my brow, false; all false.
And the screams of the damned? What had my tears ever done for them? His
Voice a comfort to me, soothing; but for them, nothing.
If it was for this that my kin and I gathered our handfuls of dust, then
perhaps Azrael, in returning empty-handed, was the wisest amongst us.
But I make excuses. Those were not the reasons. There were no reasons.
Turning my back on it all, I, too, fell into the arms of a Lady, kin to me in
those millennia past. She had become a Queen over her own dominion. It was
she who gathered me up. Yet, she is lost, as I am lost.
Three years in the desert with a prophet. All I learnt was that he'd found
what I'd lost - the sweet, succulent fruit of faith. There's a sweet little
tale of a Messiah and the Devil in the desert. Was that what I was, all
unknowing? Little wonder that Jibra'il was sent to clean up after me. Yet
that was never my intention.
My intention, then, is to find what I lost so long ago. Or failing that, to
distract myself from the loss. It shouldn't be too difficult - I have all the
time in the world.
The Quest for Inner Peace Continues
The years have passed slowly for Dias, 50 long years away from the land he
grew to manhood in. The land of mortals has changed him in ways that he never
thought possible, rearranging all he once believed to be set in stone. When
it all began for him he saw himself as superior to the humans, he was trained
to kill, and no human could live through what he had, or so he thought.
The years have humbled Dias somewhat, though they've done little to cool his
flashing temper and cocky attitude. The trail has not been an easy one for
Dias by any means.
Upon first arriving the sentient calls of Nightfang were almost too much for
him to fight and he leaned slowly towards evil, his induction into the Dark
Lord's service caused many problems, creating a temporary feud between
Trinity, Tancred, and himself which was promptly handled by Trinity, the
human magic-user who gave Dias his first taste of human power.
Humbled by the experience with Trinity, Dias sought a new and greater
opponent as he soon overcame Trinity by surprise, setting his sights on a
fighter he had heard much about. Jelly seemed like the perfect target and
soon enough the two met on the field of battle. Once more Dias was humbled by
the strength a human could posses as Jelly defeated him time and again.
The years wore on and the rivalry between the two turned into a friendship
that just continued to grow with each fight. But then a sad twist of fate hit
them both as Dias was indeed made a member of the Dark Enforcers, who are at
war with IRA. Jelly and Dias once more strapped on their blades and met on
the field of battle, constantly after one another.
The war wittled on yet the friendship between the two grew no weaker. Time
seemed to pass even slower for Dias without his close friend and he found
himself looking for someone new to spend his time with, the form that person
would come in surprises him to this day. The sun hung high over Tara that day
as Dias wandered through the Dun, testing himself against the likes of Rhys
and Donncadd, sons of Cian.
He came across a young witch also testing herself against the younger
warriors of the Dun. Her long curly brown hair and violet eyes captivated him
at first glance and despite his quiet demeanor he couldn't help but offer to
take her with him and give her a few pointers on fighting.
Fortunately enough for him she accepted, and introduced herself as the young
witch from Orkney, Devi. Manners forgotten, all Dias could do was scuffle his
feet around in the dirt as his cheeks reddened, barely able to speak a word.
The day was long and hard for Dias, trying his best to help this wondrous
angel he had been allowed a glance of.
After all his hard work it finally paid off as news of Devi's advancement was
heard around the world. With a smile of delight she leaned up and kissed him
-- it was all that was needed for the quiet young warrior, his heart leapt
from his chest to rest in her hands. Dias and Devi spent much time together
afterwards, having a few fights...but what lovers do not? They were but minor
squabbles in the eyes of these two lovestruck youths.
Dias soon fell on hard times though, and several times he found himself
embraced in the hands of death, killed while resting within the days sun with
Devi or while sleeping within his clan hall after a long night of fighting.
The anger coursing through Dias at the cowardly way his enemies were now
forced to do things forced Devi away from him for a time as he became even
more entrenched in the call of his dagger, the evil within him finally coming
out if only for a short time.
As the war between IRA and DE became more intense because of Dias constantly
chasing after Goin'Fission and Rinoa, and the other DE members constant
badgering of the way IRA handled things, Dias found himself in a tight spot
-- often the only member of DE around and surrounded by members of IRA,
knowing only that he was safe from Jelly and Siirous, old friends of Devi and
But one day it became to much for him as Herra, Goin'Fission, JamaciaMan
Rinoa and Stain found him within the Royal Stag, proceeding to take turns
backstabbing and bashing him to the ground, their weapons quickly wearing
away at his attire until he could now longer stay. Running far from his crowd
of enemies, Dias awaited the time to come so that he could abandon his clan
and sever all ties to this war.
Finally out of the world of PK, Dias found himself once more able to control
his urges and found he missed Devi immensely. Sometimes he would wait hours
for her in the same spots, not moving until she would come to him. Now the
two have decided that as soon as they can become no more experienced in
protecting themselves they will marry, and though Dias hates in his heart to
do this to his love he has decided he will return to the world of PK, perhaps
not with his old clanmates but return he shall.
The path to this day has been long and uncertain, who knows what else
the future may bring.
Legendary Times is published by the immortals of LegendMUD. Please send
all replies, additions, or corrections to our address at [email protected]
for inclusion in the next edition. We, however, reserve the right to
moderate this discussion, and may object to some submissions.