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VOLUME EIGHT, ISSUE FOUR                                  February 26, 2001

                           TABLE OF CONTENTS

                           Calendar of Events
                       NEWS, REPORTS, & UPDATES
                          Gangwars PK Tourney
	              The Rebirth of Tybalt Capulet
                         From the SWAT Transcripts
                       Zafira's Social Introduction
                    Hooo ta speeek wike gwajeff makdunkan
                       Dashiva, Dashiva, and Dashiva


___                                                                        ___
\  |----------------------------------------------------------------------|  /
/__|  LegendMUD Calendar of Events                                        |__\

          [All times are system time unless otherwise specified]

         {}-{}-{}-{}-{}-{}-{}-{}-{} March {}-{}-{}-{}-{}-{}-{}-{}

       Thursday,  March  1st,            Immortal Applications Due
                               7:00 pm   Q & A in the OOC Auditorium
       Saturday,  March  3rd,  1:00 pm   March Madness Tinyplot
                               2:00 pm   PK Tourney, Gangwars Format
       Tuesday,   March  6th,  6:00 pm   Zaba's PK Discussion
       Thursday,  March  8th,  7:00 pm   Q & A in the OOC Auditorium
       Sunday,    March 11th,  7:00 pm   Trivia

___                                                                        ___
\  |----------------------------------------------------------------------|  /
/__|  News, Reports, and Updates!                                         |__\

  Immortal Applications are due on the 1st of March to the department heads!

                          Gangwars PK Tourney

The first ever Gangwars were held on Saturday in Pittsburgh. The Ghosthawks
emerged as initial leaders with six kills to their name, followed by the
Michigan Militia, which accumulated four. The Drunks and two nameless gangs
also made strong showings. The next conflict is slated for Saturday at 2 pm
-- be there!

          /                        \
      o O | Wonder what folks are   |
 `\|||/   | doing over at LegendMUD?|
 (o o)    \________________________/

  ___                                                                  ___
  \ |------------------------------------------------------------------| /
  /__|  LEGENDITES: Information Regarding the People of Our World     |__\


                Gareth has reached 100 million experience!

              SWAT Team Clan was formed by Viniko on February 16.


	              The Rebirth of Tybalt Capulet

As Romeo's blade pierced his body, Tybalt Capulet felt a sharp stab of
agony. Funny, he never thought that being run though would hurt so much.
Falling to the ground unable to catch his breath he know his wound was mortal.
In the final moments of his life he realized he had no regrets but one...being
defeated in a duel by this a member of the Montague family, his mortal
enemies. He had a last moment of joy when he realized that his family would
surly take the life of Romeo in return.

The light was blinding as he felt his body lose its weight. Then suddenly he
was cast into pitch blackness. He could not see nor hear anything. It was as
if all his senses were deadened. He only had a moment to wonder why heaven
was so dark before he awoke.

Sitting up he looked around. This was surly the strangest place he had ever
seen. He saw a plain wooden table. Something that appeared to be a mailbox
sitting in the corner and another box labeled lost and found. The sign on the
door read 'Agrabah Camel Inn'. Taking a moment to orient himself he stood up
and a large man began talking to him.

'I see you are new here. Perhaps you should look at the paper you carry. It
might answer some of your questions. My name is Asabi. I can offer you room
and board for a small price.'

It took Tybalt a moment to realize what had happened. So he had not died to
Romeos blade. Although he must have been horribly wounded to have been taken
so far away from his home without ever regaining consciousness. 'A curse upon
the house of Montague!' he screamed. He realized that it may him take a
lifetime to find a way back to his home.

On that very spot he vowed to rise in power and take control of this strange
land. When he returned to his homeland, he would have an army of these
strange warriors following him ready to crush the house of Montague.

Knowing he had much to learn of this strange land he set out in search of
someone to teach him. He would find many people to fight by his side. And
before he came into power he would ride the coattails of those that were.



Gazing across the land, his eyes fell upon the shoreline below him...All
those waves, always trying to catch just a bit more of the land. In a way, he
felt a bit like a wave. Not that he was transparent or wet or anything, but
as if he were trying to achieve a goal again and again and again, though not
really succeeding all that much. Well, he admitted to himself, he was a
little transparent, at least in his claws. His? He wasn't certain whether this
body was really his, or he borrowed it from someone. Suddenly the ground
below him started to shake. It seemed that finally, Fraegis was awake.
Fraegis or God or whatever he was certainly didn't have a bright morning
smile. His eyes were a little glazed from sleep still, and it would be a
while before they were back to their usual fish-like awareness. 'Morning,
Peter,' Fraegis said.

He just muttered. Some True God indeed. Somehow, Fraegis could never remember
to create some food before he went to sleep, in order for Peter to be able to
enjoy a solid breakfast when waking up.

'Right, I forgot your breakfast again,' Fraegis said in a surprisingly 
ashamed tone of voice. 'Here, have some fresh wheat, my friend.'
Suddenly he was very awake. Cheese was ok, he guessed, but when it comes to 
a good breakfast, nothing beats fresh wheat! His joy turned to suspicion, 
though, when Fraegis reached for something in his pocket. Maybe Peter 
wasn't the most curious mouse, but he was quite sure he had already checked 
all of Fraegis' pockets for food, and found nothing. Fraegis withdrew his 
hand, and with a broad smile he held out his palm before Peter. Jumping 
onto the waiting hand, Peter looked wearily at the fleece already there.
'Go ahead, Peter, I know how much you like wheat.' Not sure whether to cry 
or laugh, Peter slowly walked to the fleece and started eating. 

'Ouch,' he thought. 'My stomach is gonna hate me later on.'

'You know what I have decided, Peter?'

'No, and I really don't care either, you sick and weird man,' Peter 
thought. But, being a quite polite mouse, he said, 'No, tell me?'

'Now that I have walked these lands for a while, I think I am beginning to
understand the people here.'

Peter almost laughed out loud. Of course there is a first for everything, but
Fraegis understanding something would almost be as unlikely as to see a
normal human suddenly gathering an aura of Godhood around him.

Still being the polite little mouse, Peter managed to ask 'What is it you
understand?' without giggling too much. Fraegis was, despite being a very
confused and sick man, also a very gentle and kind man, and the little grey
mouse had no intentions of hurting his friend.

'Well, I have seen how little religion really means to most, and how much it
really means to the fanatics. And I think I am a little to blame for that. If
I had shown myself more in the last millenia, I think much would have been
different. Now I can just hope that it is not too late, and try to change
things,' Fraegis said.

Peter couldn't help but to smile a little. Despite being poor and lonely,
Fraegis first concern was still others. Suddenly remembering that Fraegis
probably was as hungry as he was, he pushed half the fleece toward Fraegis'
other hand.

'Why thank you, Peter, I didn't know you knew that I liked wheat,' Fraegis

Muttering a few more, gentle, curses at his friend, Peter finished his meal.
Fleece was, after all, better than starving to death.

'So now, I think I will shed my human form, and take on a more suitable 
form for my purpose,' Fraegis continued while nibbling at his fleece.

'Oh, you gonna be, like, this huuuge man with eyes of flame and a booming
voice and all?' Peter asked with only a tiny bit of sarcasm.

'Of course not, I am not here to hurt anyone. Not many, anyway,' Fraegis
answered. 'But in order to bring hope to the Faithful, I need to be able to
prove I am the True God. But my appearance will stay the same, I think. I
rather like this shape. So all in all, only minor changes, and your pocket
will still be there, I promise. Is that ok with you?'

'Sure,' Peter replied, a little amused. 'As long as you feed me wheat, you
won't get rid of me.'

'My will be done,' Fraegis stated suddenly, while gazing into the sky.  Peter
was a little amazed, as this statement was uttered at the exact same time as
a large group of turtles crawled out of the sea onto the beach.

Fraegis started off towards the turtles, and Peter's mouth was already
watering at the thought of the delicious soup they would be having tonight.
But to his surprise, Fraegis didn't grab a turtle or two. Instead he looked
at them, seemingly waiting for something. Peter almost fainted when the
turtles started singing. The sound was indescribable -- a song without words,
most of all like a humming. A strange blue light started flickering around
Fraegis. Giggling hysterically at it all, Peter watched the turtles closely.
One never knew if singing turtles didn't have a fondness for rodent-meat.

The blue glow got stronger, and settled around Fraegis like an aura,
shimmering softly in the breeze.

'Now we are ready, my friend,' Fraegis said to Peter as the turtles slowly
went back into the ocean.

Peter could only nod, for once not having a polite response.


                         From the SWAT Transcripts

The following is an eyewitness account of an incident in Pittsburgh:

"Well, it started about 7 am. We received a strange call from a man
threatening to commit suicide. At first, we reasoned that the job was better
suited for shrinks, but routine procedures required that we investigate."

Viniko sighs deeply.

"Unfortunately, upon arrival to the call, we found not one dead, but four
dead. Apparently, our suicidal caller had turned against his fellow
co-workers who were attempting to calm him."

"The caller moved to higher grounds within the office building, but our team
pursued him cautiously. Upon noticing one of our agents, he lashed out
violently; he cursed, screamed and sprayed bullets at us."

"We realized that his temper is endangering more lives.  There was only one
choice of action, and it was taken quickly and swiftly to prevent further
casualties.  Luckily, only a few in my team were hurt and the total lost of
lives were halted at five.  Ladies and gentlemen, I remind you that crime
doesn't pay...."


                       Zafira's Social Introduction

At first I refused to believe that my mother was dead. She was far too strong
and resilient to die. I had been denying it all the time that she was dying.
Was it illness that left her emaciated and weak, unable to rise from bed?
Impossible. She who had fled the harem she had been imprisoned in, and
crossed the Pyrenees when six months pregnant would never waste away from
illness. Was it a demon possession that made her rant unintelligibly while
her eyes burned fever-bright? Impossible. She who had raised a daughter alone
while searching desperately for the child's father would give no refuge to a
demon. Was it poison that ate away her organs and finally stopped her heart?
Impossible. The woman who lived in exile in the English court, cleverly
managing to stay aloof of petty disputes and conspiracies would never fall
prey to poison.

Yet dead she was. Despite the guards assertions to the contrary, I knew she
had been murdered. The court had no place for me, the illegitimate daughter
of an exiled concubine. I buried my old court dresses and my old life with my
mothers corpse. Wearing borrowed armor and a cast-off sword, I left, ready to
cut my own mark on the world. On my life, I vow to find mother's murderers
and avenge her death.


                Hooo ta speeek wike gwajeff makdunkan
                   Wittnn biii gwajeff makdunkan

Hiiii. Miii naaam iz gwajeff makdunkan. Peopws fink dat is tawk funnee. Deys
jus noo unnestan. Sos is wiiit dis diktionarrreee fo da peopws dat kant
unnestan wen is saain somefin.

Heeeerrr wee goo.

Gwajeff makdunkan dis iz mee, siwwee!

Wikes dis iz wen gwajeff fink somefin is goo.

Goo dis iz wen gwajeff wikes somefin.

Deemun dis issa wittlll wed fing, wike geowg. Geowg issa deeemun, hes haff
biiiig teef anna fowkd taaal.

Fiiiiir yous maak da fiiir wiffa match. Gwajeff hassa majik werd tooo.

Kanneee  gwajeff wikes ta eet da kannee! Iz goo annits sweettt. Mommeee no
wikes wen is eeet wotsa kanneee. Missrrrr mathel gimmee kannee aneewaaa.

Koookee gwajeff wikes da chokola chippp kookeees. Gwajeff wikes da peenutbutrrr
kookees tooo.

Majiks gwajeff studdeee da majiks, wikes mommeee an gwamuh an couzys.

Couzy peopws dats weelatddd ta gwajeff makdunkan, bu no mommeee rrr daddeee rrr
gwampuh rrr gwammuh rrr anteee. Is haffa couzy mutjaaaa an kalamrrr an
iiieeesshaaa an wotsa ovvrrs.

Pantseses wat yous waaar onn yous weggs.

Fwen peopws dat gwajeff wikes. Fo instans, missrrrr mathel issa fwen. Sooozeee
issa nuver fwen. Sos veekatta an awwehandrrroo an mkdooogan an wozaleeeennn.
Timme issa boyeefwen, hes diffwent.

Baff dis iz wen yous sit inna tubb an was yousef. Gwajeff no wikes da baff, it

Napp dis iz wen yous gota bedd an sweep. Gwajeff no wikes da napp eeverr, it ik

Ik wen somefin iz no goo. Gwajeff no wikes somefin, it ik.

Dat iz aww fo toodaa. Maabee is wiiiit nuvrrr diktionaarreee sumtiiim.


                    Dashiva, Dashiva, and Dashiva
                           (by Dashiva)

Dashiva was born in Medieval Germany around 1150 AD -- not to say he stayed
around there long. His parents, looking for a new and better life, moved to
Translyania, in Romania.

His father was a humble crafter of wood and metal, very passionate and
skilled with his work, though only those with a trained eye could spot his
craftsmanship. After braving the dread rumors of vampires and other such
undead things (who would believe that, right?) he was quickly shipped off to
a small settlement outside of Vlad's castle. His father found work furnishing
small bits and things for measly sums, but which did feed the family. His
mother was just a simple seamstress, picking up small bits of yarn and odds
and ends to sew pretty things in her free time to make their small apartment
above a cramped smithy much brighter.

Dashiva of course, was just a small boy at this time, carefree of the horrors
of real life, his only problems were how was he going to catch this clever
frog, or keep fireflies glowing into the night. Unknowingly though, his
troubles got much much worse...

    'Dashiva!, you brat, get back here this instant ya'hear!?'

    'Aye mom! I will, I promise!' Dashiva yelled over his shoulder as he
dashed down a small woodland path to a local pond. Clutched in his left hand
was a container ready to hold his new prey.

After spending most the day frolicking in the water, getting his shoes muddy,
Dashiva trudged back to his small house, grasping to his chest a slimy
creature with which he planned mischief on his poor mother. He bounded around
a bend, furiously swinging a small branch fending off invisible foes with
sharp thrusts and parries.

Suddenly a loud bellow echoed off the trees around him, coming in the general
direction of his house. Dropping his jar in fright, stick forgotten, Dashiva
raced down the path. Hurtling over a small bush, he suddenly found himself
staring at the clouds, bright flashes of light and pain streaking through his
head. Lifting his head weakly, he saw his father slash the throat of a man
with a hand saw, a tool of his art now an object of death. Spotting another
man quietly sneaking up behind his father, Dashiva tried to call out a
warning, but the only noise was a small squeak.

The man stabbed his father multiple times in the back, cutting him open
before he could turn. Watching his father collapse in a heap, the last image
in his eyes before losing consciousness was his mother being savaged by these
men, wearing the red and black tabards of his king...

'Ahhhhh!' I let out a sharp cry when needles of light stabbed into my eyes. I
quickly rolled over and looked away.

'Git up!' a gruff raspy voice said, accompanied by a sharp kick in my ribs.

'Mmfpt,' I moaned slightly through dry cracked lips.

Suddenly a cold splash of water hit me, square in the back. 'Ye stink, et
this befer I make you.'

A small wooden bowl was thrust into my hands. Peering down at this gruel, I
spotted some hard crusty bread. The cell door slammed shut, presuming I was
in a cell, what with the guards, cold stone floor, and metal doors. I set
upon my food with a ravenous hunger as if I hadn't ate in days, which I
probably hadn't. Suddenly the memory of my parents being brutally murdered in
front of my eyes hit me. The images hit me like a physical blow. With a small
moan I sat there, and sobbed quietly to myself, with no one to comfort me, no
one left who loved me. I was alone.

Sometime later, after crying myself asleep, I found an extra bucket of water
for keeping myself clean. I quickly washed the stink of this horrid prison
from me, but to no avail it was in my clothes, and would not go away.  A
sharp click and the sound of a rusty tumbler in a lock resounded off the
walls, looking up I spotted another guard coming to bring me my food. He eyed
me warily, but didn't say anything.

When he bent down and set my food tray down on the floor, and stood up to go,
something in me broke, flashing images of my life, my family, the small cabin
I used to live in, the smell of my mother's cakes cooking, the smile of my
father's creased face. All these sped across my vision like a small
blizzard.  I felt someone else take control of me, a hissing voice like that
of a serpent reached my ears, it was my voice, it was me, and with deft skill
not born to me I snatched up a small wooden fork and leapt at the guards
back. Somehow my hands were guided to his spine, the exact location to
paralyze him. Snarling angrily with the face of a small boy, I plunged the
fork deep, and I felt spine give way. The guard dropped quickly without a
sound. My feet stepped over him and out of my cell of there own accord. With
no control, just sitting back for the ride, my small 15-year-old body swept
down the cold castle hallways like a wind of death. I heard a voice,
realizing it was my own again, I understood what I was saying.

"I'll kill them all, blood..yes sweet sweet blood," I said to myself, licking
my cracked lips. I watched in horror as I stole up on another guard, and
watched my very own hands grip his chin and slash his neck viciously.

I lost count of the people I killed that night, or should I say the other me,
during the time span that "we" tried to escape, he constantly talked, my own
lips, my own hands.

Finally we reached a small side door, where the servants come in and out
unnoticed. I slipped into the darkness, became part of it, and left the
castle grounds. Finding my way in the darkness I stumbled toward my small
cottage, trying to stifle cries of pain as sharp needles and pine cones cut
my tender feet. The other me retreated, back into my head. I could feel him
there watching, waiting to unleash more violence....for what I don't know.

I saw a bright orange glow in the forest ahead of me, thinking it was a fire
at my house, forgetting that I saw my parents murdered, I ran for it, with
the hopes of a small boy. I burst into the clearing and a raging inferno
nearly singed my eyebrows off. I stumbled to my knees, and glanced about in
dismay as my home was licked up in the flames. I saw my mother's body, still
lying on the ground.

Again something in me broke, a small part of me separated itself, became
distant, apart. It took control, and suddenly I felt this growing pain of
compassion, I saw what I had become, a killer. Tears streaming down my dirty
face. I dug my mother's grave right there, next to the same spot where we had
eaten a picnic not 3 days before. Heart torn and stricken, I had forgiven all
those men that I had killed, forgiven the men who had killed my mother and my
father, when a cold wave of anger seemed to ripple through me.

    "No, you were right in killing them, yesssssbathe in their pain, feel

    "No!" another voice answered. "They do not know what they were doing."

    "But it felt good to kill them? Didn't it? You want to do it again don't

    " I ..I don't.." I mumbled weakly.

    " do." He cackled madly in the back of my head, I could feel him
    taunting me, what I had become, him.

The other me, the one that had forgiven all those people, also watched,
waited, kept a wary eye on the other me. I sat there in the back of my own
mind, wondering what I had become. Where did these people come from, what did
they want? I just wanted my old life back, my family. But it was gone now;
all I had were these two. Feeling bloodlust again I sat up, realizing he had
control again. And we set off into the dark prepared to take vengeance on the
world. The old me forgotten, the fire behind me blazed out of control,
outlining my small frame in shadows against the trees like a small demon.

"What's happened to me -- what have I become?" I asked the two inside me.


Legendary Times is published by the immortals of LegendMUD. Please send
all replies, additions, or corrections to our address at [email protected]
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