Who's Who?

thanks for the drink Mr. wojit, tastes exelent. Can you say from what it is?

<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: bilbo_baggins on 2001-08-10 08:41 ]</font>

 

Sir James, Well Met!
Be warned that the good Wojit is known to play the occasional joke on his betters. It would perhaps be prudent to allow me to serve you a different beverage. Whiskey perhaps? I understand it's all the rage with technologists these days. Were you involved with the great gunpowder conspiracy by any chance? I have been looking to fill several gaps in my knowledge concerning the event.

 

Thanks for the warning Sir Stephenson, i shall remember it. A whiskey would'nt hurt and i a'm known for my liking for beverages. And the Gunpowder conspiracy? I'm also trying to find informtion about it, maybe we can join forces and try to solve the case together

 

A strange looking orcish gentleman enters the room. His well cut suit looks quite out of place on his bulging muscular frame. But oddest of all are the many scars that cross his face and hands, all stitched up like he had undergone many surgical procedures.

"Ow doo ladeez an gentellmen, ize iz me, dat iz ta say ize iz Deathlock a man ov menny partz. Sum ov yooz may tink dat ize iz not too smart but yooze wud beez rong! Ize knowz lotz ov tingz, meez iz an expertz on 'istory. By dat ize dursn't meeanz der namez ov all daz kingeez an queeneez an da daytz ov all da big fightz, noze, ize iz an expertz in da livin 'istory, a walkin ensiklopedika ov 'ooman an orciz factz."

"Fer egzampul lookz at dis 'and , dis is da verry 'and dat da great orciz laber leeder, Bogram da Black, razed in protezt durin da Boil Bread riots ov '44, jus befor da mownted poleez cut dem ta peeces wid der sabrez. Diz eye wonce belong ta Boriz Snugbotter, finezt hot rivetter in da Trumpwick Shipyardz, and diz eer belong to Harrick Fiddlebottom, a long servin weel tapper in Brackroot Rail Cumpn'y, nevver didz a choo-choo runz wiv a broken weel wen 'ee wuz on duty!"

"An diz!, diz! yoo'l like diz won!" he says excitedly as he rapidly removes his left boot, then takes off a sorry looking garment that is more darns and patches than original sock. "See diz toe, diz is der very toe dat big cheef Umbrat used ta kick da Stillwater Giant rite up da playce wer der sun dursn't shine!,....err ize 'av washes it since mindz you...

"Ooh! an annnuvver one..",

Deathlock rapidly unhitches his belt and drops his pants to his knees.

"See diz cheek, not dat one der left one, diz verry cheek wonce sat on da thone ov......."

Deathlock looked around disappointedly at the now empty room.

"Wer didz evryb'ddy go......."


_________________
Deathlock

50th Level Half-Orc Frankenstein Monster Techno-Mage

Diz ard t'be da g'd gy when nobuddy luvs you :sad:

<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Deathlock on 2001-09-11 10:51 ]</font>

 

Dear lord man, save that sort of thing for when we've all had a little more brandy! Tell me, are you available for parties? My wife's throwing some society gathering on the 16th of next month: all tight corsets and tighter skulls. But she *insists* that I attend. You might be just the guest I need to get me to the gentleman's club in time for a couple hands...

But I get ahead of myself. Allow me to introduce myself to you, and to any other brave sould who might be wandering in right now: The name's Edgar Piedmont, of the council. Industrialist by trade, gambler and adventurer when the tedium of upper class life gets to be too much; which is quite often I'm afraid. One makes his fortune so he'll have plenty of liesure time, than realises he has to spend it with the most vapid and dull people ever put on Arcanum. Bah!

Anyway, this good fellow behind me is my bodyguard Gurk: more keen at smashing skulls than witty reparte, but he's a good sort and nearly housebroken.

-Edgar Piedmont
Gnomish Industrial Council

<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Zarathustra on 2001-09-26 08:14 ]</font>

 

I think for now it would be best to go without my true name, Master Sedgewick. You may call me Nah'gora.
As for adventure, would it interest you to know that I have traveled far beyond the realms of this contintent? I have set foot upon the legendary shores of Aragan itself, seen its great emperor and its ancient splendor, greater almost than that of the dwarves in architecture, and the elves in mystery. I have sailed beyond the edge of the world and beyond, to a place of ancient and terrifying magicks, where a word misspronounced is as likely to kill the caster as achieve its desired effect, where the ancient gods are still quite alive, and far removed from the docile, hands-off gods of Tarant and Caladon, Cumbria and the Glimmering. It is a place of mystery, and a place of death.
It is only because of a healthy attidute towards deference and an unremarkable appearence that I managed to return, if not unscathed, then at least not dead, from the lands of the Emperor.
But before I begin it is important that you learn something about me. I was not born to wealth, nor to poverty, as so many in our time are. I was the child of an innkeeper, and we always had plenty, though we were not rich. When I heard tell of the ancient land of Cumbria, I could not resist- naive as I was, I thought it would be greater than my own beloved Ashbury. WHen I arrived there, full of awe and wonder at the towering castle, the marvelous statues, even the barbaric Pit, I was moved. So moved that I foolishly offered my services as a, well, a pack-mule I suppose one would call it in the blunter establishments, but for here I will call it a day laborer, for an expedition to a mysterious continent hence only sighted through an ancient, crumbling portal in the Glimmering Forest, near to what I suppose we must now once again call the Vendigroth Empire.
TO make a long story short, we set out through the portal, and found ourselves in Hell. It can only be called that- thousands of screaming, wildly gesturing people combined with a very cramped space to make it a kind of sonic blast to the ears of my party, which had been camping in the eery silence of the northern Glimmering Forest. To describe the din, I can only say this; imagine a street fair in Tarant. Now, imagine that same street fair, except with a large number of howling wolves, three, no four, armies of dwarves smashing their shields to bits in enthusiasm with their maces, and the clucking and cawing of thousands of chickens and birds. Needless to say, our arrival was quite unexpected. Apart from the difference in clothing style which is evident even in our own small kingdoms, these people were short, and loud, and above all filthy. THey were covered in the daily grime of those who work the fields all day and bathe perhaps once a month- the stench, once it hit, was almost worse than the noise. Only later did we realize that this was only a marketplace in the great city of Hi Cho Ga, the capitol of the Aragani Empire. I never did get to see much more of the empire- we did not linger long in the realm beyond the portal, to my own and now possibly your own dissapointment, but it was not the Empire or the petty politics that govern a great nation that concerned me. That day, I saw a dragon.
Do not look so surprised, Master Sedgewick! It is not across the world that these fantastic beasts have been eliminated. But before I continue, you should know this; this was no ordinary dragon. It had only two legs, and no wings to speak of; it looked more like a snake than a winged lizard. It was covered in glowing scales, the same color of polished bronze in candlelight, and it radiated a kind of majestic glory that seemed to instantly imprint itself upon my brain. This, at last, was a creature worth dreaming of! A creature worthy of the attention of the world!
Even the way it descended upon the hubbub of the marketplace was graceful, the casually aristocratic way it picked up a horse and soared off a piece of majesty brought to ground. It was magnificent.
It was deadly.
After a moment, it seemed to lose interest in the horse, and, descending, scooped up the great Professor Ponitullius of Tarant's University and flew off again.
Neither the apparition nor the professor have I laid eyes upon since.
FOr obvious reasons, I quickly stumbled in the direction of the late Professor's mules, but, before reaching them, was knocked unconcious by something that felt a great deal like a mace, but which a fellow laborer later told me was a strange metal bowl filled with newly-killed chicken.
As I fell, I must have found the portal again, for the last thing I remember was uttering the key phrase- "Filius sciencias ex astris!" - before I awoke to find myself in Qintarra, of which I will not more speak, respecting the wishes of the elves who live there. I was nursed back to health and then quickly and quietly transported back to Tarant, where I met up with the other survivors of the Portal expedition. Without the professor, however, we lacked credibility, and were soon rejected as "a large number of peasants, last employed by the late Professor Ponitullius, clearly irrational due to shock or damage to the brain,". I have not been back to Tarant more than once or twice since, but that experience set me most firmly upon the track of magick. Technology had failed me- but magick, aye, magick has kept me alive far longer than most realize.
Enough. Trouble me not further, friend- I have relived more than enough memories today. I take my leave of you, friends and peers, for I feel the need for contemplation is upon me again. In the name of Ter'el, I bid you fair health.

 

heh, got a little carried away there...

 

*Pretty, young, Elven Maiden with jet black hair, green eyes, and an wispy form-fitting grey dress enters and pours herself an glass of red wine...*
*Silently looks around the room, and situates herself in the darkest corner, watchin the rest through veiled eyes...*

 

Greetings good sirs and madams, allow me to introduce myself. I am Sir Vincent Arthur Dryden III of Caladon. I don't fancy myself much of an adventurer, but more of a watcher. I study creatures of the wild, and search for beings of myth and lore all across Arcanum. My travels have taken me across the great seas and all over Arcanum, from studying the majestic ape tribes in Thanatos, to observing the strangest of Kite tribes deep within the Glimmering Forest. I cannot say all of these trips have been good ones, but nevertheless I am aptly satisfied with all of my works. Perhaps in the future I will publish a documentation of one of my journeys... Sorry, I tend to ramble! (I am currently writing a documentary though here in Tarant.) I fancy myself somewhat of a technologist, but find that my looking glass rifle and goggles are more fit to study fauna through, rather than destroy them with. Lovely to meet you all, and I do hope we can continue these grand conversations.

 

Village, saw you have something new at the fan fiction at TA's. Haven't gone to read but will. The pages load so slow so I'm having a heard time.

 

Greetings, lords and ladies,

I'm Count Xanamonarac of Nowhere and Forevermore, in the service of King Azoun IV. of Cormyr, Lord Protector of the Gnoll's Pass and Chief Commander of the Halfhap troops, Member of the 'Guardians of Fate'. As you can see, I'm not from this beautiful world, my roots lie in a world far away, named Faerun. My Friend Quinn Silvermane of Shadowdale the Wizard opened a portal and so I was able to travel to this world known to all of you as Arcanum.

I'm a warrior of elven blood. But a tragic event of which I have no further knowledge wiped out my memory so I can't remember anything of my "old" life. Ever since, I lived in a human world with human ideals and the human gods. Nothing, except my appearance, might be described as elven.

And now my journey through a new world may beginn...hail to Tempus and blessed be you! Onward into countless battles...


_________________
Visit Cormyr's finest - The 'Winding Stairway Inn'

<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Xanamonarac on 2001-10-04 10:16 ]</font>

 

*A dark robed human man enters, sits down, takes a bottle of vodka from his bag and starts drinking it passionly looking at the dark haired elfy*

 

a quick red fox jumps over the lazy brown dog.

 

*A small figure summons two guards and motions to jinxed. They aproach.*

"You seem to be not quite yourself. If you'll come with us, please. There is a quiet place you can rest."

 

Jinxed raises his hand above the guards heads and murmurs something unrecognisable by mundane minds the guards turn away, now facing the small figure, "he was only kidding," "We will take you instead" "Come now," "we will make sure your family is accounted for" the small figure starts to struggle vainly as the 2 guards yank him. "No! this is an outrage! it is me! the moderator of the dungeon! What are you do...!?"

The guards, shaking off their momentary confusion promptly became overzealous in carrying out their duty. Pity about jinxed.

<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Oyarsa on 2001-11-09 22:01 ]</font>

 

*Sigh*

*Digs in pocket for Scroll of Resurrect.*

 

*The dark man silently laughs to himself about the whole event and returns to drinking and watching for hot ladies*

_________________
Ahhhhh...fresh meat...

<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Maniac on 2001-11-08 19:14 ]</font>

 

oops I made a mistake "...is silently laughs.." damnit


sorry

 

you know you could just edit it, it's not that hard.

_________________

Anime Otaku
Morning Musume
Aikawa Nanase
Don't be Baka
Arigato Gozaimasu!
one more thing: broberts is a homo

<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Jinxed on 2001-11-08 01:01 ]</font>

 

Yes, why is that M?