LANGANARA - AN AD&D PBEM AWAKENING Ismound feels that he is waking from a peaceful sleep, perhaps the most restful slumber he as ever had. As he open his eyes a feeling of strength and empowerment comes over him - He feel great, alive and ready for action ....... He realize that it is dark, it's night time and he's laying down on his back. Staring up at a beautiful night sky, he is at peace. The stars are shining so brightly... and the moons beaming radiantly all green and red........... moons? ... GREEN? RED!!! What the @#$!% is going on!! Ismound tries to quickly take in his surroundings. He sees five other man-sized individuals looking about, glancing at each other. They seem to look as confused as Ismound feels. There is also a white robed figure laying on the stone floor, clutching at a large book. Everybody is standing on some sort of round man made stone tower, about 6 meters in diameter. There are dark mountains just barely visible in the distance. Quickly gathering his wits about him, Ismound stands up and starts dusting off his leather outfit. "I knew I shouldn't have tried that door." he grumbles. "Uncle Belkram is going to have my butt !" Glancing around, the dark haired man's gazes at the five standing figures, the prone one and then the moons. "Alright that's it." He cries. "I disbelieve !" and he jumps off the parapet... All too quickly, his selfpreservation instincts kick in as, to his horror, Ismound realize that he's about to fall perhaps 25 to 30 meters and become a smear on the ground. Frantically he stretches out and plants his boots on the stone wall of the tower, screetching to a halt. Clutching at the stone's reassuring solidity Ismound starts to makes his way back up to the top, all the while still completely confused about what the hell is going on. The agile thief finally gets within arms reach of the parapet. Grabbing it, he nimbly swings up and over, landing on his feet. "Well, it's a real tower I suppose." he mumbles while dusting himself off again. Out of the corner of his eyes, Ismound notices someone looking at him. The man is massively built and is wearing a shining Plate Mail armor bearing the twelve pointed start symbol of Myriad on his breastplate. His gaze is fixed on the leather clad rogue. Ismound turns to the plate-mail wearer and a radiant smile comes to his face. "Well met my good man ! I am Sir Nagatama, Ismound Nagatama. Third of the name." The dapper young man gracefully executes a fanciful bow. "You wouldn't happen to know the location of the nearest ferry, would you ?" One of the three other people standing by the body on the floor speaks up in common. He has a lyrical Elven accent. "Would someone care to explain just where in the world we are. Or more to the point, what world this is?" Never giving his muscle bound companion a second look, Ismound flips through the air, rolls several meters on the ground and pops back up next to the speaker. With grave concern evident on his face, he speaks in somber tones "That is the very question that as been plaguing my mind ever since I got here. Certainly it is evident that this is not the realms of my youth... I suggest we try to ascertain our location by perusing the volume that this poor soul holds to her bosom." He indicates the prone figure. The elf looks at the hyperactive human and laughs briefly before saying, "Well, Sir Nagatama, is it? I am known simply as Andras. Aye, a look at the book would be wise, though I think you will find it to be a spell book of one sort or another. I would sugggest that we also search for a way to leave this parapet, though by a safer means than you have previously tried sir." Andras laughs again, before becoming quite serious. "Perchance there is someone within who can tell us why we were brought to this place, wherever it may be." Ismound gives the elf a tight smile "I am relieved that you are in such high spirits, sir elf. However the situation is grave indeed and the information in that book, if any can be obtained, might be crucial to our continued survival." He holds out his left hand clenched in a fist and forcefully points to it with his right index finger. When the smoke dissipates, a small crowbar has appeared and Ismound's smile is glittering in the moonlight. "Don't hesitate to use this if the old lady's grip is a bit too tight on her worldly possessions." He drops the implement in Andras's lap and then flips back to his position in front of the star of Myriad. "Sir ?... What about that ferry ?" Andras shakes his head at Ismound's back and says, "Aye, tis a most serious matter, but I believe that there is an even more serious matter within this realm. After all, Drow woman here," pointing to the corpse in the robes, "gave her life to bring us here. I will look through the book she clutches, but it should not be the sole thing we search." Andras then begins to extract the book from the corpse's hands. Sensing no real danger in the area, the large man seems to relax a hair. With a puzzled look on his face he finally speaks, "I am Martok Demonbane, I was on a mission for the Myriad when I suddenly found myself......here. I'm afraid I will be of no help to you, as this is definitely not Oerth. I must return to my mission, do any of you have any idea of how we got here or how we can leave?" Ismound straightens his cape and smiles at the warrior. "Well... The obvious way to go is DOWN I think..." He looks up to the strange double moons. "On the other hand, UP does have it's merits... I wouldn't recommend sideways though, it seems to end rather abruptly at about 3 meters in all directions." He grimaces and indicates the tower's edge with a wave of the hand. The other high elf steps forward "My name is Xador. I dont really see the sudden drop sideways as being a problem, Ismound. While Andras searches the book for the answers we all seek, the rest of you can search for other clues. I shall get a look at the land around us from the air." and clutching the edges of his cloak, Xador flies off the parapet and up into the night sky, making an outward spiral. Ismound's tone is a bit miffed as he yell to the rising Xador. "That's SIR Nagatama, you ill-mannered bat person." He lowers his gaze but quickly raises it again as a sudden thought comes to him. "And see if you can't spot a ferry while you're up there..." Martok watches Xador ascend into the night sky, then turns to Andras, "Hold ! before you start looting the dead, I would like to make sure they are dead and not just afflicted in some way. Has someone checked the dwarf and the others?" Martok motions to the dwarf and unconcious form (I think there's only one other, I lost count). Martok then strides over to the slouched figure with the book and examines her closely, looking for signs of life or clues to what is going on. Andras nods to Martok and says, "Of course, Paladin Martok. From where I stand, she looks quite dead though, but you are right, we should be certain before continuing." Andras backs away from the prone drow to allow martok to advance. Martok then moves to the prostrate forms to check their condition. "Paladin !" Squeaks Ismound in a terrified voice. "You guys are the death of any party !" He runs up to Martok, making cabalistic gestures to ward off evil spirits all the while. He then produces a bottle labeled 'Vodka' and starts sprinkling its content on the burly fighter. "Begone, spirits of boredom and stodginess. BEGONE !" His duty to his God done, Ismound calms down. He lays a friendly hand on his victim's wet shoulder and smiles warmly. "You should be alright now, friend Martok. Just be sure to drink plenty of alcohol, get laid on a regular basis and all will be well." He then turns around and strides back to his original position. With a look of shock, wonder, and loathing Martok steps back with a disgusted look at the bottle of 'Vodka' and brushes the liquid off himself. "I would rather fight the demons in their hell than have to put up with such a capricious being as you. The Gods must shudder to see such chaos confined to such a tiny space, it is a wonder you do not explode from the forces tearing at you. If endangering your soul with wine, women, and chaos is the path you have chosen then go practice it elsewhere- I must return to my land before the demon hordes succeed in their unholy war, hopefully this person or his book holds the key." Martok turn away from Ismound and examine the body. If she is indeed dead he will back up and defer investigation of the tome to those more magically intune than himself. Spinning around, Ismound plunks himself down on the stony floor facing Martok's back. "Now now. Is that any way to speak to someone attempting to steer you in the righteous path ?" He shakes a finger in the paladin's general direction. "But... maybe you're not a paladin after all." He scratches his chin in puzzlement. "Your demonic geography certainly isn't up to par. Demons in Hell, Ah !" A smile of pure joy slowly forms beneath his sparkling eyes. "My exorcism must've worked ! Huzzah and other comments to that effect !" The mysterious 'Vodka' bottle reappears in his hand and Ismound proceeds to pour himself a glass in empty air. Amazingly, the liquid floats on its own. "A toast ! To your full recovery, ordinary fighter Martok !" He then downs the imaginary glass... "Want a sip ?" "Thank you, but I think I'll pass." Martok watches Ismound's performance with interest and waits for the magic users to examine the book. "Oh well... I suppose recovery is a long slow process anyway." Mumbles the somewhat disheartened Ismound. "How about you Sir elf ? Something to warm your stomach while you pour over that musty tome ?" He then proposes a drink to Xador and the two unmoving figures while repeating his floating glass performance with another snotfull. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE CHARACTERS DM : "Martin Collins" Ismound Nagatama III (Thief/mage) "Frederic Fleury" Sitting cross-legged on a barrel is a dark haired man of swarthy complexion. Dressed in rich brown leather, the man's dark gray cloak drapes down over the sides of his perch. He smiles. Three small gems are in his hand, dancing and twirling to the beat of his agile fingers. Spots of light from the gems shimmer across his form, reflecting off the hilt of his short sword, off the complex surface of an elaborate broach, off a trio of rings on his fingers (one sun, one with lightning, one quite plain). His other hand taps a happy beat on his leather encased tight, jiggling his purse and an odd sheath the size of a stick. The stranger's mauve eyes smile as his lips curl in a smile. He looks at you. Greetings to you Sir or Lady." He says, keeping the beat. "My name be Ismound, Ismound Nagatama, third of the name." His smile grows wider. "Nice day to find adventure, wouldn't you say ?" Martok Demonbane (Paladin) "Karl Shank" Martok is tall and muscular, obviously having spent the majority of his young life in the manual of war. Although there is no doubt about his vocation, the longsword, flail, and two-handed sword strapped across his back are always evident, his eyes are quick and sharp and hold the promise of unexpected intelligence. The other obvious feature about Martok is the everpresent symbol of the Myriad, emblazoned upon both his armor and shield. He is ruggedly handsome and has a commanding presence about him, when he enters a room heads usually turn in his direction and all but the strongest of wills have trouble looking into his eyes for long periods of time. Andras "Scott Human" Xador (mage ?) "Dan Hopping" Items : Cloak of the bat ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------