A crash, a bolt of searing blue light shatters the rocks. Too late... 

The earth rumbled, the ground shaking, dust began to fall from 
the tunnels ceiling. Then, a feeling like ice being pulled through 
the heart. A wash of blue and white rolling out across the lands, 
and the feeling... Something wrong... Something terribly wrong.

For as many years as memory serves, they have warred. The tree men 
and the arachnids. How it started is unknown, but then, why does any 
war start. A scholar once said some of the greatest differences
in opinion may only be solved by the greatest of conflicts. Perhaps 
this is the reason, or maybe it was just lust for power and 
domination, but let us leave these issues, and move the focus. 

The focus now falls on a young man, a human boy going by the name 
of Myrios. A gasp in the dark, then a sound.  Light dimly 
flickered into existence the room as the flames licked up the oil 
in the lantern. He had the same dream again, he wasn't sure 
what it meant.  It wasn't much of a dream just a feeling, he 
would have just finished in the great chamber, working on what he 
believed would finally end this war, he would leave and then....
something would be different. And then he would wake up.

He got off the feather bed, the sheets soaked in a cold sweat. 
His feet made a slightly damp padding noise as he approached the 
sheet of polished metal that served as a mirror. He looked 
in at his reflection. His blue eyes the pupils wide in the murky 
light. His eyes were reddened around the edges. These were the 
effects of waking up night after night. He picked up a towel and 
dried his face. He wouldn't be able to sleep now.  He knew it. 
The feeling in his dream would stay on his mind for some time. 
He needed to do something else, something besides thinking about
sleep.  It was best he worked; it would take his mind off the dream.

Myrios had joined the Kiisic some time ago, he didn't really have 
much choice, the warring arachnids and the Rowen had moved across 
his village. The place was destroyed.  He had refused point blank 
to serve in the war, preferring to work as a mage crafter on weapons 
for the Kiisic armies. Over the years he had worked for the Kiisic, 
and he had become quite good at magic’s, learning all he could in 
his spare time.  He was practicing and learning the Kiisic ways: 
to surf along the magical tides and to harness the chaos.  

Then they had asked him to work on the project. He told himself 
that it was for the good of all, that it would finally end the 
great and terrible wars that had been ransacking the lands for so 
long. He had almost convinced himself.. almost. It was then that 
the dreams started. At first they had been longer as the horrible 
crawling feeling that would rise up. His spine was much weaker. 
Then, he saw rivers--black rivers, moving faces, bodies rising 
and falling ,and a hissing whispering noise.  Although now he 
didn't see so much of that, the feeling would overtake him before
he could sleep.  He knew there was a dream behind his eyes, that  
terrible living river of pain, just watching and waiting.

'Well?' the sharp voice snapped.  The master artisan looked down 
at Myrios. 

He swallowed a little nervous and then said 'I just think.. that 
the project is going a little too fast..' He managed only a few 
words before he felt his heart sink, the expression on Raldap's 
face was enough to chill anyone to the bone. 

'Oh, you THINK do you?  Is  that why you are employed here, to 
think?  Well, how surprising. Curse Yuzla, we don't pay you to think.  
You are paid to work and not complain.' He paused seeming to rethink 
the point the young mage had made 'However…' he said slowly as if 
the tasting the word for its sound. 'I understand your concern, these 
are powerful magic's we are trying to weave, but try to remain 
steadfast.. 

The republic need this weapon, and we need you Myrios . You are part 
of the team. If this is to work we need everyone together on it.  
There won't be conditions right for the projects complement for a 
long time. By  that time the accursed Rowen will have found a way to 
guard against us,' he spat the last sentence venom in his voice. 

It was rumoured amongst the other maglings that the Rowen had killed 
his wife and two children in a magical attack gone astray. 
'Yes Master Raldap I understand but..' The next events were in 
somewhat of a flurry, a sound a writhing hissing bang, a shattering 
of glass the voice of one of the troopers cursing. A feeling magic 
was being used--any mage could feel it.
 
'Cursed ROWEN!'

A chill ran down his spine, a Rowen? Here? But how?  It was 
impossible. A cold dread began to fill his heart. If a Rowen was 
really out there, then had they been overrun.  He had heard tales of 
what the Rowen did to humans they found working for the Kiisic. He 
began to feel very small.

'What are you cowering for, didn't you hear him, TO ARMS' Raldap 
yelled, grabbing his stave from the warped wooden desk.  He pushed 
past him and out into the halls. Myrios stepped out holding his small 
staff in his hand, sweat making it slippery to grasp.  His breath was 
quick, he saw one of them, a Rowen, its long branch-like arms were 
moving around. He was doing something to the main chamber. Fear 
bristled the hairs on his neck, his lips opened almost without his 
conscious consent

'No, DON'T.. You will cause a r-' his voice was cut off as a gale of 
magical energies roared from Raldap, hissing and crackling through 
the air. A crash, a bolt of searing blue light shatters the rocks. 
Too late...

The ground in the chamber began to shake.  Dust fell as the ceiling 
split and crumbled, the Rowen, now a smouldering husk on the ground, 
had in those last seconds finished what he came to do. 

The magic shifted, the mages fell some gibbering nonsensically--
others screaming in pain, something wrong.  Something terribly 
wrong... Myrios stumbled back lifting his hands up to ward off the 
feeling, something was here, something he screamed out in fear, his 
cry being cut short a wet choking bubbling noise his lungs filling 
with a vicious black  fluid, he choked and tried to cough it up, 
black ichior dripping down his chin. His eyes began
to cloud over. 

The events above are a fictional tale of a real event. The breaking,
the release of the black blood, the day magic failed and imbalance 
reigned on high casting death and destruction from its chariot of 
confusion.

These are the lands of Terrinor. 

It is three hundred years since the time of the breaking. 
The scars left by the breaking have not yet healed, and the lands 
have not forgotten.

This is a short story about the lands of Terrinor, also known as 
'the accursed lands.'

Accursed lands is not a mud, despite what you may think, 
Accursed lands is a world, a living-breathing world. 
A world in which you could be a part of, 
where your actions affect the world and those around you.

Accursed lands is unique. 
I say this not because I wish to boast, but simply because it is a 
matter of fact. There is no mud with the combination of qualities in 
AL's possession. There are no levels, or guilds. You do not learn 
skills by killing or completing quests you gain skills by performing 
skills, indeed killing will gain you skills in the art of killing.

If on the other hand you wish to live a peaceful life you will learn 
the skills you practice. You could become a bard if you spent a lot 
of time playing a musical instrument, or you could become a skilled 
speaker, how, just talk a lot and listen to many different languages.
You could become a learned herbalist, but please, do not think these 
are guilds or clans.

There are HUNDREDS of skills, most people don't specialise 
particularly and simply live how they choose, gaining the skills 
as their character behaves, as they would roleplay them. 

You could be a warrior, a helpful man who assists those 
who need him, or a cunning thief, or a well poisoner who probably 
will be hunted down by the other players who end up losing loved ones 
due to his callous actions. You could throw caution to the winds and 
risk damnation by wielding the dark arts, or live a life of solitude 
away from cities and people. 

The choice is yours, there are no preset goals, this is a REAL R.P.G. 
We do not set the role you play, you do… and the choices are 
unlimited.

--Tempus-

I look forward to seeing you on chat. ; )