The time of darkness has begun again. The cold winds sweep out of the north, blowing snow and sleet ahead of it, the outriders of the cold fingers of death clutching at the throats of the unwary, the unprepared. Crossing virgin snow through the Taiga, the warrioress lifts a hand to shield her eyes against the blowing snow oblivious to the shadows unseen and unheard in the snow around her. Tightening the grip on her bow, she continues onwards, the message she carries safely tucked away in a traveling pouch, the seal of the kingdom declaring its urgency. Head down leaning into the blowing snow, unaware that as she moves into the darkening day something even darker than the approaching night now has her in its gaze. Rising up behind her, the ice worm takes careful measure of her, slipping along the top of the snow, freezing it as it moves into a solid sheet of ice beneath it. As the wind drops and the lady-warrior, a ranger by trade, hears the tell-tale snap of ice in her wake, she immediately whirls and comes face to face with the adversary, with icy death. A mother comforts a small child in the night, explaining away the faint screams as the cry of the wolf, hunting in the blizzard, but she knows the cold truth in her heart. Dark times are again on the horizon and simple folk know better than to try and rise up and challenge the creatures that come with the snow. Turning back the covers in her own bed, climbing in next to her husband, exhausted from the days labours, she says a silent prayer in the night. Hoping and praying - beseeching whatever gods may be for a hero, someone who will come and save them from the darkness as it rises. Sometimes the simple kindnesses bestowed upon the common people are enough to win their favour, answering a whispered prayer as the snow howls in around the eaves, lifting up a fallen comrade on the field of battle, researching the spell or potion that will save the wife of the village magistrate, miles from the heart of Vintermor and without hope other than what heros may come. This is the stuff of which reputations, livelihoods, legends are made of. o - Do you have what it takes to be a saviour to the people? o - Do you have what it takes to rise up and slay the wicked? o - Do you dream of victory in battle, to crush your opposition and oppress the weak, to bend them to your will? o - Do you lust for vengeance? o - Do you crave power? o - Which side of the coin do you pray will fall when the toss comes? Come find out if you have what it takes in the city of Vintermor. Tell me young hero, do you have what it takes? =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- We are currently welcoming new players and staff. Particularly PlotMasters, Dungeon Masters, and players willing to run Player Run Plots to help advance goals for themselves and their friends. Having experienced a slowdown in the general RP and PRP's that are being run on the game we want to take this chance to offer new players the exciting opportunity to come get your ideas out on the grid! Please join us at winter.mushpark.com 3000 And check out our wiki at: http://taladan.ddns.net/wiki =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ^[1]

The time of darkness has begun again. The cold winds sweep out of the north, blowing snow and sleet ahead of it, the outriders of the cold fingers of death clutching at the throats of the unwary, the unprepared. Crossing virgin snow through the Taiga, the warrioress lifts a hand to shield her eyes against the blowing snow oblivious to the shadows unseen and unheard in the snow around her. Tightening the grip on her bow, she continues onwards, the message she carries safely tucked away in a traveling pouch, the seal of the kingdom declaring its urgency. Head down leaning into the blowing snow, unaware that as she moves into the darkening day something even darker than the approaching night now has her in its gaze. Rising up behind her, the ice worm takes careful measure of her, slipping along the top of the snow, freezing it as it moves into a solid sheet of ice beneath it. As the wind drops and the lady-warrior, a ranger by trade, hears the tell-tale snap of ice in her wake, she immediately whirls and comes face to face with the adversary, with icy death. A mother comforts a small child in the night, explaining away the faint screams as the cry of the wolf, hunting in the blizzard, but she knows the cold truth in her heart. Dark times are again on the horizon and simple folk know better than to try and rise up and challenge the creatures that come with the snow. Turning back the covers in her own bed, climbing in next to her husband, exhausted from the days labours, she says a silent prayer in the night. Hoping...praying...beseeching whatever gods may be for a hero, someone who will come and save them from the darkness as it rises. Sometimes the simple kindnesses bestowed upon the common people are enough to win their favour, answering a whispered prayer as the snow howls in around the eaves, lifting up a fallen comrade on the field of battle, researching the spell or potion that will save the wife of the village magistrate, miles from the heart of Vintermor and without hope other than what heros may come. This is the stuff of which reputations, livelihoods, legends are made of. Do you have what it takes to be a saviour to the people? Do you have what it takes to rise up and slay the wicked? Or do you dream wild dreams of victory in battle, crushing those who oppose you and oppressing the weak, bending them to your will? Do you lust for vengeance? Do you crave power? Which side of the coin do you pray will fall when the toss comes? Come find out if you have what it takes in the city of Vintermor. Tell me young hero, do you have what it takes? ^[2]

In the First Age of the World, magic and form were one and the same. It was a mystical and wondrous time, a time before the humanoids walked the earth. The great dragons were the powers of the land, roaming and shaping life itself as they saw fit, as if they were gods. The gods were angered by the presumption of the dragons... The dragon uprising was crushed before it even began, the primordial wyrms trapped in a new realm, splitting the magic from the mundane. The Mists held the primordial wyrms, using their essence to power the little magic left in the world. The Second Age was filled with wonder and glory, though little magic. Soon, the races were flourishing under the world that the dragons once guarded. Even some minor magicks had begun to spread, though only through long hours of careful study. The dragons plotted, and grew mad with the influence of the Mists. Their half-wyrmish descendants unlocked the Mists, and even though the opening was brief, havoc spread. Nations fell beneath the might of the mad wyrms and their spawn... After time, and with great loss, the mad wyrms were banished once more, and the Third Age began, with weakened Mists. Magic flourishes once more on the world, and the time of heroes has come. Winter's Edge is a D&D 3e MUSH. All theme, cities, deities, and areas are original material. Races and classes allowed as Player Characters (PCs) are the 'standard' races and classes contained in the 3rd edition Player's Handbook, plus world-specific races detailed in our theme files. To connect to Winter's Edge: winter.mushpark.com port 3000. ^[3]

The tundra spreads as far as the eye can see to one side, and to the other, the cold fjords rush and bubble. There is life here, fire beneath snow, ice melted in the heat of passionate souls driven to tame this merciless land. Vintermor, the City of Endless Winter. A lone figure stands at the rise of a hillock, south of the mountains, and looks over the frozen lands beyond. Hopes are too quickly shattered beneath the frost and the schemes of evildoers; dreams are dashed beneath the heels of tyranny. Who among them is so brave as to fight for freedom? The figure smiles, fingers curling over the silver pendant under his fur tunic, fingertips tracing the shape of broken manacles. Frihet, the Windwalker, the god of Freedom, walks with him, and the Unbound shall never live in the chains of law. A quicksilver smile curls his lips, as he sets behind the crags of the hillock, bow drawn and readied. The forces of the Bloodmoon, the Tyrant-Goddess Forstorelse, will be moving through this narrow pass in the barren cold hell that is the outskirts of Vintermor - and he will be ready. "For freedom!," he whispers, as the bowstring sings, letting arrow fly. Winter's Edge is a D&D 3e MUSH. All theme, cities, deities, and areas are original material. Races and classes allowed as Player Characters (PCs) are the 'standard' races and classes contained in the 3rd edition Player's Handbook, plus world-specific races detailed in our theme files. ^[4]