MUD Descriptions

T. Cook

1999 Aug 29
Maud'dib Atreides
  Tan robe and white turban shroud the craggy features of this wizard in
  mystery.  A pair of quartz cryztal flight goggles caked with layers of
  dust rests at his forehead, and in a black scabbard rests the fabulous
  scimitar Sunaarashi.  Slender hands, weathered by years of travelling,
  heft a fluted silver staff.  A water faerie hovers at his shoulder.
Maud'dib's Workroom
  You are in a small room filled with gears and levers and a dusty, oily
  atmosphere.  A single bare, flickering light bulb hangs by a wire over
  a drafting table which sits next to the small doorway to the north.  A
  rickety swivel chair sits in front of the table, which is stacked with
Maud'dib's Study
  Firelight shines off of a suit of armour which sets next to an immense
  limestone hearth that makes up most of the west wall. Facing the fire-
  place is an expensive leather chair, from whose mahogony arms and legs
  stare hideous gargoyles. To the left of the seat is a round table with
  a large tome sitting on it.  A rug sits in front of the chair, and two
  tapestries hang to the left and right of a high window in the northern
  wall, through which you can see a starlit sky.  A wood globe encircled
  by iron rings sits in the centre of the room.
  Narrow teak doors carved with fantastic friezes stand open either side
  of the doorway north that exits to the armoury. An oak ledger, stacked
  with sheets of oiled parchment and a swan quill-feather, is positioned
  against the west wall beneath a high, square window that looks onto an
  elaborate garden below. A mahogany wardrobe is against the south wall,
  and eastwards a door leads to the studio. Near the swivel chair in the
  centre of the room hangs a strange device made of brass and iron bands
  which is aimed at the vertical slit in the domed ceiling.
    Wheels of all sizes protrude at various angles from this object, and a
    series of four glass spheres arranged in four brass rings sprouts from
    the top end of the cylindrical form. From the bottom extends a jointed
    arm at the end of which is an alligator clip that holds a fresnel lens
    in front of a small glass tube.
    The narrow teak doors are carved into horizontal registers.  The first
    depicts the violent mating of two centaurs in a dim forest. Below that
    is an engraving of winged naiads serenading mermaids who sit on barren
    crags rushed by the foamy sea. Further down are panels with ash dryads
    cavorting wildly in an ancient marish.  Below those reliefs are carved
    scenes of a lake plied by elegant swans with a fair maiden standing at
    the shore gathering reeds in her long golden tresses.
Clock Tower: Library
  You are in the library of the clock tower.  The musty smell of ancient
  tomes bound in leather tickles your notrils, as dust motes waft lazily
  in the shaft of sunlight shining in through the open bay window to the
  south.  Several rows of pine shelves, filled with books, stand in neat
  rows on the carpet of green felt.  An oak desk with an open book bound
  in red leather sets in front of the window. Small, sturdy wooden steps
  lead upwards.
Garden Path: South of Clock Tower
  The sun shines brightly in the azure sky, making the alibastine marble
  of the clock tower glow incandescently.  Comfortable park benches line
  the flagstone path which leads from the south into the tower. A rabbit
  hops happily among the well trimmed grass around you.
Clock Tower: First Floor
  Your footsteps echo on the varnished wood floor of the entrance of the
  clock tower.  A staircase leads upwards as it circles around the white
  plastered walls.  Pale light filters down from a window several levels
  above you, which casts a golden square on the floor.
  Thousands of glittering drops of crystal shatter the soft yellow light
  of candles and splash it in cascading rivulets down the silk curtains.
  The polished wood floor glows with a liquid warmth in the gentle light
  of the great chandeliers, and the son basso of a string quartet drifts
  over the clink of wine glasses and murmur of conversations. Leaning on
  the stone railing of the balcony overlooking the garden to the west is
  a young woman, whose closely-cropped auburn hair frames a comely face.
  An elegant satin evening gown wraps around her and white gloves sheath
  her slender arms.  An opal pendant rests upon her throat, and her bare
  shoulders glow in the golden light.  She gently cradles an isil'zha in
  her hand, long fingers caressing the timeworn gem.  Her eyes are pools
  of sorrow comingled with hope, bottomless basins of dark liquid framed
  by shining emerald as she turns her lovely gaze to the endless expanse
  above spangled with thousands of glittering drops of crystal.


Adventurer's Guild (Regular)
  Menacing shadows flicker on the wooden walls, cast by the fire burning
  uneasily in a deep stone-lined firepit centred on the slate floor.  An
  echo of the voices of adventurers long passed to dust whispers in your
  mind, and a musty smell wafts through the smoky air. Hides of fearsome
  beasts hang on the north wall, and a staff fashioned from the polished
  femur of some unlucky giant stands upright near the firepit. This is a
  place where you can advance your level, and buy new abilities.  A sign
  is on the south wall next to an arch wreathed in blue energy, and next
  to the firepit is a pedestal with a memorial tablet.
Adventurer's Guild (Yule)
  Cheery shadows dance on the wooden walls, cast by a blazing fire which
  burns in the stone-lined pit in the middle of the slate floor.  Echoes
  of merry adventurers gathering here over the ages at this time whisper
  in your ears.  The walls are draped with yuletide decorations, and the
  femur staff is topped with a wreath made of holly leaves.  If you wish
  to advance your level and buy new abilities, do so here, blessed be. A
  sign is on the south wall near an arch wreathed in blue energy, and an
  interesting tablet is on a pedestal next to the pit.


Al Daraq, Mor Tywod 1
  A blasted desert stretches out endlessly before you in all directions.
  The silver dunes roll about you in uncertain rhythms, like the heaving
  sides of sleeping dragons.  A hot wind whips at your clothes and stabs
  your body with daggers of flying sand. The clouds of silica shroud the
  sun in a murky halo.
Al Daraq, Mor Tywod 2
  Dry dust chokes you as wind swirls around you, whipping up dust devils
  that play among the silver dunes. To the south, the wall of the Cliffs
  of Starlight juts out of the sea of burning sand, and mirages dance on
  your sun-seared eyes, just out of reach. Rivulets of sweat stream down
  your cheeks and burn your cracked, dry lips. If you are going to be in
  this area for a long time, you should get a cloak or other protection.
Al Daraq, Mor Tywod 3
  The sands of the desert writhe about the sky, twisted by a reproachful
  zephyr into ophidian streamers which coil around the sullen copper sun
  and hiss in your hollow ears.  The great dunes march forever in silent
  procession, bowing low to the eternal power of the winds. Gold mirages
  shimmer distantly and tantalise you with promises of food and water.
Al Daraq, Mor Tywod 4
  You stare bleakly at the undulating dunes of this desolate erg, hiding
  your eyes from the baleful scrutiny of the hot sun. The dry wind howls
  down from the northwest through this barren basin, and sends the sands
  scraping past your flesh. The shifting dunes further hinder your sight
  and voyage, removing any discernable landmarks.
Al Daraq, Mor Tywod 5
  On the southern horizon, a jagged spine of cliffs breaks free from the
  sandy skin of the desert.  The hot breath of the wind blows feverishly
  against you, and the unblinking eye of the sun sears your body.  Dunes
  curve sensuously in all directions, writhing under the blistering sky.
Al Daraq, Mor Tywod 6
  The blinding sun shimmers at the apex of its daily journey across this
  tortured, translucent dome of pale blue.  A hot breeze hisses past the
  eroded mounds of pumice and through ragged furrows, grating upon their
  twisted forms.  To the south, great spires of rock puncture the desert
  and weave together into a gigeresque cliffscape.
Al Daraq, Mor Tywod 7
  Contorted cliffs loom above you, the gross striations of red and black
  rock rippling in the oppressive heat.  Precariously balanced megaliths
  cast dark shadows which do nothing to relieve the heat, and the air in
  this region is motionless and repressive.  To the north, the open bled
  burns as molten gold.
Al Daraq, Mor Tywod 8
  The warped strata of the upthrust batholith tower over you and seem to
  be eager to plunge downward, crushing you.  The tenebrous shadows feel
  as blisteringly hot as the barren wasteland to the north.



Kingfisher's Village (Midwinter Night)
  Ghostly snowflakes descend from the silver moon and kiss your face.  A
  grey cobblestone lane reaches north and south, brightly lit at regular
  intervals by wrought-iron gas streetlamps.  To the east, you can see a
  path leading to the frozen shores of Crystalmir Lake.  On the dark ice
  dance young couples wearing shoes fitted with slender blades.  Merrily
  twinkling high above you are thousands of stars, diamond-bright in the
  clear coldness.  Kingfisher's Village lies to the south, its buildings
  decorated with knotwork made from long evergreen needles.
Kingfisher's Village (Autumn Twilight)
  Cold autumnal drizzle drums on your cloak and mists the land in a thin
  fog.  The foliage of the great trees in the forest to the north blazes
  with colour.  On the shore of the dark lake to the east, a bonfire has
  been kindled by a group of the village's youth.  The crisp wind brings
  the sound of shouts of laughter and the smell of burning leaves.  Just
  visible through the fog is a lone island in the middle of the lake.  A
  stand of tall evergreen trees on the north end of the island litfs its
  boughs to the overcast sky which conceals the disc of the setting sun.
  There are men walking up and down the main street of the village south
  of here, lighting iron streetlamps.
Kingfisher's Village (Midsummer Night)
  Fireflies dance in the velvet darkness of a warm eventide, their wings
  of gossamer weaving among tendrils of soft green light reaching out of
  the floating magick orbs.  Musical laughter echoes distantly, drawn to
  you by a light breeze.  The strong branches of aspen and yew sway, and
  a young maiden races across the overgrown flagstones of the courtyard,
  giggling uncontrollably and clutching an unfastened dress to her bared
  bosom.  She glances over her shoulder, and her garment floats off into
  the night, and a fawn leaps onward from where she stood.  A loud snarl
  proceeds from the entrance of the courtyard, and the massive form of a
  dire wolf leaps in, and changes into a great centaur, whose coal-black
  flanks shine with sweat.  Smiling broadly, he charges forwards, intent
  upon catching up with the maiden.


  You are in a stifling hot jungle. Monkeys chatter from the
  trees overhead, and you think you see the fluid black form
  of a panther glide into the mist. Through dense foliage to
  the west you can discern a moss-covered building crumbling
  into ruin among the the blue-green trees and vines of this
  fog-shrouded place.
Jungle Temple
  You penetrate the dense green foliage and enter a darkened
  circular room. The polished marble floor is cool after the
  heat of the jungle.  Your footsteps click quietly and echo
  into the dim silence. A raised dais with a sculpture is in
  the centre of the chamber. The domed ceiling is open above
  it, allowing a shaft of light to illuminate the sculpture.
  Wrought iron braziers with the forms of two snakes twining
  around each other in a double helix sit to the left and to
  the right of the dais.  The snakes carry bronze vessels in
  their mouths, which contain delicate incense that suffuses
  the room with its scent. Ornate alibaster statuary rest in
  small dimly lit alcoves in the round walls.
  You stand on a rough dirt road running east-west through a
  grass-covered plain. Distantly, you hear the mournful wail
  of Uillean pipes.  Great banks of grey thunderheads billow
  across the sky. Icy rain whips about you and plasters your
  hair to your forehead. Jagged mountains pierce the horizon
  to the north and east.  North lies a hill upon which is an
  abandoned caer.  South, two great standing stones puncture
  the lonely moors.