05.06.2006. 20:58
Zmajovi_________ 
Black Dragons
Black dragons are vile, evil tempered, and obsessed with death. They live in fetid, swampy habitats. They find comfort in the sickening-sweet aroma of drowned, rotting carcasses. The black dragon's domain is the swamp and the jungle. They are abusive, quick to anger, and malevolent. Their hearts are as black as their slimy scales.
A black dragon can be identified by his grim, skeletal appearance. His eyes lie in deep sockets. His two great horns curve forward and down. The flesh of his face appears to have partially deteriorated, as if burnt by acid. Acidic slime drools from his menacing grin. He smells of rotting vegetation, foul water, and poisonous acid.
Living in sticky, wet habitats, black dragons dine mostly on fish, eels, and other water creatures. They will eat meat, but prefer to allow their victims float in ponds for days, or even weeks, before being eaten.
If you ever encounter a black dragon, be careful—he prefers surprise attacks instead of fair fighting. He is most active in the darkest hour of night, wherein the darkness he feels confident and powerful. He breathes a poisonous, sizzling acid.
Red Dragons
Red dragons are greedy and covetous, and obsessed with increasing their treasure hoards. They live in warm habitats, such as volcanoes or tropical islands. The red dragon's domain is is the mountain and the island. They are vain, cunning, and terrible.
A red dragon can be identified by is long wings and two long horns. He has a long, red, forked tongue. Tiny flames often dance in his nostrils when he is angry. His eyes gleam with unrestrained greed when he has seen treasure. He smells of smoke and sulfur.
Red dragons are fiercely territorial. They prefer to eat meat, especially people. Red dragons have been known to force villages to sacrifice maidens to them. (This is a matter of taste. As you would have it, apparently maidens "just taste better.") The best part of a meal for a red dragon is drinking the blood.
Red dragons breathe a deadly fire.
Blue Dragons
Blue dragons are pensive, lawful, and vain. They live in hot, dry areas, such as sandy deserts or arid steppes.
A blue dragon can be identified by his frilled ears and a single horn upon his head. His eyes are smooth, glossy, and without pupils-when looking at them, you may feel as though you are looking into eternity. The dry scent of ozone and sand follows a blue dragon wherever he goes.
He loves to soar in the hot desert air. He is a dedicated carnivour who will eat snakes, lizards, and occasionally even desert plants, but truly prefers herd animals such as camels. Blue dragons are a real threat to caravans crossing the desert. He prefers to attack people in ambush. Surprise and distance is his greatest ally. They enjoy sitting and reflecting. He is blue-blooded (that is to say, cold, effete, or noble.) He is lawful and has some sense of morals.
He is good at tracking.
The blue dragon is large and vibrant.
Blue dragons breathe lightning, that is, a lightning bolt.
Green Dragons
The green dragon is a belligerent creature and master of intrigue, politics, and backbiting. He is cruel. He prefers forests—the older and bigger the trees, the better. Instead of being overtly aggressive, he prefers to concoct elaborat schemes to gain power or wealth with as little effort as possible. He may make his lair behind a waterfall or near a lake, pond, or stream that provides a submerged entrance. The closer one gets to his lair, the darker the woods become. Evil hangs in the air, mingling with the forest scents to produce foul odors.
The green dragon's head is covered in hornlets. He has a long neck and legs, and resembles a brontosaurus.
The green dragon reaks of chlorine.
The green dragon is a liar and master of verbal evasion. Just talking to a green dragon can lead to ruin. When attacking, he will usually stalk his prey first, sometimes for days. The green dragon has a palette for elf flesh. He loves to play with his prey. He will subside on practically anything, including shrubs and small trees. He uses camoflauge to his advantage. He is obsessed with life and growth, and wants to live eternally. He is envious.
He is good at tracking.
The green dragon likes to instill terror in lesser opponents before torturing them to death.
Green dragons breathe poisonous gas, that is, a toxic chlorine gas.
White Dragons
White dragons are small and intelligent. They live in frigid, icy climates — usually arctic areas, but sometimes very high mountains. They travel alone, and have very good memories. They prefer the solitude of snowy plains and caves, far away from the warming rays of the sun.
A white dragon can be identified by his sharp, intelligent-looking eyes and intense expression. His scales resemble fur, or even feathers, in places. His wide feet and sharp claws help him to walk atop snowbanks. An aura of coldness seems to eminate from the white dragon.
Living in frosty climes, white dragons prefer their food to be suitably chilled. If their victims have not frozen to death already, white dragons will often pack them away in the snow until they are properly frozen.
If you ever encounter a white dragon, be on your guard— he is swift and alert. Your best bet is to scare or intimidate him, as white dragons are sometimes known to be cowardly. He breathes a chilling frost.
8 Pohvale |
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31.05.2006. 05:12
Mislim da se puno ljudi moze naci ovdje pa evo vam i citajte a i ne gnjavite da bas nista ne radim.
ako netko ima informaciju gdje se moze dowloadati evermeet neka mi javi. Time line sam vidio negdje na netu pa potrazite ako vas zanima. Do sljedecg posta pozdrav
Often I sit and ponder the turmoil I feel when my blades
are at rest, when all the world around me seems at peace.
This is the supposed ideal for which I strive, the calm that
we all hope will eventually return to us when we are at war,
and yet, in these peaceful times-and they have been rare
occurrences indeed in the more than seven decades of my life-
I do not feel as if I have found perfection, but, rather, as
if something is missing from my life.
It seems such an incongruous notion, and yet I have come
to know that I am a warrior, a creature of action. In those
times when there is no pressing need for action, I am not at
ease. Not at all.
When the road is not filled with adventure, when there
are no monsters to battle and no mountains to climb, boredom
finds me. I have come to accept this truth of my life, this
truth about who I am, and so, on those rare, empty occasions
I can find a way to defeat the boredom. I can find a mountain
peak higher than the last I climbed.
I see many of the same symptoms now in Wulfgar, returned
to us from the grave, from the swirling darkness that was
Errtu's corner of the Abyss. But I fear that Wulfgar's state
has transcended simple boredom, spilling into the realm of
apathy. Wulfgar, too, was a creature of action, but that
doesn't seem to be the cure for his lethargy or his apathy.
His own people now call out to him, begging action. They have
asked him to assume leadership of the tribes. Even stubborn
Berkthgar, who would have to give up that coveted position of
rulership, supports Wulfgar. He and all the rest of them
know, at this tenuous time, that above all others Wulfgar,
son of Beornegar, could bring great gains to the nomadic
barbarians of Icewind Dale.
Wulfgar will not heed that call. It is neither humility
nor weariness stopping him, I recognize, nor any fears that
he cannot handle the position or live up to the expectations
of those begging him. Any of those problems could be
overcome, could be reasoned through or supported by Wulfgar's
friends, myself included. But, no, it is none of those
rectifiable things.
It is simply that he does not care.
Could it be that his own agonies at the clawed hands of
Errtu were so great and so enduring that he has lost his
ability to empathize with the pain of others? Has he seen too
much horror, too much agony, to hear their cries?
I fear this above all else, for it is a loss that knows
no precise cure. And yet, to be honest, I see it clearly
etched in Wulfgar's features, a state of self-absorption
where too many memories of his own recent horrors cloud his
vision. Perhaps he does not even recognize someone else's
pain. Or perhaps, if he does see it, he dismisses it as
trivial next to the monumental trials he suffered for those
six years as Errtu's prisoner. Loss of empathy might well be
the most enduring and deep-cutting scar of all, the silent
blade of an unseen enemy, tearing at our hearts and stealing
more than our strength. Stealing our will, for what are we
without empathy? What manner of joy might we find in our
lives if we cannot understand the joys and pains of those
around us, if we cannot share in a greater community? I
remember my years in the Underdark after I ran out of
Menzoberranzan. Alone, save the occasional visits from
Guenhwyvar, I survived those long years through my own
imagination.
I am not certain that Wulfgar even has that capacity left
to him, for imagination requires introspection, a reaching
within one's thoughts, and I fear that every time my friend
so looks inward, all he sees are the minions of Errtu, the
sludge and horrors of the Abyss.
He is surrounded by friends, who love him and will try
with all their hearts to support him and help him climb out
of Errtu's emotional dungeon. Perhaps Catti-brie, the woman
he once loved (and perhaps still does love) so deeply, will
prove pivotal to his recovery. It pains me to watch them
together, I admit. She treats Wulfgar with such tenderness
and compassion, but I know that he feels not her gentle
touch. Better that she slap his face, eye him sternly, and
show him the truth of his lethargy. I know this and yet I
cannot tell her to do so, for their relationship is much more
complicated than that. I have nothing but Wulfgar's best
interests in my mind and my heart now, and yet, if I showed
Catti-brie a way that seemed less than compassionate, it
could be, and would be-by Wulfgar at least, in his present
state of mind- construed as the interference of a jealous
suitor.
Not true. For though I do not know Catti-brie's honest
feelings toward this man who once was to be her husband-for
she has become quite guarded with her feelings of late-I do
recognize that Wulfgar is not capable of love at this time.
Not capable of love ... are there any sadder words to
describe a man? I think not, and wish that I could now assess
Wulfgar's state of mind differently. But love, honest love,
requires empathy. It is a sharing-of joy, of pain, of
laughter, of tears. Honest love makes one's soul a reflection
of the partner's moods. And as a room seems larger when it is
lined with mirrors, so do the joys become amplified. And as
the individual items within the mirrored room seem less
acute, so does pain diminish and fade, stretched thin by the
sharing.
That is the beauty of love, whether in passion or
friendship. A sharing that multiplies the joys and thins the
pains. Wulfgar is surrounded now by friends, all willing to
engage in such sharing, as it once was between us. Yet he
cannot so engage us, cannot let loose those guards that he
necessarily put in place when surrounded by the likes of
Errtu.
He has lost his empathy. I can only pray that he will
find it again, that time will allow him to open his heart and
soul to those deserving, for without empathy he will find no
purpose. Without purpose, he will find no satisfaction.
Without satisfaction, he will find no contentment, and
without contentment, he will find no joy.
And we, all of us, will have no way to help him.
-Drizzt Do'Urden (Silent Blade)
2 Pohvale |
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