From: jbecker@ocf.berkeley.edu (Jane Becker)
Newsgroups: rec.games.moria
Subject: Bearded Women (and -more-)
Date: 3 Oct 1992 11:57:59 GMT
Organization: U.C. Berkeley Open Computing Facility
NNTP-Posting-Host: bigbang.berkeley.edu

I suppose I can accept bearded dwarven women, but this one came up 
when I was rolling up a new character a while back and I saved it:

 Name        : Olga                    Age          :     37   STR :      9
 Race        : Dwarf                   Height       :     46   INT :     10
 Sex         : Female                  Weight       :    112   WIS :     16
 Class       : Priest                  Social Class :     49   DEX :      9
 Title       : Believer                                        CON :  18/12
                                                               CHR :      8
[...]
Character Background
 You are the only child of a Dwarven Miner.  You are a
 credit to the family.  You have dark brown eyes, straight
 black hair, a four foot beard, and a dark complexion.

Assuming height is measured in inches, that four foot beard could be a
problem!  How does one wear a four foot beard?  Wouldn't it get in the
way during battles?  How about: 
the ancient red dragon breathes fire -more-
your beard is now only three feet



And now, a selection from "The Chronicles of Kara, the Human Mage, 
Balrog Slayer"  [well actually, 15th level mage, but optimism
never hurts]:


I swung one last time, and the giant tick, after screaming in agony, 
finally died.  The corpse instantly vanished, but that was as it
should be.  Pity.  No treasure.  It had been a hard battle.  Already
low on mana from the brigand incident, I had been forced into hand-to-
hand combat when my magical energies ran out.  Again and again I had
swung my mighty bastard sword, newly enchanted at the weapon shop.
I had suffered many wounds, and the beast's poison had taken its toll.
My legs buckled and I sank to the floor to rest.

As soon as I closed my eyes, however, the door on the opposite wall
crashed open and an orc warrior charged in.  Argh!  Not now dammit.
Snatching up my weapon, I watched it advance.  Let it come to me;
every second would get me more mana.  It stepped up next to me and
looked me over.  Leering, it said something in its native tongue --
I'm rather glad I don't speak orcish.  I attacked, putting every
ounce of strength into my swing.  The blow connected and the orc
reeled back.  Quickly though, it returned the blow, opening a gash
in my leg.  Wincing, I swung again, and once again connected.  This
time I caught the orc's return blow on my shield.  I realized that I
now had enough energy to attempt a phase door spell, but that would 
only give me a few second's respite; I wasn't about to run from a
mere orc.
 
Once again I attacked, but this time the orc dodged.  His move
caught me by surprise, and he managed to land a devastating blow.
Realizing I couldn't take too many shots like that, I cast the
phase door spell and found myself on the far side of the room.  
Instinctively, the orc spun around and charged again.  I retreated
as far as I could and quaffed my last potion of cure serious wounds.
Feeling better, I warily watched the orc's advance.  When the orc
was still a few steps away, I received the mana for a magic missile,
which I quickly cast.  The orc closed again and we proceded to trade
blows.  Again and again I hit the orc, and he hit me a number of
times.  This was one tough orc.  Finally, I found myself on the 
brink of death; its next blow would surely kill me.  I still lacked
the mana for another phase door.

Quickly, I snatched the wand from my pack.  The one I was saving for
emergencies.  Pointing it at the orc, I prayed for success and activated
it.  I burst of coldness shot from the end of the wand and struck the
orc squarely in the chest, where it erupted into a huge ball, which 
enveloped not only the orc, but me as well.  Miraculously, I was not
harmed.  The orc, however, was not so lucky.  Grinning faintly as the
orc winked out of existance, I replaced the wand in my pack.  I was
alive!

I walked over and scooped up the silver that the orc had been carrying.
Feeling that I deserved a rest, I went to sheathe my sword.  Only to
find that the sheath was already occupied.  What the hell?  I looked
closely at the weapon in my hands.  It blurred before my eyes,
becoming a shovel.  I collapsed to the ground, laughing hysterically.


-Jane