Wir hecken gerade was aus, in der Baustelle der Oasis of Klima (in Secondlife), die am 1. Oktober für das Rollenspiel eröffnet wird. Wir sind gerade out of character, weil wir ausgucken müssen, wer bei dem dann geplanten mehrstündigen Rollenspiel-Plot den Salt Ubar spielt. Ich jedenfalls nicht.
One of the most powerful men in the Tahari was once the Salt Ubar, also known as the Guard of the Dunes. His kasbah was located northwest of Klima, at a secret location. Only a few merchants in the salt trade knew of its exact location.
Diese Oase ist ein zentraler Ort in John Normans Tribesman of Gor. Es wird ein kompliziertes Arrangement geben mit vermutlich mehr als einem Dutzend Spielern, mit guten und bösen Überraschungen und vielleicht sogar Hauerei. Alles kann man vorher nicht festlegen. Vielleicht endet auch alles ganz anders als wir geplant haben. Der gesamte Plot geht schon über zehn (!) Jahre.
In the distance, below, perhaps five pasangs away, in the hot, concave, white salt bleakness, like a vast, white, shallow bowl, pasangs wide, there were compounds, low, white buildings of mud brick, plastered. There were many of them. They were hard to see in the distance, in the light, but I could make them out.
“Klima,” said Hamid.
“I have made the march to Klima,” said one of the prisoners. He cried out, elatedly, “I have made the march to Klima!” It was the man who had, for many of the days, cried out for us to be slain. It was he who had, since the noon halt of four days ago, been silent.
I looked at the prisoners. We looked at one another. Our bodies were burned black by the sun. The flesh, in many places, had cracked. Lighter colored flesh could be seen beneath. There was salt on us, to our thighs. The leather wrappings about our legs were in tatters. Our necks and bodies were abraded, raw from collar and chain. In the last days we had been denied salt. Our bodies were cruel with cramps and weakness. But we stood, all of us, and straight, for we had come to Klima.
Twenty had come to Klima.