Ok, Kalanyr. You move the people to Ishtarland.
Now, who holds Ishtarland, you or Uvenelei?
I'll have to break Ishtarland in two - the Ishtarland of Uvenelei (no reduction in PL) and the New People of Ishtarland (your PL, Kalanyr.)
The regions in question in the Hellfurnaces, Crystalmists, and Barrier Peaks I will rename.
- - -
Melkor, it is not possible to even contact the Elder Ones without 10th level magic.
Not safely.
With 9th level magic and on down, you can contact them, but afterwards the person who made contact has this bad tendency to go stark raving mad, and nothing will heal him or her.
With 10th level magic, mental protections and barriers can be established to protect the person communicating with the Elder Ones.
Although you do not have 10th level magic yet, I will say this (you bought this information at the cost of the sanity of some of your mages) - THEY WANT TO COME.
Oh yes, they want to come.
They are all but salivatating (if such creatures could do that) over the prospect of invading Oerth.
- - -
Serpenteye, you may make a claim to the regions in question.
However, they cannot regain PL. Advancing your Civilization won't help.
When Maudlin and me successfully work to update the map, it will become obvious why this is the case.
- - -
The Wanderer turns around, and then laughs.
Well, I see little squid Anabstercorian, who desires us all for dinner.
I see little girl Ahlissa, who thinks she can talk to the Elder Ones over that dinner.
I see little prince Thayadon, who thinks he can fool me with cheap tricks.
I see the God Emperor, who runs the Olympic Games of Torture, but somehow he believes in Balance also (and he laughs long and loudly ... HAR-HAR-HAR.)
I do not see Archcleric Hazen, who forsook wisdom in refusing to speak with me.
I do not see Forrester, who was too cowardly to face me.
Finally, I see the ant, who has more brains than anyone else here, to be frank.
Sir Ant, say to the Formian Hive that they should get up and start eating Torilians and traitors.
For, although they aren't good for much of anything else, Torilians and traitors make good eating. Even the squid understands that.
Then he looks at Kalanyr.
You fought against the Torilians, the Shade, and you conquered.
I salute you for that.
You have given unto the God Emperor what was rightfully his.
I salute you for that.
Now I understand why the drow think themselves destined to rule the surface world.
I am inclined to believe they might be right.
They have far more brains than anyone on the surface, apparently.
Then the Wanderer opens the doors and step outside.
He ignores the warning shouts, the order to halt, that he is under arrest.
Small arms fire fails to touch him, and the soldiers run off.
He approaches the gates of Veluna City, but they have set up a kill zone.
Machine guns roar to life, grenades are thrown, small rocket lauchers send missiles down to explode against the Wanderer.
The Wanderer, untouched by all this, mutters:
I can't hear myself think with all this racket.
He gestures, and a pleasant drowsiness comes over all present, and they drop off into a sleep filled with pleasant dreams.
One of them accidentally plummets from his high balcony as he slumps into sleep, and tumbles toward the ground, 100 feet below.
The Wanderer gestures, and the falling man halts, 10 feet off the ground, then gently wafts down to land unharmed.
The Wanderer grumbles:
I'm not here to kill anyone. Although some people need killing.
The Wanderer gestures, and the heavy gates of Veluna City open.
On the other side, a tank awaits, it's turret aimed, 50 caliber machine guns ready, flame thrower lit.
The turret blasts, and the shell richochets off a shield around the Wanderer, detonating in his face.
Flames roar around the Wanderer, scorching the ground black.
Tracers illuminate the air as thousands of bullets fly into the Wanderer, but are redirected harmlessly into the air by his magic.
The Wanderer frowns, and marches up to the tank.
He gestures, and a great force slams into the tank, and knocks it sideways one parking space worth of distance.
He then snorts:
I hate fire.
He walks on away.
The tank tries to run him down. It bangs into the force field around him, and is halted.
The Wanderer turns, annoyed.
He regards the tank.
You are a gnomish device. May the Gods save me from gnomes!
Time to pull the plug on you, beast.
He reaches forward with magic, and the gasoline in the tank dissipates, ceases to exist.
Better! The best gnomish device is one that does not work. Not true on Krynn, but sure is true here!
He then tromps off and, after going about 100 yards, simply disappears.
No amount of magical scrying finds him.
He is gone.
