Classic-Castle Roleplay: October

[Formendacil]

Grid: J-10
Location: Just outside Orion.

Bernard Quorandis and his army had taken their time marching towards Orion, in order to allow the wounded to travel with them. It was a sorry sight that met their eyes as they came over the last hill before the city.

"Orion," announced Quorandis to Elwen, who was riding beside him. "The Golden City."

Elwen looked down at the sprawling city, surrounded by yellowstone walls, the buildings made of the same material, and where it hadn't been burned, covered in golden thatch. But it was a much damaged city. There were gaping holes in the walls, yellowstone debris littered the streets. Houses were almost totally dismantled. And in the late sunset light, there were few signs of movement in the city.

"It's been four years since I was here," said Quorandis, half to himself. "Four years since I was given command of the Talistrani division of the Cavaliers. This city has been through a lot..."

"Will we enter the city?" asked Elwen.

"Not today," said Quorandis, shaking his head. "I don't know how safe it is. We'll join the allied camp tonight, and compare notes with them. Tomorrow we will enter the city. I wonder how de Graff has done at rounding up the local nobles."

They went down the hill, past the ruined walls of Orion, and to the Allied camp. Bersun and his Falcons were returning even as they were. Sir Dractor, Willem, and Barbod, and a Bull Knight excort came to meet them. Sir Victor de Graff was close behind, with the intent to report on his findings.

"Hail King of the Wolfpack! Hail King of the Bull Knights!" cried Quorandis in greeting. "Congratulations and thanks for your victory."

"Welcome," said Barbod, more simply. "Our thanks for keeping Falconis off our backs. Welcome home!"

As they made their way into the camp, de Graff made his report.

"Some of braver nobles who escaped began to make their way into the Allied camp even as the battle was still being fought. More have come since our victory, and we gathered several that fled south on our march up here. It seems that only one or two nobles of the Inner Court survived, as they were away from the city, but several of the more powerful nobles who were not a part of the court have come to join us. Among those who have been brought into camp is Constantius Legonis."

"Legonis?" said Quorandis. "As in, the Imperial House of Legonis. A relative of the Emperor?"

"His uncle," nodded de Graff. "He's the youngest brother of the late emperor's father. Since the Emperor died without offspring, and since his older uncles and cousins seem to have died, Constantius appears to be the Emperor-apparent. Obviously though, we will still need to confirm that his older brothers and their children are deceased, but as near as we can tell, that would be a formality only."

"Yes," said Quorandis, "BloodVaine would have made certain that as many members of the Imperial family as he could find would have been killed. What kind of a man is Constantius?"

"An excellent man," said de Graff. "He's not too old: mid-fifties. He spent most of his life in the diplomatic service, the last few as ambassador to the Black Knights, and is thus well-equipped to take over the rule of this nation. He's a good man too, and has no history of corruption or scandal. Best of all, although he's a widower, he has two boys. The older was killed by BloodVaine, but the younger was serving with the Cavaliers in Royal Knight country, and is still alive. I've sent a delegation to bring him back to Orion."

"He has a heir then," said Quorandis. "Excellent. You've done a great job. As soon as I meet with and thank the Allied leaders, and visit Constantius, I'm going to turn in. It's been a long day. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sir."

[Lord_Of_The_LEGO]

"Let not us discuss this now." intervened Sir Dractor, playing the peacemaker, "I see Bersun and his army of Black Falcons have returned from their scouting of the Yellow Castle."

Note: This a post right after the one quoted above and right before the one quoted at this end of this post

J-10
Allied Camp

Berson dismounted and bowed to everyone seated around the fire before begining his report.

"Right then. My men have searched Orion and the Yellow Castle and have dealt with any pockets of resistance. The residents of Orion have barracaded themselves intp their homes and will not come out, thought we pledged no violence. They are scared to death BloodVaine will somehow return and kill the rest of them off. It seems BloodVaine had begun to round up the city inhabitants and slaughter them. We ran into a maimed dragon that was stalking the main square and were able to quickly despose of it, though we sustained an amount of casulties."

Radjar looked up. "Was it's wings shredded?"

"Aye, like it have been fool enough to fly into a hurricane." replied Bersun.

"Then that would be mount of the demon Aezezal, then." affirmed Radjar.

Bersun continued, "We found some wounded Allied men in Orion, but there was no sign on BloodVaine's remains. All was found was a weak man in the Emperor's Throne room and this-"

Bersun drew out a small wooden box.

"Brix an' blox...that be the cursed box that Fright Knight gave me!" cried Jack, "It did it's job after all!"

Bersun suddenly looked nervous holding the weapon that had killed BloodVaine. "Is it still...cursed?"

"Never you mind, lad, I'll take it back to give to 'er 'ighness sometime.."
said Jack, and with that he snatched up the box.

"Were you able to treat all the wounded?" asked Willem.

"I've seen to it that my men have brought back the wounded here, seeing that you have better healers than I." replied Bersun.

A trumpet sounded. Everyone turned to the sound.

"Those are Classics." observed Graygon.

"That must be Quorandis!" smiled Sir Dractor.

They went down the hill, past the ruined walls of Orion, and to the Allied camp. Bersun and his Falcons were returning even as they were. Sir Dractor, Willem, and Barbod, and a Bull Knight excort came to meet them. Sir Victor de Graff was close behind, with the intent to report on his findings.

[The Green Knight]

"Now," Quorandis turned to de Graff again. "I want you to take all the Club Knights that are still fit for action, as well Marshal Targon and his Dragon Masters. Go north, and seek out Lord Bjarn's allied army. Congratulate them if you meet them, and give them aid if they require it.

"Oh no!" said Shainya. "More of our enemies. Those are classic knights and Dragon Masters. Pink-less Dragon Masters."

"Nay!" said Sir Dractor with a sudden smile. "Those be Club Knights, of Talistrand, and those Dragon Masters be our allies. This is doubly good news. The Black Falcons have been turned back, and Bernard Quorandis has sent men to our aid."

As the last soldier fell, a trumpet sounded and everyone turned. A band of pink-clad soldiers, bearing the Black Falcon flag, were marching down the hill.

Note: This comes in right after the stuff above and before the everything else.

It was night time at the allied camp. And with the arrival of both the pink falcons and the Sorcerer King's dragon masters, the warriors of the battle for Orion were finally getting some well earned rest. At least, for the most part...

Targon couldn't sleep. So much had happened since the departure from Talistrand. The army had passed through waves, fields, and trees like a wind or a hurricane. Things had happened. LOTS of things had happened and Targon needed some time to sort it all out. Either that or something to drink.

But Targon wasn't the only one chasing sleep. In his tent Caimlin tossed and turned. He was exhausted of course. Terribly exhausted from his exertions during the battle. But for some reason he couldn't sleep. "What's wrong with you Caimlin? The battle is over. Go to sleep." It was true. The battle was over. All that was left of enemy was a few pockets in the lower half of Orion and the Back Falcons. They would pay for their part in BloodVaine's war. With BloodVaine gone, the allied army was had little left to attack. Caimlin didn't doubt that their next task would be to bring retribution to the Black Falcons. Also, Bernard would surely want to liberate his allies the Royal Knights. Caimlin could see that there was still more to do before order was restored.

That was another thing. How would the Dragon Masters survive without Lord Void? BloodVaine had taken many of the high ranking Dragon Masters into his ranks and as a result there were few who were fit to take their king's place. Caimlin knew that Jarvick would never take the position. His place was at sea and the Dragon Master troops already had other ideas. They had mourned the lost of their leader, but not for long. Above all things, Dragon Masters adapt and Caimlin had a sinking feeling that they would want him for their king. Not that he was afraid. If they people wanted it then he would do his duty to his country and accept the crown. But still... Caimlin had never wanted to rule and he worried that perhaps it would be too much for him. Sure, his men looked to him as a war hero, but Caimlin knew that it took more then that to run a country.

Sighing, Caimlin tried to think of other things. He wouldn't have to worry about ruling for a while, anyway. With the Emperor dead and no present heir to the throne, no new rulers would be appointed for a long while

With these thoughts behind him, Caimlin tried to get to sleep. He found, however, that there was more to be pondered first.

"So BloodVaine is dead eh? But how do we know? All we have is that wizard's word. We didn't see him go and we don't know how he died or who killed him either. And what about the deceiver? One minute it seemed like he was on our side and the next... The next we find that he's demon possessed." But what did it matter? They were both dead right. Derek had finished off the demon and Keavur stabbed the deceiver with his spear and dragged him off.

Caimlin rolled over and furrowed his brow. That's when it hit him. Every strength sapping blow he had delivered on the battle field suddenly built up and hit him at once. And Caimlin was out.

Meanwhile Targon sat with his back to a tent, downing a pint of rum, he had pinched from a keg in the tent behind him. "Ahhh" he said, coming up for air. "That's some good rum. What shall we drink to? To us? No. To Lord Void? Ah, yes!

"Here's to your health, Lord Void. May you endure a long and painful stay at the burning gates. Oh, and say hi to Bargon for me." Targon laughed. A long cruel laugh that fizzled out into a deep sigh. "Oh, what's the use. How am I supposed to gloat with Caimlin still around?" Targon knew that his old friend was the first in line to receive lordship of the Dragon Master kingdom. "Tyco, that burns. NANO!"

Targon stopped swearing, suddenly. He thought he heard noises and wondered if someone was watching him.

"Ah, well. you're still alive Targon. That's more then you can say for Drock." Now, there was a hint of sadness in the sergeant's voice. Drock was one man that Targon had actually respected. One that had been, perhaps, a kindred spirit in some ways. But sorrow, (unless it were for himself) was a place that Targon never lingered and he soon returned to his own troubles. Taking another swig from his pint, he turned to his favorite subject. A list of the people he loathed.

The Sorceror King was first. "Bloody sorcerers." Targon thought. "Oh yes,'Come on, lets go sailing around for no reason at all!' Bah! He's not so tuff. Doesn't scare me any."

The truth was that the everyone (with three small exceptions) was afraid of the Sorceror King. First there were those with great power or bravery, such as the old man. Second there were those that the Sorceror King chose not to reveal himself to, such as King Valentis and Bernard Quarandis. Lastly there were those, who like Targon, were too stupid to be properly frightened. Still, Targon was glad to be away from the Sorcerer King and even more glad to be away from Bernard.

Bernard was next on the list, right above Elwen. For although Targon was no longer enamored with Elwen, the events of the Grand Ball had left him with a strong distaste for the Classic legolander. "Arrogant show-off! he's perfect for the prissy princess."

Targon also had a strong dislike for Elwen. He couldn't tell where it came from, (she had never done anything to deserve it) but then, he didn't care. On the other hand Targon also felt a strange attraction to the lady. Maybe it was the challenge of winning her. An even greater challenge for someone like Targon. Or maybe... Maybe it was the constant ribbing that Elbadar enjoyed giving him. Targon was reminded of one such time on his voyage to the Royal Knights land.

"So tell me Elbadar. Who's idea was it to bring that snobby princess with us?"

"Princess? I'm surprised you don't know who she really is, Targon. Especially considering how close you were at the ball. Of course it was misery for me, overhearing your 'tact' with words and your 'gift' for song. Though I must say, it was nice to see you enjoying yourself, even if the lady wasn't."

"Don't you have better things to do, Elbadar? Like checking the water depth...personaly."

Whatever the case, Targon's thoughts often turned to Elwen. Especially when drunk.

Elbadar wasn't on Targon's list. The two had declared a truce for the moment. And a good thing too, because if they hadn't it would likely have resulted in chaos on the battle field.
But Targon wasn't thinking of Elbadar now. now he was thinking of Caimlin. "That Nano back-stabber!" Targon thought. He pulled out the dark green rock that Caimlin had given him.

"Magic rock. Ha!" Targon hurled the stone into a patch of tall grass. "Yeah right." Targon lasted a full twelve seconds before running after it. Down on his hands and knees, he groped wildly for the stone. Strangely, the rock had become a sort of friend to Targon. Pretty sad when your only friend is a stone. When Targon found it he realized that his pint was empty and would need to be refilled, so pocketing the rock, he returned to the tent and did just that.

[Formendacil]

Grid: J-10
Location: Allied Camp

Sir Jayko Falconensis couldn't have been happier to reach the Allied camp. Finally, there were people other than those filthy Dragon Masters, and those megabloks Classics hanging on that shiftily-megabloks Bernard Quorandis.

The fact was that Jayko felt lonely and out of place. Once the army had been narrowed down to the Classics and the Dragon Masters, there suddenly seemed to be no more room for a more diverse group. And with Elwen hanging off Quorandis' arm half the time, Jayko felt very much alone.

It didn't help that the Eastern Knight's Kingdomer deeply disliked both Quorandis and Targon. He knew that both coveted Elwen, and as Elwen's self-proclaimed defender and wannabe-lover, he resented that strongly. He resented them even more because he could do nothing about it. Both had armies at their backs.

He especially resented Quorandis. The Cavalier had it all: power, armies, good looks, great manners, an impeccable pedigree, superb fighting skills. And although Jayko knew that Quorandis was an evil man who would use Elwen just for his own amusement, there was no one else who would believe him. It was SO unfair.

And then Quorandis goes an wins a battle against impossible odds, and gains valuable allies at the same time. Was there ANYthing the man couldn't do?

It was in a state of utter dejection therefore, that Jayko entered the Allied camp that evening. It was only slightly alleviated by accidentally stumbling over the Eastern Knight's Kingdom's small portion of the camp in his search for an alcholic drink. Of course, they recognised him immediately as a lord of their own faction, a fact made obvious by the distinctive tinted armour he wore.

However, since a fair number of them were Talonjain, he was quickly escorted to the drinks he was looking for. And he quickly proceeded to drink himself into a stupor, justifying the fact that he would be unable to help Elwen should the need arise by the fact that she was in the company of that gigantic knight she knew. Sir Tractor or something.....

He was soon drunk, and not long after, unconscious.

[lemon_squeezer2]

Grid: H-9
Location: Central Keep, Limtol

The Marquis looked out the large bay window that looked over the city. He had come to Limtol for several reasons. First of all, he wanted to see the newly acquired Royal Knight lands for himself. The land so far seemed useful enough, he might as well leave the local governors in place and perhaps appoint a noble or two to look over the newly acquired district. As he had entered the city, he had received some glares from some of the better dressed people, but the lower classes, from reports and his own observations seemed not to care, toiling the ground as they always had and receiving the same food and the same pay. Also, it was good to get away from the bustle of Falconis city. The war appeared to be finished, and so what if the army had suffered two reverses? As long as there was an army to be had that was fine. The population needed a bit of thinning anyway, he thought carelessly.

His thoughts were interrupted when a messenger arrived at the door. “Sir, Martin is coming as you requested”
“Good, send him in as soon as he arrives.” The Marquis smiled. He had known Martin for many years – it would be good to see an old friend again. He spoke again just as the messenger turned to leave. “Oh, and do bring the prince in. I would like to talk with him.”
“Yes my lord”
The thought of the boy angered the Marquis. The boy was stupid – well, not stupid, the Marquis reconsidered - in fact he was quite a bright young boy. No, the prince was simply weak. But than again, the Marquis thought, that was a good thing.

A short time later, the boy entered. He was wearing simple workman’s clothes with a leather apron over it. On it were some light smudges of grease. The Marquis spoke,
“Working on another clock, aren’t we?”
The prince had been looking down at the ground, apparently lost in thought. The marquis rolled his eyes. “What have you been doing this afternoon?” he said in a somewhat louder voice.
“Oh, I’ve been working on a small clock you see”, said the prince. You see, the pendulum that I had devised is somewhat inaccurate, and I had to reset the gears so that I could compensate for the…”
The Marquis cut him off. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I have sent for Martin. He will be here any minute now.”
The boy looked puzzled. “Martin? Who’s Martin?”
Inwardly the Marquis groaned. “You remember – Martin, he is Duke of Norphilia – he is a Major general in the army. Right now he is commanding it.”
“Oh yes, I remember him now. How long will he be here?”
“Only a few minutes or so. After that, you can get back to your – project.”

Before the Prince could reply, Martin entered though the doorway.
“Good afternoon Durlass, Hindrich”, nodding at both. “I was told that you requested my presence.”
“Yes, I did. I want a report on the army’s status.”
“We suffered fairly high casualties. Some 120,000 were killed.”
“My God – that far more than what I ever expected. What of the army now?”
“I have decommissioned most of the army with pay. I have about two thousand with me now.”

The Marquis thoughts were suspicious – why was Martin acting with such undue authority? The man was dangerous – too dangerous to have around. He had changed in the short span of a few months. Changed from Martin the happy-go-lucky to a colder figure that smacked of the demeanor that Falconis originally had.
“Martin. I want you to Take the rest of your army and split them up among the Royal Knight fortresses – many of them are undermanned.”

“I will see what I can do.” The two men eyeballed each other, both of them highly distrustful. The Marquis knew that something was not right about the tone of Martins voice and the way his eyes moved, but he could not say what.
“You may go now. The prince and I will return to Falconis city within the week for Falconis’ funeral. I trust you will be there as well.
“Indeed I will Durlass, indeed I will.” Martin turned about, his metal toed boots clicking down the hallway and his cloak hanging down.

“No, I do not like him. I do not like him at all.” The Marquis stated. “He has a cold and hungry look about him. He reminds me too much of you father Hindrich.” The Marquis paused. “Go to your apartments now. We will be leaving tomorrow.”

[Green Fox]

J-10
The Camp

Green Fox was sitting on a log outside the infirmiary tent. He had been sitting there for at least an hour, taking in the day's events.

"So... happy endings all round, then. But what do I do... I could go to the coast... buy a boat... maybe start a family... if J'anrya doesn't stick with Bjarn..."

He staggered over to where, unbeknownst to him, Jack's little pebble army stood. There was an empty whisky bottle. He followed a little trail of them until he came to a dilapidated cart behind the reeds. The horse appeared to be gone. Upon further inspection, it was loaded with bottles. Green Fox took one and read the label:

Rye Whisky
'47 vintage

He thought:

"Weeeeeeeellll, it is cause for a celebration, after all..."

He grabbed a bottle in each hand and stuffed considerably more in his trousers and jacket. Finding a small clearing among a group of trees, he dug a hole and buried them, all but two.

"Just in case", he thought.

He limped towards the infirmiary and sat back down on his log. Jack walked over, carefullly carrying a burlap sack. Green Fox swore he could hear whispering coming from inside. Jack spoke:

"You've been here a while.Still anxious about Bjarn?"

Green Fox was.

"No... He'll get better anyway. What's he done to me to make me care?"

He took a swig from one of the bottles. Jack leaned in closer:

"That the '47 vintage?"

"How would you know?"

Jack hesitated:

"I've... tried it before."

He walked off. Green Fox picked up his two bottles and walked into the tent. It was empty save for Bjarn. Green Fox took off his very battered hat and pulled a stool beside Bjarn's tent.

"Uh... hello."

He was quite lost for words. He gazed down to Bjarn's mess of a hand and shuddered.

"Uhhhhh..... get well soon. Bye."

He winced just thinking about it. Limping down to his secret stash, he dug up the whisky and helped himself to a bottle. Or two. Or three. After the sixth one he lost count. Very drunk, he staggered over somewhere. Or maybe somewhere else. Everything just looked [i]blurry.[/b] He sang a little tune, tunelessly, that summed up the recent events:

"I AM THAILING...

I AM THAILINNNNNNNNNNNNN'

'OME AGAIN...

'CROSS THE SEAAAAAAAA

I AM THAILIN'...

THTORMY WATERSH...

...TAE BE NEAR YE...

...TAE BE___ "

He bumped into a blurry figure. It was J'anrya.

"Hello... Ye lookshhh beotifuul 's'evenin'"

She shouted: "DRUNKARD!" and slapped him on the face.

[Lord_Of_The_LEGO]

"Careful now, you speak of treason now, that brat is now the king!"

Ten minutes later, the Lone Falcon was back under the burlap and riding away from the Falcon Spire, gagging on Vanderdious' perfume. He had not counted on this turn of events, and now the Rebels would have to rethink their plans. Fast.

Grid: G-7
Location: Falcon Rebel Resistance Headquarters

It was the following morning. After the failed assassination attempt on the Marquis d'Durlass, an emergency meeting had been called by the Lone Falcon.

"There has been...a change in plans." began the Lone Falcon carefully, "The Marquis still lives, and is now with the Prince in Limtol. We were too late."

The expected gasps greeted this pronouncement. Mayriz asked, "Is all lost then?"

"No." affirmed the Lone Falcon, "Not all is lost. We will have to scale back on the overthrow of this government until Dametreos settles back into sync. Bersun's army should have made contact with the Allied Army by now, and I have sent Freena to him to alert him of this setback. Bersun and his army is to discard Falcon garments and emblems and to hide among the Allies as Bulls. We cannot allow word of our aiding the Allies reach the Marquis. If the Marquis knew of our existence, he could squash us instantly."

"Surely the Falcons know of the Bulls existence, however?" queried Gaffner.

The Lone Falcon shrugged, "Let us pray they forget...winter is approaching and every faction, even the Black Falcons, will need to prepare for it. There also may be some friction between the Royals and the Falcons. Technically, the Royals are now under the rule of King Falconis XXIX, but the new Classic Emperor, who ever he may be, might order the Falcons to return the land, since they captured it under the illegal rule of BloodVaine. While this dispute continues, the Bulls will slink away until spring."

"Then what is the immediate plan?" asked Vanderdious.

"The Resistance will split in two; us and Lord Drakko will stay here, at the Falcon Spire, and Bersun, Mills, Xoneyur and the rest will hide with the Bulls. I fear Bersun will have to manage for himself after the winter storms hit, for carrier birds will not be able to fly, and constant messengers would look suspicious."

"There are rumors of a rogue militarist, Martin, who is trying to make a power grab at the Falcon Throne. His reasons are unclear."

"If he is no better than Falconis XXVIII, then he'll meet the same fate," growled Forden.

The Lone Falcon nodded. "Correct. However I don't see how anyone could be as bad as Falconis XXVIII."

[lemon_squeezer2]

Randolph woke up again. He was still very sore, but not as much as before. Again he tried to get up. This time he succeeded, and he sat on the side of his makeshift bed, constructed by two barrels with a board on top. Randolph looked down at his leg. On it was a blood soaked bandage. With his good arm, he leaned down to take it off. Underneath was a large scab, somewhat dirty.

"Let's see what we can do here", he thought. He put his unhurt foot on the hard, dirt-packed ground and slowly brought his other down, clutching the bed for support. He gradually put more and more pressure on it until the pain was too great.

"That's not going to work". Looking around, he saw a bundle of short, finely carved sticks just a few feet away from him. Whatever their intended use, they would serve his. Hobbling over, he grabbed one and place his weight upon it.

"That's better, now for a sling", he thought, as he examined his shoulder. He reasoned the bone must of been broken there and he must make it as immobile as possible. Most importantly though, he wanted to reach the allied camp and see what had become of his division.

[Formendacil]

Grid: J-10
Location: Allied Camp

"He has a heir then," said Quorandis. "Excellent. You've done a great job. As soon as I meet with and thank the Allied leaders, and visit Constantius, I'm going to turn in. It's been a long day. Goodnight."

Quorandis met with each of the Allied leaders in person that night. Barbod, Willem, Radjar Kath (a slightly uncomfortable meeting alleviated by the presence of Sir Dractor and Elwen), Bersun (whom he intended to introduce Randolph to at a later time), and Caimlin (as chief officer of the Dragon Masters). He never made it to Bjarn or his standin. He congratulated each leader, and made it known that he harboured no hard feelings (in the cases of Radjar and Caimlin), and that he had no intentions of taking control of the Allies.

He never made it to Constantius Legonis that night either. By the time he had met with Caimlin, he was exhausted, and ready for bed, where he was soon fast asleep.

The following morning, Quorandis' first stop of the day was the pavilion where Constantius and several of the Classic nobles were being housed.

"Your Imperial Highness," said Quorandis, bowing to the son of a long-dead emperor, the brother of a dead emperor, and the uncle of a recently-deceased emperor. Constantius was a man of average height, with fine, aquiline features, and a distinguished mop of prematurely white hair. He was spry and fit however, and rose upon Quorandis' entry.

"Captain-general," acknowledged Constantius, signalling to Quorandis to take a seat. "I am most honoured to meet the figurehead of the Empire." A slight smile curled the end of Constantius' mouth.

"I am not a figurehead," said Quorandis wearily. "And I will more than pleased to hand over the reins of Imperial power to their rightful owner. You are aware, Your Imperial Highness, that this appears to be you?"

"There is no need to be so formal," said Constantius, smiling. "And yes, I had rather guessed this. The fact that none of my brothers or nephews were here suggested the fact. Is anything known of my sons?"

"Your elder son was killed by BloodVaine," said Quorandis. "We have documentation. As for your son Clement, he is alive an well in the free portions of the Royal Knight realm, and should be enroute to us even as we speak."

"Thank you," said Constantius, with a pained look in his eye. "How soon will it be until you know if I am the Emperor?"

"Probably in the next day or two. We only need confirmation of the deaths of two of your nephews," said Quorandis. "Once we know for sure, it is my intention to march into Orion, and have you take possession of the Yellow Castle. You can then be enthroned, and people will return to rebuild Orion, and we can start rebuilding all Dametreos."

"And what of yourself?" asked Constantius. "Will you remain in Orion?"

"If you order it," said Quorandis cryptically. "For myself, I would return to Talistrand."

[Lord_Of_The_LEGO]

He walked off. Green Fox picked up his two bottles and walked into the tent. It was empty save for Bjarn. Green Fox took off his very battered hat and pulled a stool beside Bjarn's tent.

"Uh... hello."

He was quite lost for words. He gazed down to Bjarn's mess of a hand and shuddered.

"Uhhhhh..... get well soon. Bye."

He winced just thinking about it.

J-10
Allied Camp, Bjarn's Recovery Tent

Green Fox stumbled toward the entrance and promptly tripped over the cord holding the flap open. He fell like a log and the two bottles slipped out his pockets, rolling across the floor and halting with a clink beside Bjarn's bed. With a loud oath, Green Fox righted himself with difficulty and exited to find more drink.

Bjarn shifted slightly and blinked. Pain lanced through him, and he needed relief. Where was Shainya with those medicines?? he thought angerly. He shifted again and stared long and hard at the two corked bottles laying just within reach. After several agonizing failed attempts Bjarn was just able to snag a bottle with his left hand. He bit into the cork and yanked it out, spitting it away from him. He wouldn't need it again. Perhaps a whole bottle would dull the pain.

He had nearly drained the first bottle when a figure blocked the doorway.

"Bjarn, you..!"

J'anrya exploded into the room, snarling. "Drunk drunk drunk, that's what everyone is! Jack, you, that son of a tyco Marcus!"

"So...?" Bjarn murmered. He was not drunk, his sences still functioned perfectly. The pain was as evident as ever.

J'anrya wavered, then snapped, "Gimme that!"

For a second Bjarn thought she was going to take away his bottle, but instead she lunged for the second bottle on the floor and began to swing it lustily.

"Everyone's getting drunk, so I should to!" she snapped, "I deserve to anyway, all the shifty-brick best-lock Megablocks I've been through thanks to...!"

"J'anrya..."

Her name brought her rambling to a halt. "What?" she snapped.

"How did...you get here?"

"Marcus." she said simply, "Or Green Fox, his fantasy, the name that made him sound like he was someone!"

Bjarn waited. At last J'anrya continued.

"You've never been through the Megablocks I've been through...I've been accused of thievery, been locked up in a tyco Wolfpack cell for a dozen years, was nearly killed when I was abandoned during the Wildfire, and now I have to deal with you and Marcus and Jack and Voolmark ALL OVER AGAIN!"

She drained the bottle and threw it agaisnt the tent wall. It did not shatter, instead it simply slid down the canvas and thunked to the earth.

"You were not the only one who suffered." said Bjarn quietly. "My life was shattered, then Jack dissapeared, I was excomunicated from the Forestmen, I hijacked ships, I killed many men...we all go though our own personal hells."

There was no more to be said. After a ten minutes that lasted an eternity, J'anrya said, "We can't...go back to...like it was all those years ago...we've change too much - all of us have changed too much."

"I know." replied Bjarn, "I know."

J'anrya stood up to leave. At the door she turned and asked, "Will you ever forgive Green Fox?"

Bjarn was quiet. "I think I could...perhaps. He has suffered much too."

Pause. "Will you...go back to him?" Pain echoed through Bjarn's voice.

"No." said J'anrya. "I will hurt you if I pair with him, and I will hurt him if I pair with you. I would hurt both of you if I paired with someone else, and you and Marcus would hurt me if you two paired with others. In other words, all three of us has cursed ourselves to celebacy."

[The Green Knight]

The next morning Targon awoke and went to work. He was done sulking now and the time had come for some action. After pondering his next course of action for almost an hour, he hit upon what he believed was the best way to get revenge on all of his enemies.

At first he had an idea to kill Caimlin and take the Dragon Master throne.
Then he had an idea to kidnap Elwen.
Then he had an idea to kill Caimlin, take the Dragon Master throne and then kidnap Elwen and have her for his queen!

These plans were dismissed quickly, however when Targon took into account all the problems he might run up against. The Dragon Masters surely wouldn't let him back and besides... Targon needed a way to trump all of his enemies, not just some of them.

So it was that the hair brained field marshal decided to go with the stupidest plan of all.

A plan to make him the emperor.

"And what of yourself?" asked Constantius. "Will you remain in Orion?"

"If you order it," said Quorandis cryptically. "For myself, I would return to Talistrand."

At that exact moment there was a commotion heard outside. This was followed by the rather abrupt entry of general de Graff and another peculiar character.

"I'm sorry sir," said de Graff as he tried to wrestle the man quietly back outside. "I tried to stop him but he was too quick."

"Nay, unhand me miscreant! Thou knowest not to whom thou speekest!"

Constantius and Bernard stared in shock at the strange man in front of them. He was dressed in the clothes of a Classic noblemen which didn't fit right and seemed to be too small for him. His face was shaven although not too cleanly nor too thoroughly. And he spoke in an acent so ancient that Bernard and Constantius had a difficult time understanding him.

"Why Constantius!" The stranger continued. "Greetings to you and my how thou hast grown. But hold! Dost thou not recognize thine own kin? Why, tis I, Osgard Legonis, your long lost...eh...relative."

Underneath his disguise, Targon smiled. "It's brilliant." he thought to himself. "Sheer brilliant!" His plan was going perfectly. His pride stung a bit from the loss of his beard and the clothes were a bit tight but that was to be expected since he had pinched them from Quandis's stock. As brilliant as all that was, Targon felt that his greatest subterfuge was the false name. Osgard Legonis. A name Targon had ripped off from a gravestone in the royal cemetery. The idea was that an old family name would sound legit and indeed it it did.

"Wait, said Constantius " once had a great uncle whose name was Osgard Legonis, but he died long ago."

"Art thou certain lad? Didst thou see him go? Know this, that I am Osgard Legonis. The same whose life and youth hath been retained by the magic which resteth in this sword at my side."

Bernard raised a suspicious eyebrow. The sword didn't look special to him and he was beginning to think that he recognized Osgard.

"But wait, I remember the my father telling me about Osgard. He said that the man lost his arm in battle shortly before he died."

Targon winced. "It grew back?"

"What?!" said Constantius and Bernard together.

"What I meant to say was uh... Ah, but of course thine father hast told thee thus. For tis true that this Osgard didst lose his arm in battle, but that Osgard, I am not."

"But you just said that-"

"Ah, but I am Osgard Legonis. Just um, not the one who got his arm lopped off. You see, that one was my brother. We were twins actually. And we looked so much alike that our parents decided to give us both the same name. And I had to be hidden away, which is why you never hear of me and it was all rather scandalous don't you know. Anyway, they sent me to live with a magician but he kicked me out and I was raised by wolves, no ducks! And yes...um...right."

Targon cleared his throat. He just realized that he had lost his accent and was afraid he was losing his believability as well.

Wherefore dost thou question me? I am no usurper and detest being interrogated as one! Now, thou mayest crown me post haste."

"Hold on" said Bernard. "Something doesn't feel right. Don't I know you?"

Targon/Osgard, gasped dramatically. "Dost thou insinuate a subterfuge?"

Just then Elbadar walked in. "Hey, has anyone seen Targon?"

Bernard Quandris blinked. He looked at Osgard, then Elbadar and then again at Osgard.

"Targon!" He shouted. Targon looked with fear into the furious eyes of bernard and wished that the ground would swallow him up.

Strangely enough, it did.

[Formendacil]

Grid: J-10
Location: Constantius' tent.

"Why Constantius!" The stranger continued. "Greetings to you and my how thou hast grown. But hold! Dost thou not recognize thine own kin? Why, tis I, Osgard Legonis, your long lost...eh...relative."

"Idiot," Quorandis thought, and without much malice. He didn't know who the imposter was, but it was obvious from his general look and mode of speech that he was not who he claimed to be.

"Doubly an idiot," he thought, as the stranger rambled on. Didn't he realize that pretending to be Osgard Legonis meant nothing? Constantius would still be closer to the throne than he. Only his older brothers, or their sons, had a closer claim. As for the long-dead Osgard, he would still be several places behind...

And then there was the fact that Osgard, a rather famous prince, had lost an arm in battle. His father had mentioned that some years past....

Quorandis mentioned it out loud.

The stranger had a couple of implausible explanations to explain it away.

As "Osgard" rambled on, Quorandis noticed that there was something strangely familiar about the man... Quorandis was sure he knew him... If only...

Elbadar walked in.

"Has anyone seen Targon?" Elbadar looked rather harassed.

It came to Quorandis almost immediately. The imposter was the Dragon Master marshal.

"Targon!" he cried. Quite frankly, he could barely believe was he was seeing. He had never had a high opinion of the man, Lord Marshal or no, especially considering his ridiculous solo at the ball in Talistrand, but this seemed below even....

Quorandis' musings were cut off in mid-thought. The ground was starting to quiver.

[The Green Knight]

Quorandis' musings were cut off in mid-thought. The ground was starting to quiver.

Suddenly a pit apeared beneath Targon and in another moment, the imposter had fanished. Then, the crevase closed and the earth stood still.

No one knew what had happened or why, but there was a reason for it. A dark and sinister reason.

[Formendacil]

Grid: J-10
Location: Allied Camp

Suddenly a pit apeared beneath Targon and in another moment, the imposter had fanished. Then, the crevase closed and the earth stood still.

No one knew what had happened or why, but there was a reason for it. A dark and sinister reason.

Quorandis stared slight dip in the now-solid ground.

"That," he said, "is the most peculiar thing I have ever seen..."

Elbadar, de Graff, and Constantius all nodded dumbly.

"Oh..." said de Graff, when he got his voice back. "I meant to tell you-" he nodded to Quorandis "-that Orion is now completely free of any enemy holdouts. Also, our scouts have confirmed the deaths of the other Legonis princes. Your Imperial Majesty." de Graff turned, and bowed most formally to Constantius.

"Excellent," said Quorandis. "I'll talk to the other Allies about setting a time for a formal entry into Orion, to be followed by the official return of the city to Imperial control, and the subsequent coronation and en-throning of the new Emperor. If we're lucky, we can have the armies one their way home ere the snows fly."

[Lord_Of_The_LEGO]

Lord Void looked around in surprise.

Where the tyco??

Where was he? A wooded forest, that was obvious. But Where was he? The Neverwood? The Warblewood? He could be anywhere in Dametreos!

Lord Void suddenly remembered a conversation with Jack Craft, about the origin of the name Lord Void. He had been given that title by The Master, but Void had never known why, until now. Lord Void was void of magic. He had no power. He was a mere human.

G-10

"It's megabloks to be human."

This simple statement was directed at no one save the rubbled of the Fire Breathing Fortress. Lord Void had no one else to talk to, though he found the stones very un-chatty. But after three days of scrabbling for life in the Neverwood all by himself (why the tyco did he have to get teleported to the Neverwood, of all places??), some casual conversation, even with an inanimate object, was welcome.

"You know...I really never realised how privlaged I was..." Lord Void continued, "All of these years when I was hungry, I simply created food out of thin air. When I wanted to go somewhere, all I had to do was wave my staff about and poof!-" Lord Void waved his hands about expressivly "-I was instantly there. Now, I can't even communicate with with some son of a shifty-brick to come and get me out of this mess..."

Lord Void slumped agaisnt a rock and wrinkled his brow angerly.

If he hadn't joined up with those megabloks Allies, he might still have his magical power back...but then...BloodVaine would have probally squashed him...however, at this moment, cold and hungry, Lord Void felt he might have been better off dead than magicless.