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Classic-Castle Roleplay: December

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Postby Lord_Of_The_LEGO » Thu Dec 09, 2004 9:32 pm

lemon_squeezer2 wrote:Litzcrack was never a good soldier. He would make another raid in two weeks, this time for more food. The forestmen had enough of that for sure.


Location: A ruined outpost on the Forestman border.
Grid: J-7

Lizcrack grinned through a mouthful of bread and wine. The last raid had certainly yielded excelent results. True, they had lost a few men because some megablocks Forestmen had had arms with them, but they had soon taught those tree-huggers a lesson.

Lizcrack's chum Bert approach and belched. Bert was fat and hariy, and extremely ugly. His lust for food was only surpassed for his lust for women.

"'Sup, Bert the Burp?" asked Lizcrack, chomping off another bite.

"Took two more this morn!" boasted Bert, swigging wine, "They were unwilling, but they soon obeyed. I left them back there if you want what's left."

Lizcrack shifted uneasily. He was dishonest, greedy and a coward, but he still was unnerved by Bert's casual brutality.

"The swag's just about spent 'ere." comment Lizcrack, "Where'd you reckon we ship off next?"

"Dark Foresters, 'haps." belched Bert, "Might be easy pickin's there...dees Forestwomen are too violent, 'haps those Darkie women know better."

"Then it's to the Hemlock Fortress, then..."


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:"I never thought..." Radjar began, then stopped. Rosa knew what he meant, what all Dark Foresters had hoped for. The Stronghold was contructed most of stone, a material usually safe from the hungry flames. However, the timber inside had turned to ash, and the heat had become so intence metal had buckled and stone had cracked.
"Once," Rosa said quietly so only he could hear, "A fire burned the only home I knew. But is wasn't a destruction, it was a rebirth. Hemlock will rise again Rad."


The first night was the miserable. Every single Dark Forester was disheartened beyond belief, and to make matters worse, they had almost no food. Water, unfortunately, they had aplenty, for it had begun to rain, which quickly turned into slushy snow.
Huddled in a semi-protected corner where a sagging tower met a crumbling wall were Rosa and Radjar, both in a fitful sleep, both unknowingly pressed close together to cling to what body warmth they had. A plop of snow that had been loosened from it’s perch on a stone ahead fell wetly on to Radjar’s forehead, running down into his eyes and collar. He awoke with a start, cursing under his breath. His began to get up, then realized Rosa’s close proximity to him. Startled, he lay back down, and hesitatingly put his arm around her chilled shoulders. She did not react negatively, instead she press closer to him unconsciously. A slight smile touched Radjar’s lips. As he closed his eyes his thought, Tomorrow we’ll return to Bjarn, then in the spring Hemlock will be rebuilt.

He didn’t know that both the former and latter of those plans would be delayed very soon, and even perhaps never happen at all.
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Postby Commander Redbeard » Fri Dec 10, 2004 2:20 am

J-8

Leaving Drullen Bell Keep

The man with the hurt arm still glowered. He glowered down the chilly hallway, all the way down the stairs, and into the courtyard.
"They killed my people and that doddering old elk-man wants me to sit here while my town is looted by those filthy, women-stealing abominations!"
The man who had staggered into Anardan's camp limped up, a grim look on his face.
"They have my wife back there, and my family, if they are not already slaughtered by those filthy scum. I will not stay here while my loved ones perish. I am going back at first light with all who will follow me, by myself if need be."

The next morning, two hundred heavily armed Forestmen marched off. Nothing any of their leaders could say would stop them. They were filled with a rage so great that no words could halt their wrath. After hesitating for several moments, Anardan and his company march on the double after them.
Sitting in a midnight glade
Firelight dancing off burnished blade
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But after three mugs of ale
Let it bring what it may.
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Postby lemon_squeezer2 » Fri Dec 10, 2004 3:11 am

Durlass usually ate by himself. The occasional ball or banquet was fine, but he often found that eating in solitude gave him time to mull over various issues that would normally be forgotten or looked over. The great hall was a holdover from the original castle and had been incorporated into the massive palace structure that served as living and working quarters for the hundreds of servants, government officials and the royal family. Well, at least what was left of the royal family. Hindrich was an only child as was his father. His mother was a quiet, subdued woman. A mere shadow if anything, relatively unknown by the people and keeping to herself most of the time.

The Marquis raised his glass to his face, staring at it somewhat before downing the rest of its contents. Getting up from his chair, he strode to one of the two tall windows that looked over the interior of the courtyard. A soldier crossed the space, his regulation winter coat wrapped tightly around his body.

Turning again, Durlass walked the length of the room to the large double doors that were thrown open. He entered the main hall where roughly a dozen men were walking, some carrying papers, one wheeling a cart, and yet another standing, cleaning the rows of windows that lined the opposite wall. Durlass turned and started to head to his office when an official came up, walking in stride with the Marquis.
“Sir, our office has just received a message from one of our agents in Drullen Bell.”
Durlass turned his head in surprise. “Oh? What of it?”
“I deemed it important enough to draw your attention. Apparently there has been a series of raids carried out by Falcon troops, deserters most likely - against settlements there and amoung the Crusaders.”
Durlass suddenly remembered the encounter with the Crusader nearly two weeks ago.
“I must address this problem immediately. Who is the district commander in that area?”
Flipping through the papers he was carrying, the man replied – “District 27 sir, regional commander, Randolph Montpelier. Lieutenant, 3rd Corps. However…”
The noble cut him off. “I want him here within a week then. As the commander of that area he should be in control of such matters.”
“I’m sorry sir, but that’s what I was trying to explain to you. Such an action cannot possibly be done.”
“Why ever not?” Durlass scowled.
Looking directly at the noble, the official replied. “The report on this district says that Randolph was reported missing during the war.”
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Postby Lord_Of_The_LEGO » Fri Dec 10, 2004 4:34 am

Commander Redbeard wrote:The next morning, two hundred heavily armed Forestmen marched off. Nothing any of their leaders could say would stop them. They were filled with a rage so great that no words could halt their wrath. After hesitating for several moments, Anardan and his company march on the double after them.


Gonderin watched them go. They were all Forestmen of the lowest rank, the swamp-trotters and woodsmen, the simple farmers and farmer's sons. They carried anything they had at hand, clubs, crude spears, even the rare pitchfork. They were a motely rabble, blind with hate.

"On there heads be it." stated Bjarn simply when Gonderin had informed him of the happenings, "I do hope Anardan went with them to quell the mad rush and not to join them. He had the markings of a leader, he shouldn't dash it to pieces to fulfil the lust of revenge."

"They are only two hundred." consoled Gonderin, "If they squash the raiders, however unlikely, they will be satisfied and the rest of the Forestmen free from more raids. If not, two hundred disobediant Forestmen will have been disposed."

Gonderin's harsh logic hardly consoled Bjarn. "I still prefer no bloodshed, but you are right. Are you leaving for Classic LEGOland?"

"Yes, my lord."

Bjarn hesitated, then said, "In addition to what was discussed last night, also inform the Classic Emperor that the actions of two hundred rogue Forestmen are not actions indorsed by the Forestmen state."

"Very well, my Lord. May your health be further on the mend when I return."

"Chodan's speed, Gonderin."
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Postby Loneranger » Fri Dec 10, 2004 6:44 am

it was getting colder as 11 Black Knights fully armored and there horses stood there in the small courtyard of Rahnoen.

The horse keeper walked out of the stable with a beautiful horse. It's silky white hair shined in the morning light. The men watch the horse keeper as he brushed the horse, and quicky they turned as they heard the sounds of the doors opening that led to the inside of Rahnoen.

Sirion started to walk down the stairs, his armor was thick, he was carrying some sort of item around his arms, it was covered.

“M'lord, we have been waiting for you.” One of the top ranking knights said to Sirion.

Sirion walked over to a guard and gave him a scroll.

“Send this to the Black Knight capital.” And then walked over to his horse.

“M'lord?” The Knight replied as he waited for a response from sirion. But sirion just ignored the Knight and uncovered the item, it was a helmet that was beautifully crafted with white silk plumes on the top and the sides. Then he climbed his horse.

“Let us ride to the gates of Orion.” Sirion replied.

“Yes M'lord.” The knight replied and climbed his horse, they trotted out of the gates of Rahnoen and onto the road that leads to Orion.

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Postby Commander Redbeard » Fri Dec 10, 2004 9:24 pm

J-8

The Ruined Outpost on the Forestmen border

Anardan had tried to organize the motley array of the angered Forestmen, and several of the company leaders helped him. Under the joint command of Anardan and two other leaders, the wounded Forestman lead the party to a spot about half a mile away from the camp. Scouts were dispatched by Anardan to spy out the land, and the Forestman host restlessly sharpened their weapons, loostening their arrows inside their quivers. The scouts came back within twenty minutes.

"Sir, there are about twoscore and five Falcons occupying the remains of the camp. They plan to move on to the Hemlock stronghold within the hour!"

"They won't ever leave;" said Anardan. "I want threescore Archers to follow me! The rest of you, surround the camp and charge on my call!"

The Falcons were draining the last dregs of wine from the smashed barrels and were too drunk to notice the sixty archers kneeling behind the the trees surrounding them. Anardan raised his sword and prepared to order a volley. The archers watched him expectantly, but no signal came. Looking around, he mouthed; "Wait."

Anardan stepped out into the clearing.

"If any of you foul scum move an inch, he will be instantly slain! STAY WHERE YOU ARE!"

Ten Falcon soldiers siezed their weapons and charged gleefully at the lone figure, spears hefted. Anardan raised his sword, but there was a twang of bowstrings and the soldiers fell, the arrowshafts snapping off as the soldiers hit the ground. The archers stepped out of cover, centering their shafts on the surviving thirty-five Falcons.

"Drop your weapons."

The Falcons stood dumbstruck, still grasping their half-filled goblets. There was a faint clatter. Half of the Falcons had never even picked their weapons up.
Sitting in a midnight glade
Firelight dancing off burnished blade
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Wondering about the next day
But after three mugs of ale
Let it bring what it may.
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Postby The Green Knight » Mon Dec 13, 2004 3:09 pm

Nugaia. It was an ancient word, with no modern equivalent in the common tongue. Jarvick didn’t know what it really meant, but he figured that it likely had something to do with stone or earth. Indeed, if anyone was likely to know what it meant, it would be him. Jarvick was well versed in the tongue of the Ancients. Depe ceala, T’kam, Silboralic, they were all from that same, beautiful dialect, spoken by the age old race of the Ancients. As to the Ancients, little was known about them. Were they elves, or men, or higher beings perhaps? Jarvick didn’t know, but half of his library was made up of their manuscripts and it was in one of these that Jarvick and Drock discovered the Nugaia spell. As stated before, the word “Nugaia” was an ancient one and finding it’s counterpart in another language, such as gnomic or goblin, would be an immense challenge.

Putting down his own book, Jarvick moved to see what Lord Void was working on. Looking over his shoulder, Jarvick could see that Lord Void had his work cut out for him. On the wizard’s desk were strewn a number of papers, along with several sticks and stones, all bearing the same marks. They were strange slashes, laid down in no order that Jarvick could detect.

“Is that-?” Jarvick started.

“Yes,” responded Lord Void. “This is Goblin writing.”

“But it’s so messy. How can you even make sense of it?”

“I’m afraid that the Goblin people , for all their wisdom and abilities, weren’t the best record keepers. The Nugaia spell is a prime example. Extremely powerful, yet unfinished. Perhaps they never bothered to develop a counter spell. Perhaps it was never written down or lost in translation.”

“We better hope that they did develop one or all our work will be for not!”

Lord Void nodded. “But do not dare to hope, my friend. It will get you no where. Now, let me return to my work.”
Let us stop for a moment and ponder the signiture...





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Postby Lord_Of_The_LEGO » Mon Dec 13, 2004 7:50 pm

The Green Knight wrote:“We better hope that they did develop one or all our work will be for not!”

Lord Void nodded. “But do not dare to hope, my friend. It will get you no where. Now, let me return to my work.”


G-7
Majisto's Workshop

Jarvick nodded and turned away to sort through more scrolls. Lord Void returned his gazed to the runes infront of him and began translating. After another three hours of work, he had almost made no progress.

"Tyco Gfrdrgn, son of Gfrngge, son of Gfrddfng, son of Gfrsfnndk!" he swore after he realised he had been mistranslating 'adgge' as 'aadgge', changing the word from 'biscut' to 'scimitar'.

Jarvick approached. "Caimlin just teleharmed. He says all has gone well, and there in nothing out of the ordinary to report."

Lord Void removed his monicle and rubbed his eyes for the tenth time that day. "Any word from Thörynzfördge?"

Thörynzfördge was a trusted friend of Lord Void who bred dragons at the Den and had been set in charge of preparing the Dragon Masters for winter. Jarvick had been hesitant to let anyone else into their confidence, noting Del Grakken had been a 'trusted friend' as well. However, once Thörynzfördge had sworn under the Umlaut spell complete loyalty to Lord Void, Jarvick was satisfied, for anyone who broke their word under the Umlaut spell would perish instantly.

“He teleharmed just before Caimlin did. He informed me food stocks have risen due to good trading with the Classics, and wood aplenty has been gathered for all of Draganar."

"Execellent, then we can continue on here without returning to the Den to look official."

"You think your excuse of being away to design the new Fire Breathing Fortress will hold long enough?"

"If not, I'll think of something else. I didn't become Lord of Dragonar waiting in line...I got it by planning..."

With that statement, Lord Void returned to the Goblin runes.
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Postby Lord_Of_The_LEGO » Mon Dec 13, 2004 10:50 pm

Grid: G-7
Location: Outside the gate to Falconis City

Vanderdious, disguised as an old hag covered in warts and other skin ailments, lumbered through the snow waiting the return of the Rebel Resistance scout Freena. She was do anytime, returning from the Yellow Castle with a last message from Bersun before the heavy snow completely cut off contact. Vanderdious stopped. He could barely make out a figure - no, two! - laboring through the drifts. As they became more visible he could see one was a Black Falcon clad in a black fur coat and hat, an outer patrol guard probably. The other person was clad all in brown without a head cover. Vanderious's heart jumped. The second figure was Lord Barbod, King of the Bulls, without a doubt! Vanderdious huddled behind a large snowdrift and attempted to hear what was being said.

"Faster, you bloody Falcon! My toes are freezing off, megabloks it!"

There was an incoherent mutter, then a thunk.

"Tyco you! If you don't take me all the way to Falconis City I'll turn the snow red with your blood!"

Another mutter. There was a thwack, then thud.

"Bloody Falcon. A Bull always keeps his word."

Vanderdious peeked up from behind the snowdrift. Barbod was now standing over the prone figure of the Black Falcon that lay in a spreading pile of blood. Vanderdious had to act fast. If Barbod died in the storm, the Bulls would certainly perish. But if he blundered into Falconis City, he would be captured, which would do no one good. Barbod obviously could fight for himself, and he had never seen Vanderdious before, so he would never know to trust the Rebel Resistance member. There was only on thing to do.

"Oy, Barbod!" Vanderdious cried in imitation of the Lone Falcon's voice, stripping off his hag costume as fast as possible.

"Lone Falcon?" Barbod shouted into the wind, "Is that you? Where are you?"

"Over here, behind this drift!" replied Vanderdious, now pulling on a Black Falcon tunic from his pouch and placing a black flared helmet on his head, "I think I broke my leg, I can't walk..."

"I'm coming! Tyco snow!" Barbod yelled, “Do ye have a notion where be Falconis City?”

“Aye!” Vanderdious finished applying some instant wrinkles to his and hastily buried the hag outfit. Lastly, he pulled out a bottle of fake blood and splattered it over one pant leg and ripped up the cloth with a knife. He then threw both knife and bottle into the snow and scooped snow over them.

“Lone Falcon!”

Barbod had appeared, lugging his spear and looking slightly comical in the Black Falcon’s fur hat.

“How’d you get like this, old friend?”

“I took a nasty fall during a stroll…” made up Vanderdious, aware of the lameness of the explanation. He usually lied with ease, but the cold was getting to him and the urgency of getting the Bull King into hiding distracted him. Barbod, however did not question him, but simply pulled Vanderdious over his shoulders. Vanderdious groaned theatrically.

“Where be Falconis City?” bid Barbod.

“To the northeast, that direction.” pointed Vanderdious, “Be careful to wrap your cloak about and hide your Bull Sign.

Barbod did this and plowed forward heavily. After ten minutes walk, the gate came into view. The chilled guards let them pass with barely a glance and Vanderdious continued to give Barbod instructions to the location of the Rebel Resistance headquarters. Once outside the door, Barbod enter ponderously and came face to face with no other than the real Lone Falcon.

“Bloody - what???” cried Barbod

“What the - megablocks…” gasped the Lone Falcon.

Barbod threw Vanderdious to the ground and drew his spear, but was confronted by Gaffner, Mills, and Forden.

“Just wait a second!” Vanderdious scrambled to his feet, fake blood still dripping, and drew his hand across his face, obliterating the fake wrinkles and knocking the flared helm off his bald head.

“Vander..what in Damet-” began the Lone Falcon.

“There was no time!” snapped Vanderdious, “Lord Barbod was about to stumble into the clutches of Durlass’s men! Forgive me for imitating you, but Lord Barbod did not know me, nor could he have believed anything I said if I hadn’t been you!”

“Do not fret, Vander, you did the smart thing.” smiled the Lone Falcon. He turned to the confounded Bull King.

“Well met, Lord Barbod.”

“Indeed, Lone Falcon!” guffawed Barbod suddenly, and threw down his spear. The other Rebels lowered their weapons, smiles beginning to crease their faces.

“Now, old friend, what brings you here?” queried the Lone Falcon.



+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



Grid: Unknown
Location: Somewhere in a snowstorm

Dordrot swore under his breath, which condensed when he exhaled. Why, oh, why did a blizzard have to hit before he could have reached Lord Barbod? His King had been within sight be but not earshot when the clouds had suddenly come together and the ice and snow had lanced downward. Now Dordrot was hopelessly lost, and was without food nor source of heat. His feet were numb, more so were his hands. If he didn’t find shelter soon, he would perish.

Suddenly a form in the whiteness caught his attention. It was a lean-to, a crude structure of branches and twine lashed to the somewhat protective side of a hill. A small amount of yellow light spilled out of it, and wisps of black smoke issued out of other cracks. Dordrot lurched forward, not caring if he found himself in the hands of the enemy. All he wanted was something warm. He found at flap of cloth and pushed inward, nearly falling into a blazing fire. The first thing he hear was a scream, high-pitched, and then an oath.

“Son of a megablock!”

He was hit over the head with a stake, and he knew no more for a good ten minutes. When he did come to, he was wrapped in a blanket and a bowl of soup was nearby.

“Awake, at last, are you? That must have been some whop I gave ya.”

The voice was feminine, strong and confidant. Dordrot sat up and stared at a woman clad in a fading Black Falcon tunic. Her hair was dirty-blonde, her skin deeply tanned and her eyes were ice blue. She saw his gaze on her chest and crossed her arms over her petite, but muscular, form.

“Now doncha get any ideas, yer lucky I dint toss ya nude into the snow and left ye to freeze while I enjoyed some more clothing, but as seeing yer a Bull…”

“Not that…” mutter Dordrot, rubbing his head, “You are just a…BLOODY FALCON!” he shouted as he realized suddenly, the murky cloud of fog clearing in his brain.

“Keep yer pants on, Bull.” said the women, “I’m not dem Falcons, I work fer the Lone Falcon, the Rebel Resistance and all…”

Dordrot calmed down a bit and relaxed some. So he wasn’t so megabloked after all.

“Who are you?” he queried carefully.

“I goes by Freena round ‘ere.”
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Postby Robin Hood » Mon Dec 13, 2004 11:57 pm

Grid G-9
Location: road to Castleton


King Kjeld was cold. And he had good reason to be cold. He was in below freezing temperatures with nothing but a tent and small fire to keep the cold away.

Yet he was lucky, many of the soldiers with him had no tent or even a fire, for wood in the southern regions was scarce. Already five men had died of the cold on the march.
Lego was traveling to Castleton, the capital of the Royal Knights, which was under Black Falcon rule. Kjeld was the rightful king of the Royals, but since the Falcons had invaded and taken over all but the southern most tip of the Royal knight land, he had been forced to rule without complete legality. For a king could not be crowned unless he was in the capital.

When his father, King Barbarossa, an aged 90-year-old man, had been killed in the taking of Castleton Kjeld had not had much control over the colony island. He had fled there with his three-year-old grandson (Lego was himself 60) leaving his son Lego XIII to look after what was left of the Royal Knight controlled mainland.

But now, after much talking with the nobles, Lego had raised an army of 10,000 and sailed to the mainland to take back his own. The first step in doing that was to make himself king. However, since Castleton was in the middle of the country (the bottom of G-8 ) he would have to take over the southern half of the country. The only way to do that with just 10,000 men, plus the army his son had raised from the remainder of the mainland army was to do it in winter.

So here he was, near frozen with very little moral in his troops half way through his country, less then a day’s march from Castleton.

A soldier entered the tent. “My lord” he said, “the army is ready to march.”

“Very good,” said Kjeld, “I will be there shortly.” If he was to hold Castleton, all of the land South of Castleton had to be taken over. Therefore, his son Lego XIII and several generals were leading smaller armies to systematically take over all towns and cities south of the capital. They would have just started now so that no wind of what was happening would reach the Falcons in Castleton until it was too late. A few soldiers disguised as peasants would go into the city and make sure the gates stayed open. Since it was a night and snow was falling, the army would not be seen until it was very close.

Kjeld walked out of the tent in full armour, with his shield in hand. He climbed onto his white horse and was handed his lance. He rode to the front of the army and spoke.
“Fellow Royal Knights, we now are less then a days march from our great capital which the bloody Falcons stole from us. We shall take it back no matter the cost! There may be great slaughter to us, but it will be nothing compared to what the Falcons will receive. I pledge to you that I will not rest today until Castleton it ours!” He raised his lance and cried the ancient Royal Knight battle cry, “The Lionnnnnnnn!”

All the soldiers raised their weapons and echoed their King. “THE LIONNNNNNNN!”
Last edited by Robin Hood on Tue Dec 14, 2004 9:56 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Robin Hood » Tue Dec 14, 2004 12:15 am

Grid H-9
Location: At the gates to a small Royal Knight Village

Crown Prince Lego XIII wasn't much warmer than his father who was right now marching to Castleton, but he hardly noticed the temperature right now, as he was halfway up the wall surounding the village he and his army were trying to take over.

A particular large bunch of Falcons had been posted here and they were fighting fiercely. Since he had to post several men around the town to make sure no one escaped and that he had taken seven other villages recently and had had to post men there, Lego didn't have as many men as he would like to attack the town.

As he pulled himself over the lip of the wall, a Falcon soldier ran at him in the hope of pushing him over the wall.

Lego XIII ducked just in time and pushed the soldier from behind over the battlements. He then helped the next soldier over and then climbed down into the town.

He and three other men ran toward the gates, where on the outside the main army waited. Stabbing a Falcon it the chest he started to lift the bar that kept the gates shut. As he did so a Falcon soldier ran up behind him, skewerd one of the soldiers and hit him from behind.

Lego XIII blacked out.
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Postby lemon_squeezer2 » Tue Dec 14, 2004 12:25 am

Durlass was in his office again. It was just now that the realization that he was the ruler of the Falcons was hitting him. Far from giving him happiness though, he felt himself threatened. There were many out there who would try to push their way into the lucrative position of regent. Just that afternoon he had, with the signature of Hindrich of course, passed an act that would have several of potential political enemies executed.

Martin. The name came back to Durlass annoying him continuously like a gnat. Durlass had no solid evidence against him yet he was sure the he was up to something.

He could be wrong though. All reports had shown him as an able and loyal soldier. He was also very popular among the troops. That was what bothered Durlass the most. To have a large army in one place was too dangerous. A week before he had given orders to split it into several different segments. Besides, Durlass thought foolishly, why was a large army needed in the winter anyway? Little did he know that his selfish political motives would spell doom for the Falcon’s most recent attainment.


In an office at the other end of the building, a man was organizing reports. It was a truly tiresome job. Domestic reports, foreign reports, documents both important and worthless. It was his job to distinguish between the two. It was getting dark fast and he hurried through the last stack of papers. He wanted to get home to his family as soon as possible.

In his rush, he put a paper in the discard pile, not even bothering to look farther than its sender – Robert Lowton: Fleet commander.

Naval affairs were not important in wintertime the man reasoned. Getting up, he grabbed his coat, shut off the light and left.

Had he read the whole document, he would have seen that it was a report on a large body of Royal Knight ships that had been spotted two weeks before…
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Postby lemon_squeezer2 » Tue Dec 14, 2004 12:33 am

Location: Leaving an inn
Grid: H-7

The night before, Karl had stayed at a cozy inn some twenty miles out from Falconis City. The wind had abated that afternoon, allowing him to make an extra five miles. He had considered taking a horse when he left the city, but had decided against it, fearing that he would have no means of feeding it on the way to the golden city. Now he regretted that decision. The snowstorm was apparently just a freak incident and Karl was told that twenty-five miles to the south the land was still clear.

Fortunately, the innkeeper was a reasonable man and Karl had been able to obtain a steed. Now he could get to Orion within the week

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Looking outside, all Martin saw was a single figure walking away from the house nearly a block away.


Frederick walked down the street, heading deeper into the Falcon capitol. That incident was close – too close, and he had not come away with anything worth mention. Martin certainly looked clean, that was for sure. But there was something to him that wasn’t quite right. The way he had quickly pushed up the ranks to get to his position. Durlass was right in his suspicion that Martin might be up to something.


Meanwhile, Martin was in the sitting room with a cup of tea in his hand. The incident of a few hours ago was to be expected, but it forced him to delay a bit. Durlass was keenly suspicious. Any action that Martin took now would certainly ruin his chance at taking the throne or any position of power. He would have to wait for Durlass to make the first misstep.
"Bite off more than you can chew, then chew like heck"

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Postby Commander Redbeard » Tue Dec 14, 2004 2:05 am

J-8

Marching into Drullen Bell Keep

Anardan was amazed. They had taken the Falcon Raiders completely by surprise, and not a single Forestman was lost in the attack. Their hearts sank, however, when they searched the town for survivors. Not one person was left alive. The thirty falcons had their hands bound cruelly behind their backs, and they were marched for hours under an armed guard of tenscore to Drullen Bell Keep. Anardan had the prisoners hustled into an inner courtyard where they were forced to sit, their hands on their heads, while their leaders were seperated from them.

Anardan entered the Keep and searched out Bjarn, who he found in an inner room, talking with a guard captain. He waited in the doorway for several moments until Bjarn stopped talking and nodded at him.

"Sir, we have found the Falcon raiders. We slew half a score and have five and thirty as prisoners. Do you wish to interrogate the leaders? We are holding them in a seperate cell off the lower courtyard."
Sitting in a midnight glade
Firelight dancing off burnished blade
A Forestman sits
Wondering about the next day
But after three mugs of ale
Let it bring what it may.
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Postby lemon_squeezer2 » Tue Dec 14, 2004 6:28 pm

Harold Noe was in a festive mood that day. The New Year was coming fast and the week before it would be filled with parties, balls, and good food. He was the new district commander of Orlon, a medium sized city in the heart of Royal Knight territory at G-9. He had roughly 1,000 men under his command, all of them scattered around both the city and countryside.

At that moment, he was returning to his residence. The wattle and daub building was once the home of the mayor of the city, but he had fled when the Falcons had attacked. Just as he was about to enter, a soldier ran up to him, breathless. Harold stopped and looked inquisitively at the man.

“Hello there, whatever is the matter with you?”
Catching his breath, the recruit saluted and addressed the officer. “The Royal Knights – they are attacking our outposts to the south. Already they have advanced as far as Dunlap.”
Harold stood speechless for a moment, trying to tie together his thoughts. “But – but it’s winter! No army goes on a campaign now! How large is their number?”
“Some thousands. They were reinforced by fresh troops from the island.”
Harold stood there, dumbstruck. “Get the city commander – now. This is serious.”

Ten minutes later Harold was hurriedly greeting the lieutenant and repeating the news.
“It seems that a large body of Royal Knights are retaking their land. How many men can you muster in two days time?”
Thomas moved uneasily in his chair. “2,000 – but that is assuming all goes well. Many of my troops have been dismissed and to recall them would severally damage their morale.”
“What can we do then? It is my job to make sure that nothing out of the ordinary happens. Not to hold back an entire army.”
“Do you have a map?”
“Yes – as a matter of fact I do. It was left here with all the other furnishings.” Harold got up and retrieved a sheet of parchment from a drawer. Unfolding it, he placed it on the table.
Leaning over the Lieutenant pointed. “You were told they are besieging Dunlap. That is here – at the top left corner of F-9. They seem to be advancing to their former capitol. That only makes sense. Call for reinforcements to garrison the place. How many are there? 800 right?”
“Closer to five hundred if anything” Harold wearily replied.
“Try to get double that number then. Meanwhile lead a feint and strike at their supply lines. They will be exposed along the coastline.”
“But in order to do anything, we need more men.”
“Ten why are we sitting here? Send word to Falconis. Mobilize the men. We can get 300 ready today yet.” Thomas stood up and reached for his hat. Speed is vital. We cannot afford to lose a second now.”
"Bite off more than you can chew, then chew like heck"

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