Classic-Castle Roleplay: April 2005

[TheOrk]

J-12 Just past the Fright Knight border

Sir Weigraf stumbled about, even with his enhanced senses he could not stop slipping in the mud. He had to get away from Pythos. Despite his uncontrollable urge for his blood he had enough sense to realize the stupidity of it. Pythos could take control of him again with just a glance.

He was not yet powerful enough to face him. But that would not be far off. To quench his unatural thirst he needed blood. The more strong spirited the victim the better. He could not stand feeding on animals for much longer.

He needed to get to a place where there were many victims waiting. The blood called to him. Orion was one of the greatest places for it, with it’s elaborate sewer systems.

But they were aware of his existance. The Ghoul of Orion would be a bed time story for generations to come.

Then a demented thought crossed his mind. Valric. He was the only one to be beat him in this form. His blood would be worth a dozen cavaliers. He would have licked his limps if he could.

As he came to solid ground, he began moving silently. The road still insight. No need to feast on animals if minifig was on the menu…

[lemon_squeezer2]

Grid: O-12
Location: At sea

Patrol work was certainly an important job, but not a fulfilling one. Two months had been spent patrolling the massive gulf shared mostly by the Crusaders and Eastern Kingdomners. Still, the men were better fed, better rested, and overall had a much more pleasant disposition then they did a few months ago, probably because of the promise of higher pay.

Legally, these waters were international. The Crusader navy though viewed the area as their “turf”. In the past few weeks, Johnson had captured no less then six pirate ships. Only one of them had been worth keeping – the rest had been burnt while his latest prize – rechristened the Wasp had been sent back to port.

It was a fine day at any rate. The sun shone brightly and the only clouds in the bright blue sky was a bank far to the south, hovering over the Rascun peninsula. Horatio stood on the main deck, scanning the horizon more out of sheer boredom then watchfulness. Just then, a sudden cry from the crow’s nest broke his daydreaming. Looking up, he saw a midshipman call down to him.
“There’s a sail out there capt’n – right out from the port bow.”
Johnson instinctively called back as he crossed the deck. “Very good – carry on then.”
From his green overcoat he pulled out a telescope. It was a crude little thing, having only two imperfect lenses encased in a wood and brass skin, but it did its job. Carefully Johnson brought it up to his eye and began to scan the horizon. It took awhile, but after a bit he spotted it – a sail just off to the northwest. It was likely that the ship would be some merchantman or other warship but you could never take chances. Pocketing his glass, the captain turned to the officer at the wheel.
“We have the wind favoring us. Plot a course Nor’ west by north.”
“Aye, aye capt’n”
Slowly the warship began to ease around into the wind. The sails first flapped uselessly, but after a few more moments of turning the ship was in position. All in unison the spars were pulled and the sails caught the wind straight on. Johnson liked traveling close-hulled – it was the best position to obtain the most speed out of a ship, especially a well built one like the Aterops.


see - I do have some time. I just won't be able to follow up on this myself

[Formendacil]

Grid: M-24
Location: The Old Ruins

"Oh no," said the Old Man with a shake of his head. "And be on your watch, all of you. The Sorcerer-king will try to capture Elwen before she can reach the artefact. Otherwise, he will be powerless against her control of the city's powers, and his whole journey in coming here will have been in vain. Keep a VERY close watch!"

They headed down into the city, the Old Man leading the way, Elwen and Jayko close behind, and Sir Dractor covering the rear. They scanned the crumbling streets about them, searching for a sign of the Sorceror-king or his men. It was turning from dusk to nightfall, and only the light glow of the blue haze that covered the city gave any illumination, and it hid the moon and stars.

"Couldn't you give us more light?" asked Jayko.

"Speak more softly," said the Old Man in a whisper. "I certainly could, but there's no point at all in alerting our enemies to where we are."

~~~~~~~~~~~

The Sorceror-king's face had lit up.

"They've entered the City," he said.

"Sire?" asked Quorandis. "What 'they' have entered the City?"

"The one for whom I wait- and those who come with him," replied the Sorceror-king.

"Who?" asked Quorandis again, a bit irritably.

"The Old Man," replied the Sorceror-king, and went on to lie. "It is necessary to have the blood of a sorceror to unlock the powers of the city, the blood of a sorceror whose magic is like my own. Not the whole body's! Just a small vial or so, but it cannot be your own. Unfortunately, the Old Man is unlikely to acquiese to my request for his humours, and will likely put up a fight, as will his companions. That is why my men are here."

Quorandis' brain was racing. "And the Old Man would want so of your own blood then?"

"Oh no," said the Sorceror-king with a well-feigned frown. "He intends to use to the blood of the girl, the Duchess dan Raleigh. As the bearer of the crown, she is an acceptable replacement, but ALL her blood must be spilt."

"That's impossible!" Quorandis burst out.

"How?" asked the Sorceror-king, with raised eyebrow. "Do you mean that you trust the Old Man? Because the lovely Elwen does? Has it not occurred to you that he may not have hoodwinked her, as he has some others? Perhaps there was a valid reason that the young Talonjain knight was so desperate to keep her from returning to him, to the point of kidnapping her in Orion."

"I won't let this happen to her," said Quorandis.

"Then don't," said the Sorceror-king dismissively. "I care nothing for the girl. If you wish to draw her away to safety with your men while my own attack the rest, then by all means do so. You have fulfilled your obligation to me completely."

"Just one question?" asked Quorandis. "How did they get in?"

"Who can say for sure," said the Sorceror-king with a smile that was chillingly genuine. "The Old Man has some most devious powers.

"But you know what to do. Get your men, and have them follow my own, and then slip to the left side, where an opening will be left for you to retrieve the Lady Elwen out of. But be quick! If the Old Man starts to escape, the gap will be closed."

Quorandis nodded, and headed off. The Sorceror-king felt a smug surge of pride. The Cavalier had been played like a bow on a fiddle. He turned to Elbadar and Oris Del Grakken.

"Marshal, Captain," he said. "It is now time for YOUR orders."

~~~~~~~~~~~

The Old Man only felt the Sorceror-king's presence seconds before the Dragon Masters attacked. The Dragon Masters had done a superb job of keeping themselves quiet and hidden. It was almost unexpected when they rushed out of the crumbling buildings around them, cutting off the road behind them, and the houses around them. The Sorceror-king strode into the road ahead of them.

"Surrender," he said, fully expecting a negative answer.

"You know I won't!" replied the Old Man, as he sent a hair-raising shock of power at the Sorceror-king. The Sorceror-king laughed, and with an outstretched hand easily shoved the attack away.

"Is that the best you can do?" he taunted. Determined to push through, the Old Man replied with another, stronger, blast of power, and the two sorcerors were soon engaged with a struggle to control the street.

As if the sorceror's duel was some sort of cue, the Dragon Masters charged at the other three. Sir Dractor's visor dropped immediately, and he charged into the Dragon Masters, his greatsword parrying, thrusting, and wounding with elegant speed.

"Make sure Elwen stays unharmed or captured!" Sir Dractor yelled at Jayko, who was being faced by several Dragon Masters from the left side of the street. Most of those on the right were attacking Sir Dractor from the rear.

Elwen was ready for battle, but before anyone could engage her, she heard a familiar voice from the ruined house on the right side of the street.

"Elwen!" came the voice of Bernard Quorandis. "Over here!"

Taking advantage of the break in the perimeter of the Dragon Masters, Elwen dashed into the ruined house, where Bernard Quorandis and twelve Cavaliers were waiting.

"Bernard!" Elwen gasped. "What are you doing here!?"

"There's no time to explain," said Quorandis. "We need to get out of here." They started moving away from the battle.

"I can't go!" said Elwen. "The Old Man needs me."

"Do you know what he needs you for?" asked Quorandis.

But before Elwen could answer, and they had only gotten into the middle of the next street over, Oris Del Grakken and twenty Dragon Masters stepped out of the houses around them, quickly putting blades to the throats of the unsuspecting Cavaliers.

"Captain Del Grakken!" said Quorandis, "what is going on here?"

"Hand over the lady, Quorandis," said Del Grakken, with a cruel grin.

"I most certainly will not!" said Quorandis, a threatening bite in his voice. "You won't get away with this, Del Grakken! Elbadar will never condone this! You'll have megablox to pay!"

"Actually," said Elbadar, riding up out of the shadows. "I have to repeat what Captain Del Grakken just said: hand over Lady Elwen, or all of you will die."

[Lord_Of_The_LEGO]

The Black Falcons were dying of bird flu.

Grid: G-7
Location: Falcon Spire

Martin Humboldt was in a state of shock and disbelief. He had had victory. He had won. He had overthrown Durlass and his band of cronies and had taken over the Black Falcon state. He had been king.

Well, he was still king. But king of what? His nation was in a shambles. The mysterious sickness that swept the countryside, from west to east, had decimated the populace. Farms were destroyed. Whole villages, gone. In a panic, the surviving Black Falcon peasants had fled south, only to meet closed and hostile borders. At Forestmen and Dark Forest lands, they were turned away, repelled with spears and arrows. At the Royal Knights they were taken as prisoners of war, held in festering gaels and fed nothing but bread and water. But at least they were away from the plague.

Martin didn't know what to do. The Black Falcon army was scattered. Most of the DOSI members were dead. The FSS was holed up in Falconis City, it's eyes and ears plugged. Therefore, Martin's own eyes and ears were plugged. He had no idea what was going on. Right before the plague had stuck Falconis City, there had been a rumor of a secret league of persons plotting his overthrow, but nothing had been verified. And it would likely never be verified. Not now.

Martin might have been able to deal without the action of the DOSI and the FSS, but couldn't survive without the support of the people. It had been the masses, the persons dissatisfied with Durlass, that he had riled up and had gotten to beat down the gates of the Spire for him. He couldn't have done it without them. But now, they were the ones looking for support. They were the ones who needed his help. And he could offer none. His pride prevented him from doing that, from asking the aid of other factions. And so the people had turned away from Martin, muttering angry. Martin was loosing ground. And he knew it. And there was nothing he could do about it.

[Robin Hood]

Grid: G-8
Location: New Border for Royals and Falcons

Things had finally quieted down on the border. Since about midnight, all bombardment had stopped. Come morning Sir Theodore, who was in charge of that stretch of border, had sent out some spies to the enemy camp. Until they got back, the army could do nothing but wait.

Not that was such a bad thing. Over a thousand men on the Royal Knight's side were either dead or wounded. The Falcons had perfected the art of land bombardment to the point that all fighting was now limited to long range bombardment. With not a single missile for almost ten hours now, the Royals were fearing an invasion.

Theodore was pacing his tent. Valric, who had not done much fighting since arriving, was sitting on a chair watching Theodore go back and forth. "Calm down Theodore. The scouts will get here when they get here."

"How can you be so calm?" asked the knight/general. "We haven't nearly enough men to hold back the Falcons if they decide they have finished shooting at us. We have only three thousand men stretched across the entire border."

He had barely finished speaking when, without any intro, the head scout burst into the tent. "Sir," gasped the scout, who had obviously run all the way back. "We found out why the attack stopped."

"Well, out with it man!"

"They're dead sir."

"What?" said Valric, getting up.

"Well sirs," continued the scout. "Dead or dying. Some plague has struck the camp. If anybody in the Falcon camp is well, they fled."

Theodore felt a strange feeling grip him. This was the chance they had been waiting for. With a plague in the enemy's camps, it would be easy work taking back their land.

On the other hand, to take back land with a plague in it was not a smart thing to do. The knight sat down and thought for a moment.

Looking up again, he addressed the scout. "Have a dozen men set fire to the camp. Burn everything, everything, to the ground. Then send messages all along the front, tell them about this and warn them to take extreme care not to let the plague into our lands."

"Yes Sir," replied the scout and he left.

"Well that was interesting." Commented Valric.

"Indeed." Muttered Theodore. "I just hope we can take back what’s ours without spreading the plague into our lands."

"You'll have to burn everything, everything where people have been. Its the only way."

Theodore sighed. "Unfortunately, that’s true."

***************

Soon, the message was sent to all units on the front. Most Falcon camps had been struck by the plague. Once they burned the camps, the Royal Army moved northward. When they came across Royal citizens, all people were quarantined for a time before being allowed back to society. The army met very little resistance from the Falcons. Armies were the natural breeding place for illnesses.

Two weeks later, the front of the army, led by Sir Theodore, came to the old border. The army then stopped, secured the border and sealed it off. What was left of the plague in the Royal's land was then burned or quarantined away.

[Lord_Of_The_LEGO]

Martin was loosing ground. And he knew it. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Grid: G-7
Location: the caves below Vassalton

There was something the Rebel Resistance could do, however. And they had been doing it for the last six months. Wait. Some, Barbod in particular, were eager to attack now. “They’re weak! Let’s crush those bloody Falcons!” he often snarled. But end the end, he was convinced to do otherwise. Grudgingly. They all knew that if they attacked now, while the plague still lurked, they, too, ran the risk of exposure.

“We must wait a little longer.” cautioned the Lone Falcon, “Only a little longer. Once the plague has left this land, then we strike.”

So they waited. They waited another three weeks, while the world above them was decimated. Then, while the last days of April were slipping away, Freena led a cautious expedition upward and outward. A few days later the group returned. As far as they could tell, the plague was gone. They had entered Falconis City and nosed about, asking questions and examining conditions.

“There has been no deaths for a week.” explained Freena when she had come back, “The last pyre was burnt six days ago. There is no sign of poultry in the entire city. Whole buildings have been torched. Most of Falconis City smells of ash.”

“You checked everywhere?” pressed Dordrot, “The sewers, the alleys, the barracks?”

“With Vander’s help, we even got into the lower levels of the Spire itself.” said Freena, “The survivors are harried and miserable, but not ill save from hunger. Though the rest of Dametreos has entered spring, the Black Falcon land still’s in winter.”

The Lone Falcon nodded. Then he looked at Lord Barbod, Lord Drakko, Bersun, Jerral, and all the others. His eyes glinted and his mouth turned up in a small smile.

“Let us strike.”

Lord Barbod let out a roar of approval and the rest of the Bulls joined him. The Rebel Falcons added to the cry, their single voice echoing through the caves. Then it all fell silent, and everyone looked back at the Lone Falcon.

“You know what to do.” said he, “Let’s move out!”

Instantly everyone split from once another, each turning to accomplish their own duty. Bersun rallied his men and then broke to the surface, surrounding Vassalton and capturing the sole two soldiers entirely loyal to Martin Humboldt. The rest of the Black Falcons able enough to wield spear and club joined the Rebels. This army of 400 trained soldiers and 100 townsfolk then split into five separate battalions, commanded by Berson, Xonyer, Mills, Gaffner and Forden. Every horse available was seized, and a small group of persons consisting of Vanderdious, Freena and others and called the Advanced Guard surged toward Falconis City, intent on infiltrating the city. The Bulls, too, however small in number, formed their own miniature army, all 200 told, remnants of Barbod army that aided the Allies during the BloodVaine Epic and Jerral’s expedition force combined. These six battalions then turned their steps toward the Black Falcon capital. It would be Rebel Resistance’s first and final battle.

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

“Milord King!”

A manservant burst into Martin Humboldt’s chambers. Martin, at his desk, started violently and swore.

“What!?”

“Milord, and army nearing seven hundred men is approaching the city!”

Martin wasn’t sure that he had heard right. “An army? Of what? Royals?”

“No, my lord, it be Black Falcons…and…and…Bulls!”

“Black Falcons and…? My god man, don’t stand out there gaping, sound the alarm!”

The manservant rushed out the room. Martin, his head pounding, contemplated what to do next.

An attacking army, now? During the plague? That is impossible! Where did an army of Black Falcons come from? From the Southern Isle perhaps? Could this be Durlass’s revenge? But no. Durlass loathed the Bulls. He wouldn’t ally himself with them…what is the mean of all this?

Somewhere, in the back of his head, a little voice said: This is the end.

“NO!” Martin shouted, “This is not the end! I will prevail over this!”

[The Green Knight]

As he came to solid ground, he began moving silently. The road still insight. No need to feast on animals if minifig was on the menu…

J-12

As Caimlin Crossed the border, he couldn’t help noting the weather. It seemed that whatever the season it was, the Fright Knights always got the worst of it. In winter it was snow, but not the nice fluffy snow that blankets the country in a fresh coat of white. No, their snow was always mixed with sleet that turned the ground into a cold, muddy gravel that froze after it stopped snowing. In summer it was suffocating, smoky clouds of humidity and in the spring it was rain. Perhaps the best weather they Fright Knight’s had was in the fall. But of course this was also the time when the evils of that land were most active.

Now it was mist. Thick as a curtain about the troops. “Kilgrim.” Caimlin called behind him for the sergeant.

“Yes sir?”

“Tell the men to stay together and keep their weapons ready. I don’t like this fog.”

“Their weapons? I thought you said we wouldn’t have to worry about the locals?”

Caimlin didn’t respond but he thought to himself that it wasn’t the locals who would be lurking in the mists. “This land is home to many evil things.” He thought to himself. “Ghosts, ghouls and goblins. Wolflings, warlocks and weirds. Maybe even an odd jabberwock if you’re lucky.”

It was then, as Caimlin was thinking these unpleasant thoughts, that a scream from the back of the column pierced the silence and the mist.

The troops were beset by the Ghoul of Orion.

[TheOrk]

J-12

The troops were beset by the Ghoul of Orion

Weigraf smelled blood, minifig blood. He barely managed to keep a hold on his sanity, from what he could see on the road, a column of troops approached.
They did not look like Fright Knights but wore similar armour. Weigraf spied a bannerman holding aloft a standard. Emblazoned on it was a dragon. Dragon Masters.

From what Weigraf could put together in his dim memories, these enemies were not to be underestimated. Fright Knights wore big bulky armour, Dragon Masters wore smaller suits, but were much lighter and much harder. Weigraf knew he couldn’t kill most of them. There were too many and he still valued his hide.

“Wait for easier prey…” The thought raced through his head. No. The harder to catch, the tastier.

Moving as a silently as a shadow he slid from tree to tree. Easier to hit them in behind. In that dense mist he was undetectable.

Bringing up the back rank in the rear guard were some spearmen. The clatter of their arms and armour could be heard for miles. He drew his sword. Then he struck.

They only became aware of him when he was finally upon them. A schreech brought them to their senses as his sword sheared through one. The trooper next to him was frozen in shock. Weigraf gutted him and leapt deeper into the press of men.

Then it became a blurr. He fought like an uncaged animal. He deafently gave a scratch or two to at least a dozen. Only one more died on his sword.

He swung his sword at an important looking mounted trooper. His horse reigned in terror, bringing him safely out of reach. Then a dim pain lanced through his side. Another trooper jammed his spear into his armpit. In every direction, the enraged warriors pounced.

The bloodlust faded from Weigraf. “Time to get out of here…”

[Formendacil]

Grid: M-24
Location: The Old Ruins

"I most certainly will not!" said Quorandis, a threatening bite in his voice. "You won't get away with this, Del Grakken! Elbadar will never condone this! You'll have megablox to pay!"

"Actually," said Elbadar, riding up out of the shadows. "I have to repeat what Captain Del Grakken just said: hand over Lady Elwen, or all of you will die."

"You tricked me!" Elwen rounded on Quorandis.

"I had nothing to do with this!" insisted Quorandis hotly.

"No, he didn't," said Elbadar. "The Commander-General is an unwitting accomplice of my lord."

"Unwitting accomplice?" said Quorandis. "You mean you set me up?"

"The Sorceror-king did," said Elbadar. "Now I'm really sorry to have to do this, Quorandis, but I am going to repeat what I just said; please hand over the Lady Elwen."

"Elbadar, I thought better of you than this!" said Quorandis. "I suppose everything that the Sorceror-king told me was a lie?"

"There was some truth to it," said Elbadar, "but as he hasn't seen fit to inform me, I do not know how much. Now hand her over!"

"So that she can be killed!" said Quorandis. "That was a grain of truth, wasn't it, when the Sorceror-king said her life was needed to control the weapon?"

"No," said Elwen, "it wasn't."

"I don't know, honestly," said Elbadar. "All I know is that I am under orders to bring her captive to the centre of the city. Please stand aside."

"I trusted you!" said Quorandis. "After fighting with you in the war, surviving the winter snows together, and braving Anka Dolour, I would not have thought this of you! You helped RESCUE this woman, in the Emperor's name!"

"And I heartily regret that this is necessary," said Elbadar, but Oris Del Grakken broke in.

"Sir, this is taking too long," he said, and started for Elwen. Elwen glared at him, brandishing her sword. Quorandis had his own sword at ready. The Dragon Masters holding the Cavaliers at swordpoint gripped tighter.

"Stand down, captain!" Elbadar snapped at Del Grakken. "I will take as much time as I please. As you were!" he commanded the soldiers.

"So you don't believe this of me, Quorandis?" said Elbadar. "You expect me to change my colours as soon as my lord shows a few darker inclinations?"

"It's more than a few," said Elwen, just loudly enough to be heard. Elbadar raised an eyebrow, but continued, addressing Quorandis.

"You expect me to be as quick a turncoat as all Dragon Masters are reputed to be? That's the stereotype, isn't it, of the wild, barbaric Dragon Master people, quickly switching their loyalties every time a new lord comes on top? Well, I hate to disillusion you, but that is not the case. Some Dragon Masters might fit that description, but I do not. I belong to a breed of Dragon Master unheard of in your more "civilised" cultures. I am loyal. If a Dragon is really and truly loyal, there is none who can say that they are more loyal to their lord that he is to his. My loyalty to Lord Void was absolute. When he saw fit to transfer my regiment to the Sorceror-king, my loyalties were transferred as well. The Sorceror-king is my sovereign, and I will do as he bids."

Moving even as he spoke, practically unnoticed as Elwen and Quorandis watched him rage on, he rapped Elwen's sword-hand sharply with his own blade. Elwen's sword dropped out of hand as she reflexed back immediately, a welt rising. Elbadar deftly kicked the sword out of reach.

"Now you as well, Quorandis," said Elbadar. "Or must I have your loyal men killed? It is an admirable loyalty they possess."

"Don't listen, sir!" came the voice of Master-Corporal Aurellio. "Don't let that evil man get his hands on that magic!"

"Silence," said Elbadar, not in a good mood. "You have ten seconds to drop your sword, Quorandis! One. Two."

"Stop!" said Elwen, "you can't kill them!" And she broke away from Quorandis, and walked calmly over to Elbadar, praying all the while that Sir Dractor and the Old Man would pull through, and that she wasn't consigning her homeland to a terrible fate.

"Let them go!" she insisted. Elbadar nodded.

"Release them," he ordered his men, "but take their weapons. And the Commander-General's. We don't want them causing trouble."

Half in shock, Quorandis put up no fight as the Dragon Masters took his sword. It would have been futile anyway, with ten against one, and him no longer in possession of a much-wanted captive. But he had a parting comment for Elbadar.

"I see that the stereotype about Dragon Master cruelty remains fully in force!"

[Formendacil]

Grid: M-24
Location: The Old Ruins

"Is that the best you can do?" he taunted. Determined to push through, the Old Man replied with another, stronger, blast of power, and the two sorcerors were soon engaged with a struggle to control the street.

While Sir Dractor and Jayko were successfully driving (or leading) the Dragon Masters back down the street, the Old Man was steadily pushing the Sorceror-king back up it. Neither group noticed that Elwen was nowhere to be seen.

The Old Man and the Sorceror-king were battling it out with electric blasts, neon rushes, and thundering quakes. The inhibitions that had led them to conceal their magics, and avoid showy displays of power were gone. There was no fear now of attracting the attention of the Dametreosians. By the time that even the most powerful of them could come, this would all be over.

"It's exhilarating, is it not?" asked the Sorceror-king above the crack of deafening blast of power from the Old Man. "To finally be able to do what we want after months of skulking around under each other's noses?"

"Death is never exhilarating!" replied the Old Man, as a neon jet shot straight at him. "Although at times it is a necessity."

"You are a fool, Old Man!" replied the Sorceror-king, as he deflected a blue arc from the Old Man's staff. "Your power is great, but not so great that you can challenge my Master! You are a fool even to side with those destined to fall."

"No one is destined to do anything," said the Old Man, even as he released a purple bolt of light so powerful it blew threw the Sorceror-king's deflection, knocking him back in the crumbling stone wall of a house. But the Sorceror-king rebounded, faster than should have been possible, sending a shock wave at the Old Man's feet.

The Old Man stumbled slightly, but grounded himself with his staff, and with his free hand he sent another bolt of light that blew the Sorceror-king to the ground.

The Sorceror-king was really getting beaten now. His replies in power were weakening, and the Old Man's greater power was breaking him down faster and faster. But the Sorceror-king was not beaten yet.

The Sorceror-king grasped tightly a black medallion, molten in the shape of a dragon's head. It shone brightly with sickly yellow glow.

When the Sorceror-king dropped his deflection spell, and launched his next assault on the Old Man, it was not from his staff or from his his open hand, as it had been before, but from the fist clenched around the medallion. The sickly yellow blast that attacked the Old Man next was at least as much greater than the Old Man's blasts as his had been more than the Sorceror-king's.

But from the way that the Old Man was thrown to the ground on the first blast, his defences totally shattered, it was apparent that it was even stronger than that. The Old Man tried to rise, putting all his power into his defense, and leaving none to attack with, but the next yellow blow from the Sorceror-king threw him to his knees, his magical shield visibly stretching and weakening.

The Sorceror-king pressed his advantage, sending a third perilous blast the Old Man's way, smashing through the defence, and blowing him to the ground. This time, the Old Man did not rise.

The Sorceror-king dropped the medallion. It was burned and charred, and his left hand was black with soot and pink with burns. He was extremely weak, magic-wise, but he had vanquished!

"So long, Old Fool," he said, making his way past the Old Man's body. "Had you taken a greater thrill from killing me, I would be the one lying on the ground, and not you."

Then, without stopping to check whether the Old Man was dead or not, the Sorceror-king strode away. His task was done, Elbadar's should be as well.

[TheOrk]

M-7 Forestmen/ Wolfpack border

Kale made his way threw the dense forests. It was just past midday, as far as he could tell he was at least a mile into forestmen lands.

He drew his sword and hacked his way through the dense undergrowth. The land of the Forestmen was much nicer then any of the other forest dweller regions.

The great trees blotted out the sunlight. What patches of ground not covered in the thicket were clogged with wild flowers in a dozen bright colours.

Kale’s eyes darted around. An army could be waiting in ambush. Knowing the Forestmen there probley was.

Coming to a path only tread by elk, he broke into a brisk jog. He was half thankful for not finding a strong horse. It would attract more attention, besides he was more acustomed to fighting on foot.

He came to a narrow but deep stream. It was five or six brick lengthes below the level of solid ground. He pondered how to cross it. He didn’t need a drink, he still had a full waterskin. He climbed a nearby tree. He could walk along the branches and jump the short distance…

That sounded foolish, doing that in a full suit of euro armour. But in Kale’s reasoning, studs could hold anything not megabloks. Climbing it, he made safely across.

Not long afterward he was under the impression he was being followed. Kale was a fine outdoorsman by any stretch of the imagination. He didn’t know how long that would last against a real forest man though…

After a lenghty battle of skills he came into a clearing with some buildings in it, with out meeting with a forest man.

There were three tiny log cabins, a small cooking fire burn’t lazily in a pit in between them. Edging around cautiously he noticed a woman cleaning some clothes in anearby stream. Kale moved aroind silently, he did not want to attract attention now.

He heard a twig snap. Looking around cautiously he noticed a brigand creeping in to the hamlet. “My ticket out of here…” Whispered Kale, drawing his sword.

[Lord_Of_The_LEGO]

“Me? You want me to go find this- this Graygon of yours? Where is he anyway?”
Drakko looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure really, but I’m pretty certain he is either on the Fell isle or the East coast of Dametreos. He considers himself a Wolfpack member, so you might have some luck there. Besides – you said yourself that your neck is on the line as long as you remain here, so why not? You really don’t have much to loose.”
Randolph tossed the core from his apple into a convenient dark corner. “I suppose you’re right. When should I start?”
“Is tomorrow too soon?”
“Not at all –anything to get out of this Tyco cave I suppose. I still don’t like it though. You say he thinks of himself as a Wolfpack? They are nothing then barbarians.”
Drakko shook his head. “Not all. They might be somewhat – backwards culturally, but a man with qualities that Graygon has is hard to find. You’ll see when you meet him.”

Randolph had been traveling for weeks and was no closer to finding the mysterious Graygon. He had at first opted to go east, traveling through Black Falcon and Dark Forest lands until he entered Wolfpack land. Well, everything went fine until he attempted to enter Dark Forest land. He was stopped by a border patrol, and no amount of reasoning, threatening and bribing would get him through. So he was forced away.

Randolph then tried enter Forestmen lands so he could pass by the Dark Foresters and follow their border until he at last ended up in Wolfpack land, but that did not work either. He was repelled from the border by another band, this time Forestmen, and again nothing he did gained him passage.

So in desperation, Randolph reversed course, following the Forestmen border and traveling through Black Falcon, Royal Knight and Classic land, at last ending up in Crusader territory. He new and very desperate plan was to hijack a boat, sail it north upon the Fell Sea, and then come ashore on Wolfpack land. But that never came to pass. For while his was traveling south toward a Crusader port, he quite literally ran into the very person he was looking for.

"Right." nodded Graygon, "but that's nothing a druid and two Wolfpack can't handle."

Willem chuckled and Katheryn even allowed herself a slight smile. They continued on.

Grid: M-8
Location: Farburg

The trio were in the port city of Farburg. They were hungry after many days of travel northward, but unfortunately they had not a coin among them.

“Megabloks.” Willem swore, after he had checked his expansive pockets twice, “I sure I had a copper in here…”

“Can’t you just create money out of thin air?” Graygon asked Katheryn. She glowered at him haughtily.

“If I had that power, I wouldn’t be wandering about in this miserable Crusader slum with two escaped prisoners.”

Graygon bristled but turned away.

“I guess we’ll just have to steal something.” he said.

Willem sighed disapprovingly. “I don’t like that Graygon. But, I fear, might have to do just that.”

At that moment they were suddenly approached by a another man who had been listening in nearby.

“Excuse me?”

Willem, Graygon and Katheryn looked at the mustachioed redhead.

“Yes…?” Willem said warily.

“I couldn’t help but overhear…but…are you Graygon?” asked the man, looking at indeed Graygon.

“Who are you?” asked Graygon suspiciously.

“I’m…er…my name is Randolph and…Lord Drakko sent me to look for you…”

At the mention of their fellow Misfit’s name, both Willem and Graygon perked up.

“Lord Drakko?” Willem repeated, “Lord Drakko?”

Randolph nodded. “Yes, indeed. He…uh…wants to talk to Graygon…about his family…”

Graygon and Willem glanced at one another. Katheryn watched quietly, eyebrows raised.

“Er…” Randolph was clearly uncomfortable, “He said…that…well…in short…King Hindrich is your uncle…and with Hindrich missing and the Black Falcon hierarchy in turmoil…well…”

“Drakko is seeking me for the Black Falcon throne?” Graygon gaped.

“Yes…and he wants me to take you to Falconis City.”

Graygon and Willem looked at one another. Then, to both Katheryn’s and Randolph’s surprise, they shrugged and turned back to Randolph. It had been as if their had been a secret communication between the two.

“I will go.” said Graygon, “But only if my friends here are allowed to go as well if they wish.”

“Of course.” Randolph nodded, then looked at them expectantly, waiting for their names.

“This is Kathy.” said Graygon hastily, “and Will. The violence in Wolfpack lands was getting horrific and so we…came south until it died down.”

Katheryn glared but said nothing. Willem hid a smile.

Randolph smiled a bit himself and then produced some coins.

“First, lunch is on me. Then we can set out.”

[TheOrk]

M-7 A Small Forestmen Hamlet

“My ticket out of here…” Whispered Kale, drawing his sword.
The brigand he reconised from Garbite. A real shadey looking fellow, him being in Forestmen lands couldn’t be a good thing.
Kale jumped down and snuck around the side of one the cabins. The brigand drew a long chrome dagger from his belt. He advanced on the unknowing forestwoman.

Kale charged. The brigand was too shocked to respond. Kale relieved him of his burden and several fingers. Shrieking he stumbled backwards, he tried to grab the blood smeared dagger, but Kale gave him a swift boot to the chin.

The forestwoman spun around. She screamed, “It’s ok I don’t mean any harm!” Shouted Kale. Hearing the screams, two forestmen brandishing longbows came running. One saw to the woman while the other looked at Kale, his bow raised.

At that range it would be fatal. Thinking quickly, Kale replied in his msot chivalrous tone. “I mean no harm good sirs! I was just traveling along when I noticed this vile scoundrel-“ He gave him a boot in the teeth for good measure “-poised to strike the lady.”

The forestman looked at the woman for clearification, she nodded shakily.

Two more forestmen appeared. The lead man took in the scene and replied “well stranger it looks like ye be a hero. But strangers ain’t appreachated in our lands. Especially armed ones, most of all from Wolfpack lands.” These must be the ones that were pursuing him.

“Outsiders gettin’ this close to Drullen Bell…” The forestman shook his head. “Lord Bjarn will hear of this. An you’ll have to come with fer questioning.” He growled.

The other two had their swords drawn. Kale nodded, “certainly” he replied calmly. He sheathed his sword.

“Ye made the right choice laddie” Said the forestman eyeing Kale’s bull insignia. “ol’ Drullen ain’t be far off.” Several more forestmen arrived.

They lead Kale away, two on either side ready to gut him if he made a sudden move. “This worked out better than I expected” Thought Kale. From what he heard of this Bjarn fellow, he wasn’t the type to “hang” everyone he met…

[The Green Knight]

The troops were beset by the Ghoul of Orion.

Caimlin wheeled his Dragon around and flew to the back of the line. It was a mess. Three Dragon Masters were dead, one of them missing a head.

“What happened here?” Caimlin demanded.

In reply, the troops broke in a wave of loud, mumbled and versions of what had happened. Caimlin couldn’t understand a word they were saying. Well, maybe one or two here and there. “…demon…phantom…ghoul…monster…”

“Silence!” Caimlin commanded. The men obeyed. “Now, is there anyone who can tell me what happened without tripping over their tongues?”

“Yes sir.” Said Kilgrim approaching him on his own mount. “I was near the back of the line, instructing the men as you said when the scream broke out….
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A pale faced border guard made her way through the mists in the direction of the scream. It had been a calm night until then. Not even the wail of a restless spirit to break the silence. She went on cautiously now, moving a stray strand of her wet black hair out of her face and peering with dark eyes into the thick fog. It was bad whether again. At least that hadn’t changed since her transfer from the third talon.

But that scream… It could be one of the locals, a mighty foolish one to be out on a night like this, or –and much more likely- it was an outsider, a trespasser. And if it was a trespasser she would need to find what his business was in her land and report him. That is, if he was still alive. She found the road suddenly and picked up her pace, grasping the knife in her cloak.

Then she found them. They were men. Lots of men in foreign looking armor. She didn’t even see them until she was right on top of them. This wasn’t good. And worse, they had seen her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
….and then he disappeared…into the mist.” Kilgrim finished his account of the ghoul’s assault.

“Well,” said Caimlin. “Let’s hope we don’t see anymore of this monster. Those of you who are wounded may move to the wagons and dress your wounds. As for these,” Caimlin said, looking at the three dead men. “You will bury them. You may assign the men, Kilgrim.”

As Caimlin finished and Kilgrim set about his work, a soldier came huffing up from the head of the column.

“Sir,” he heaved “we got a situation.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Caimlin reached the front of the line again he found the situation apparently in hand. The Dragon Masters were holding what looked like local girl, or woman. She was so pale and drawn it was hard to say.

“Release her.” Said Caimlin when he saw the state of things. It wasn’t his intention to make war and he didn’t want to alienate the locals.

She didn’t say anything but stood there, looking at the scaly skinned, leathery winged beast under the man who addressed her. It was indeed a manxsome beast but still a controllable one. Not like the things you might find in the gnarled forests of the Fright Knights.

“What’s your name miss?”

Name and rank that’s all you were supposed to give when taken captive. She knew it.

“Natali.” She said “seventh talon.”

[Formendacil]

Grid: M-24
Location: The Old Ruins

Half in shock, Quorandis put up no fight as the Dragon Masters took his sword. It would have been futile anyway, with ten against one, and him no longer in possession of a much-wanted captive. But he had a parting comment for Elbadar.

"I see that the stereotype about Dragon Master cruelty remains fully in force!"

"So long, Old Fool," he said, making his way past the Old Man's body. "Had you taken a greater thrill from killing me, I would be the one lying on the ground, and not you."

Then, without stopping to check whether the Old Man was dead or not, the Sorceror-king strode away. His task was done, Elbadar's should be as well.

Elbadar and his men marched themselves to the centre of the city, taking Elwen with them. Quorandis and his Cavaliers followed, the Cavaliers unable to get out of the city without Quorandis, and Quorandis wanted to see what would happen.

The Sorceror-king met them a few streets up, looking somewhat beat up, but rather jubilant.

"Well done, Lord Marshal," he turned to Elbadar. "Well done! Now we just need to get to the centre of the city."

And soon they had. The centre of the city was a great temple or palace. It was a massive stone structure, whose central great hall had once been capped by a massive dome, but the dome was now gone, and broken pieces of it littered the floor of the great hall. In the centre of the hall was a large, eight-sided table.

"The council table of the mages," said the Sorceror-king, "and the key to the city's magic. And on it the Lady Elwen must die." Elbadar swallowed uneasily.

"Knock her out," ordered the Sorceror-king. "She mustn't touch the table in a conscious state."

Elbadar didn't move. The soldiers looked at him expectantly.

"Is there a problem?" asked the Sorceror-king sharply.

"Sir," asked Elbadar, "is this really necessary?"

"Yes," said the Sorceror-king coldly, "it is. Now do it!"

Elbadar stood stock still, his face frozen.

"Is there a problem, Lord Marshal?" asked the Sorceror-king threateningly. "Are you becoming a coward?"

"No sir," said Elbadar. "I am not. Only a coward aids the death of a defenceless woman."

"Then be a coward, and do it," said the Sorceror-king. "Your qualms mean nothing to me."

"I will not play the part of a stereotypical Dragon Master brute!" said Elbadar. Elwen looked over at Elbadar from where two Dragon Masters held her fast. She was very worried by now. There was no way she could get away, and every indication was that the Old Man was dead. And Sir Dractor seemed to have vanished. Bernard Quorandis and his Cavaliers watched from the entrance of hall, helpless. The Sorceror-king's only opposition was coming from Elbadar.

"You are disobeying my direct orders, Marshal!" said the Sorceror-king coldly. "Captain Del Grakken! Do it for him!"

"Yes, sir!" said the other Dragon Master, much pleased. "Soldier! Get me a club. I'll knock her so unconscious she'll NEVER wake up." A Dragon Master moved to do his bidding.

"Stop!" ordered Elbadar. "That woman is not to be harmed!" The Dragon Master stopped in his tracks.

"Ignore him!" ordered Del Grakken. "He's disobeyed our king." The soldiers were grumbling amongst each other, seemingly about who to side with: Elbadar or Del Grakken.

The Sorceror-king drew his flame-wreathed sword, it's green fire the main light in the dark hall.

"I have given an order!" he said. "Every man here who feels that they shouldn't follow it, stand with him!"

Of the twenty Dragon Masters, eleven immediately moved to stand with Elbadar, halberds clutched protectively, Elwen held with them. But Del Grakken and the other nine moved behind the Sorceror-king, looking menacingly at their compatriots.

"I'll give you one chance!" said the Sorceror-king. "Hand over the girl, or perish."

"If perish we must, then perish we will," said Elbadar. "We will not abett this murder!"

The Sorceror-king launched himself at Elbadar and his men, flaming sword whirling deathly. It was a good thing that he still had Del Grakken and his companions. The Sorceror-king was great warrior, but he could not fight twenty Dragon Masters single-handedly, at least not without his magic. And his magic was totally drained from his fight with the Old Man. He had virtually no strength left.

It was an ugly melee. Dragon Master against Dragon Master. The Sorceror-king was cutting down Elbadar and his men like butter, shielded and aided by Del Grakken and his cronies. Soon, Elbadar and his men all lay dead or wounded on the ground.

Del Grakken grabbed a hold of Elwen, as she tried to flee for the entrance. Elwen punched him hard in the face, but even as he let go, one of his cronies clubbed her hard in the back of the head, and she collapsed to the floor. Del Grakken kicked her roughly, but the Sorceror-king stopped him.

"Enough," he said. "I've had enough waiting. She won't wake up until long after it's too late. Put her on the table!"

So the Dragon Masters picked up Elwen and placed her on the table. The Sorceror-king sheathed his sword, tossed his staff aside, and drew a sharp, silvery dagger from inside his robes. He strode towards the table.

Quorandis started forward, his Cavaliers behind him, but before they had even reached the fallen Dragon Masters and their weapons, Del Grakken and his men had set upon them, and rounded them up in a corner.

The Sorceror-king raised the dagger over Elwen, and was about to stab, when a voice came from the doorway behind him.

"Put the dagger down!" came the deep, and angry, voice of Sir Dractor. "Put it down now!" The Sorceror-king slowly turned.