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Classic-Castle Roleplay: June 2005

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Postby Lord_Of_The_LEGO » Sat Jun 04, 2005 3:44 am

Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:“Well then, she doesn’t seem to be a threat.” Caimlin concluded, “So let’s just sail around her, then. Give her a wide berth.”

“Very well.”


Grid: F-11
Location: Approaching Port Firetresses

“There it is.”

Captain Migal Mordorse lowered his spyglass and nodded toward the mainland, “Your Port Firetresses. I suppose it should be called Port Kendo, now, eh?”

A muscle twitched in the Fright Knight’s cheek.

“That is for Lord Void to decide.” said Caimlin calmly, hands clasped behind his back, “How long until we dock?”

“At this pace, two hours.” said Migal Mordorse.

“Very good.”

Caimlin spent the next two hours not reading his book Jarvick had given him, but counting out payment for Migal Mordorse, the other two captains, and the Fright Knights crews of the three triremes. He had just locked the last chest when he was called upon.

“Sir,” a Dragon Master said, “We’re made port.”

“Very good.”

Caimlin emerged, blinking, and greeted Migal Mordorse with a terse nod.

“Not much of a port.” Migal commented dryly, observing Port Firetresses from amidships of the Centipede. Caimlin was forced to agree. Port Firetresses was not a dirty, smelly, crook-ridden port like most, but it was certainly just as disorganized. When the Lord Void had purchased the little strip of land from the Royal Knights, the coastline where Port Firetresses had consisted of nothing but shifting sand and bristly grass. The sand and grass was still there, but built on top of it out of newly-cut timber was a creaking dock, crooked boardwalk and several buildings on uneven stilts. Dragon Masters, soldier, peasant and otherwise were not skilled carpenters, as Port Firetresses revealed too painfully. It was an ugly town, and Caimlin was pretty certain that if the shifting sands didn’t engulf this port within six months an abnormally high tide would. No wonder King Kjeld hadn’t been hesitant to sell this useless strip of coast.

“It was built for the sole purpose of delivering these slaves.” said Caimlin, “Nothing more. Start unloading them.”

Migal Mordorse grunted and turned away, beginning to shout orders. Caimlin returned to his cabin, packed up his belongings and then disembarked to watch the slaves being pushed out of the three triremes and into the pens already set up. When that was all done, Caimlin confronted Migal Mordorse.

“I’ve left all of your pay on the Centipede, subtracting the cost to build the three ships. The ships are now yours and your fellow captains. Do with them what you wish.”

A muscle in Migal’s cheek ticked. He lowered his head slightly, then whipped about.

“All crew to the oars! We cast off now!”

Like many-legged wraiths, the three triremes soon faded across the horizon. Caimlin turned, looking over his band of Dragon Masters and the four hundred slaves.

“Get shackles and chains. I want the slaves chained up by tonight. We leave before the dawn tomorrow. Lord Void is waiting.”
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Postby Formendacil » Sat Jun 04, 2005 4:41 pm

Grid: P-10
Location: Hemmerington, in the southern Dark Forest Fell Isle territory.

Formendacil wrote:"He's in fine health, right enough," said Melkan, "as long as his heart doesn't go. And that's what has me worried. He's been having some chest pains that clearly point to an unstable heart. Otherwise, he's fine, but that heart of his could go any time, and when it does..."

Melkan left the sentence dangling.

"I'm not surprised he didn't tell you, though," he said. "Your grandfather cares for you a great deal. I imagine that he would find it hard to tell you."

"It explains a lot though..." said Thomas to himself.


Thomas cornered his grandfather the following morning, almost as soon as the old man had risen.

"Why didn't you tell me that Healer Melkan was worried?" he asked.

"About my heart?" said Harold. "How would it have helped things? My heart isn't going to be saved by any amount of pampering, and I want to enjoy the full use of my life until it ends- including the freedom to work."

"But you were just going to send me off with Sir Dractor," said Thomas, "thinking that you were in fine health, and likely to live for years. How would I feel if you died right after I left?"

"Not too good, I'm sure," said Brakespear. "But chances like this don't come to Hemmerington more than once in an average lifetime. And how would I get you to leave if I told you?"

"Well, I assure you I'm not leaving now!" said Thomas.

"You have to," said Brakespear, getting hotter, "the agreement has been made."

"You didn't consult me!" shouted Thomas, "so if I refuse, there's nothing you can do!"

"Oh yes, I can!" said Brakespear dangerously. Then something snapped in Thomas' head.

"Grandfather! Calm down! Your heart..." But Brakespear was only further fired up.

"This is exactly why I didn't tell you!" he said. "Just because my heart is liable to go in the near future is no reason to coddle me! I just spent a day and night hammering away at a steel suit of armour, I highly doubt if a little berating of a whelp of a grandson is going..."

But the berating did affect him. Unknown to Harold Brakespear, his blood pressure went up, and his tired heart couldn't handle it. In a massive heart attack, it gave out.

Brakespear collapsed to the floor clutching his chest.

"No!" screamed Thomas, running to him. He crouched down by his grandfather. "I'm so sorry, Grandfather!"

"Had to... happen... anyway..." came Brakespear's frail murmur. "Make me... make your parents... proud..."

And Harold Brakespear slipped from life. Thomas just knelt there, holding the old man's cooling hand and weeping. Sir Dractor found him there at noon, still crying.
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Postby The Green Knight » Sat Jun 04, 2005 5:57 pm

L-20
Anastasia opened her eyes. She blinked once, twice, but the vision in front of her stayed the same. Darkening blue with patches of white. She didn’t know what to make of it. Then another form disturbed her eyes.

“You awake, princess?” It was Burtrand. “Keep quiet now, we have ta get out of here quick.”

The pirate shoved off from the ramshackle dock he’d tied the boat to. He was in a hurry to get out of Palaceville after all. Something he’d seen had startled him.

Here he was, just minding his own business, buying some supplies at the general store, and who should he see when he steps out?

“That Tyco woman seems to be following me” Burtrand cursed under his breath. “How could she be here now? Aye, and who might she have with her?”

“Where are we going?”

The voice interrupted Burtrand’s thoughts. It was the girl still obviously groggy from the drugs he’d given her. Burtrand didn’t answer directly, but after he’d secured their new provisions and dipped his oar into the sea—

“We’re headed to see a frien’ of mine. Aye, he’ll keep ye safe an’ secure ‘til I can get things set straight in Crusader land.”

But Burtrand wasn’t so sure he would make it. Especially when he saw the ship sailing away, far in front of him. The pirate was about to raise sail when he saw it. “Mille sabords!” Burtrand cried, falling flat on his belly and fumbling for hid new telesope.

It wasn’t really new, of course. It was covered in rust and had a large crack on the outer lens. Still, what could you expect from a village like Palaceville? The piece of Megablocks did work, however and what Burtrand could see through it— it wasn’t good.

“Thundering son of a sea-gherkin! That bloody woman did bring someone with her!” Burtrand couldn’t read the ships name from his distance, but he’d know the outline of the Bobardier if it was sitting in a mountain of fog.

“Tyco! Sratch that princess, looks like we’re gonna be settin’ quiet fer a spell an’ lettin’ the ol’ Bobardier wander off first.”

“Ugh, great, now you want to get off? You’re squashing me.”

Burtrand looked down to where the voice had come from. Unexpectedly, right under his chin. The pirate had been so intent on the Bobardier, he hadn’t realized who he was laying on. Burtrand rolled off, still keeping low.

“A shame,” he thought, “she won’t be near as docile when those drugs ware off. Aye, I’ll have my work cut out for me then.”
Let us stop for a moment and ponder the signiture...





Ok, enough of that!
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Postby Barbapple » Sat Jun 04, 2005 7:28 pm

grid: F-7
Location: Black falcon camp
-----------------------------
The word "war" finally began to slip off everyones lips, and was heard less and less. The bulls had got what they'd wanted, and the Falcon's couldn't complain.
Guy packed his things, and made his way to his horse. He had thought that joining the army would have givin him more excitment than work as a blacksmith, but as things had turned out, it was just more of the same. Guy needed something else. He needed change.
"Where y'a goin, blacksmith?" Asked a gruff-looking man that followed him to the outskirts of the camp, "Arn't ya' gonna stay fer the war?"
"There is no war. There will be no war. It's all been settled." Said guy, saddly, "Myself, I am going to find a battle for myself. I'm tired of this constant waiting."
"True enough." Said the gruff man, "We'll miss ya around here...uh...guy, is it?"
"Actually, It's purnounced gee, but yes, I'll miss you and the guys aswell."
"See ya buddy" Said the Gruff man smiling.
And with that, Guy road off east. He was pleased with the scenery outside the camp, and patted his hourse on the head.
"We'll be there soon, Ezra, buddy." He said to his horse, smiling, "There's sure to be fun to be had in the new Bull parts." The horse neighed, as if it understood, and with that, Guy began his journey quietly.
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Postby Robin Hood » Sat Jun 04, 2005 9:49 pm

Grid: J-9
Location: Royal Knight/Classic border

"Its about time we got here," said Aiden as they approached the border between the Royal Knights and the Classics.

"Why?" inquired Kae-Os, "do you care when we got here. Or do you have something planned in the Royal Knight's land?"

"No," replied Aiden, "I just-"

"Besides, if you hadn't picked a fight at ever bar we visited, we wouldn't have taken so long," interrupted the elf.

"Look, I may have started most of them, but you were the cause for that last one."

"I was only correcting that man's facts." Replied Kae-Os rather stiffly.

"Ya right," snorted Aiden. "You single-handedly took on all eighty or so patrons, just because that one drunk said you had pointed ears. There wasn't enough un-spilt ale to fill an eye-glass."

"I get a little mad when people comment on my ears. Especially when I DON'T have pointed ears. That is a common misconception. I can't help it if the only elves they have seen have pointed ears. I am a completely different race of elf than the ones that live here. Assuming that any still do."

"Riiiiiiiight," said the other. "A 'little' mad?"

The two stopped talking as the road met the border. The Royal guard looked at them out of idle curiosity, but let them through. With no enemies or internal problems, the borders were open to all.

"Sooo, any idea on where to go?" asked Aiden.

"No," replied Kae-Os. "Lets just follow this road until we meet something."
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Postby Formendacil » Mon Jun 06, 2005 3:28 am

Grid: P-10
Location: Hemmerington, in the southern Dark Forest Fell Isle territory.

Formendacil wrote:And Harold Brakespear slipped from life. Thomas just knelt there, holding the old man's cooling hand and weeping. Sir Dractor found him there at noon, still crying.


A memorial service was held for Harold Brakespear the following day. Healer Melkan, Harold's oldest friend and closest confidant in the village, gave him his farewell address.

Throughout, Thomas stood at the front of the gathered crowd, right by the gravesite. He barely heard anything that Melkan was saying, and he was hardly aware of Sir Dractor standing behind him, concerned, or about the pitying villagers gathered around.

When the address was over, and the ritual farewells said, the villagers drifted away from the new gravesite, leaving Thomas, Sir Dractor, and Healer Melkan alone. They walked about the graveyard, giving Thomas some time alone.

"It was unexpected," said Sir Dractor to the healer, almost as a means of passing time.

"Maybe to Thomas, and to some of the villagers," said Melkan, "but I've been expecting it for years, and when I saw Harold the other day, I knew it was worsening. And seventy-two is hardly young. It's pity that Harold kept it from young Thomas."

"I can understand," said Sir Dractor. "Were I to be the one in fine health, except for one unpredictable condition that nothing could be done about, I would likely do the same."

"True, I suppose," said Melkan, "but it weighs heavier on the boy as a result."

"He's hardly a boy," said Sir Dractor. "He's a grown man, if young."

"I suppose he is," said the healer, mulling it over. "I have to say though, that the strangest thing, in my mind, regarding this whole business, is you. You arrived, looking for Harold, in his last days, just in time to acquire what you sought- and to take Thomas under your wing. A strange coincidence. More like fate, I think."

"I do not believe in fate," said Sir Dractor. "I believe that every person can choose how their life will go. But I do agree that it is fateful. Perhaps there is a greater hand nudging things a certain way. I could easily have taken another two weeks to come here. Life is good in Drullen Bell."

"Well, fated or not," said Melkan, "you're pretty much responsible for Thomas. I hope you won't linger long, the reminders will be too much for him. He's never lived anywhere but here, and never with anyone but Harold. It is a good thing he'll be leaving."

"We'll be leaving soon," said Sir Dractor, "but not immediately. Thomas will need to set things in order, and he needs a chance to say good-bye. I think we'll go back to Drullen Bell. It's quite peaceful there, and should sate some of Thomas' eagerness to see great places. Also, I can do a little bit of research into where I might find myself a suitable blade."

They had walked back to where Thomas still stood by the freshly-turned earth.

"Come along, lad," said Sir Dractor, shoving Thomas gently but inexorably. "Let's get going."

Thomas nodded, but said nothing, and silently followed.
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Postby Formendacil » Mon Jun 06, 2005 7:05 pm

Grid: M-12
Location: At sea.

Lord Marshal Elbadar was well-pleased. Together with Corporal Halfstare and ten of his men, he had scoured the streets and taverns of Orion, seeking out-of-work Dragon Masters. Forty-four of them, to be precise. Exactly enough to rebuild his regiment back up to full strength.

Finding the Dragon Masters had been easy. There were probably five hundred ex-patriot Dragon Masters in Orion, men left behind or deserters from the BloodVaine war.

Finding forty-four men worth recruiting... that was another story. Many of the men who had stayed behind were just conscripts, hardly possessing a real fighting spirit. And many of the others were just plain brigands and drunks.

Somehow, Elbadar had managed to scrape together the necessary numbers.

Captain-Major Rillian (Sir Rillian as he was also called), had been a major help. The Commander of the city forces, and thus the man charged with peace on the streets, he had been more than willing to see some of the Dragon Masters removed. Dragon Masters and Classics didn't mix. They had totally different cultures and had lived as enemies for far too many centuries to get along peacefully. Many was the fight that Rillian's men had had to break up between Classics and ex-patriot Dragon Masters.

When learning that Elbadar was returning to Talistrand with his men and recruits, Rillian passed along a bulky package addressing to King Valentius.

"Saves me the trouble of sending an Imperial courier, the way old Julius wanted me too," he had told Elbadar. "Just see that Valentius gets them."

On the ship, as they sailed from the Classic coast out across the bay, Elbadar gave in to his curiosity, and in the privacy of his cabin, carefully opened the bulky envelope, and read the cover letter that lay inside:

To Valentius, King of Talistrand, Lord of the Shamrock, from Julius Hadrianicus, Chief Steward of the Yellow Castle:

Enclosed are ten invitations to an Imperial Ball to held in Orion this coming July. Your Highness is to distribute them as he sees fit. His Imperial Majesty only asks that two be laid aside for Commander-General Bernard Quorandis.

Dated this 2nd Day of June, 2005, C.C.


Interesting, thought Elbadar, taking out one of the invitations for perusal. Very interesting, he thought, after he he read it.

Carefully, he amended the cover letter.

"enclosed are eight invitations..."

Smiling, he set two invitations aside, and resealed the envelope. It was only fitting, he thought, that the forces of the Sorceror-king, which owed no allegiance to any faction, should be represented.

And if he was to find his men a job other than those offered to Oris Del Grakken, then attending this ball would be an excellent idea.
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Postby Sir Kohran » Mon Jun 06, 2005 8:12 pm

Grid: N-14
Location: Inn of the Wheeled Horse, Barleyburg

The inn of the Wheeled Horse was Sir Jayson's favourite inn within the city, but despite the relative cheer and warmth of the inn, there was a tension hanging about the three men as they sat down at a table near the corner.

"Um...Jaythus, get some drinks," Santis asked, trying to pierce the unstable silence gripping the trio.

"Don't worry, Santis, this "boy" will get the drinks for you and his lordship there," Jaythus replied, glancing in Jayson's direction. The baron frowned, but did not return a comment. Santis gave Jayson's order himself instead, and Jaythus storde off to the counter, armed with a packet of coins.

Santis spoke as soon as Jaythus had left.

"Jasyon mate, I know Jaythus is only young, and a bit rash at that, but I don't think that biting back at him is going to help matters. He's only-"

Jayson cut the big Knight off. "Oh, he simply needs a bit of breaking. When he learns his place, he can have my respect. Until then, he'll need to learn respect for his elders and betters."

Santis spoke on, a bit harder this time. "Listen here, Jayson, and listen well. Jaythus is a good lad, dedicated to the King, responsible from what I've seen, and with a lot of potential. I don't want you ruining that, with your imperialistic ways."

Jayson was clearly struck. His face constricted as he retorted. "Oh yes? Do you know how these "hopeful young Talonjay types" behave? Jayko Falconensis was a pampered little soul, with virtually no skills or experience, all because he wasn't given the proper dressing-down Jaythus needs. As a result, Barleyburg was invaded by that Violess, killing dozens of decent soldiers, damaging trade, and making a mockery of the Kingdom overall. And then the boy couldn't even face the consequences. He returned, then chickened out as soon as someone with a brain showed him how things should be done."

Santis was growing angry. "You know, I'm starting to wonder if Jayko actually did "chicken out" as you said he did, or if the rumours were true, and you had him forced out and banished when he tried to make a better go of things. You're a different person, Jayson deTalon. Ruling here has changed you."

Off-hand, Santis noticed Jayson's hand sliding downwards, towards his sword. Silently, Santis reached down for his own.

Things might have gone further, had Jaythus not come back with a tray covered in drinks. Completely oblivious to the previous argument, he set the tray down, and wordlessly, began drinking, staring out from under his eyelids at Jaythus. Santis and Jayson silently took their drinks.

Suddenly, the door to the inn flew open, and a breathless Talonjay soldier ran in. All the laughing customers stopped instantly.

"The King is here!" he cried.

As if to emphasize the point, a trumpet blew in the distance.

Instantly, the inn exploded into life. Jaythus, Santis and Jayson forgot their differences and dashed outside, with a horde of citizens following them, there to greet King Mathias of Morcia to Barleyburg.
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Postby Lord_Of_The_LEGO » Mon Jun 06, 2005 9:41 pm

Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:Caimlin turned, looking over his band of Dragon Masters and the four hundred slaves.

“Get shackles and chains. I want the slaves chained up by tonight. We leave before the dawn tomorrow. Lord Void is waiting.”


Grid: G-11
Location: Grolling Fortress

Lord Void was walking the grounds of the Grolling Fortress. Normally Lord Void was not one for leisurely strolls, but it was a scorching day, one that turned the Grolling Fortress into a oven, and Lord Void could not stand the constant complaints of that insufferable architect, Elsa Byrd: “My God, dahling, how un-com-fort-ta-bull your home is, how hot! How unbearably hot! Fetch me some ice tea, will you, dahling.” And on and on and on. And so, with an enormous control of self-will not to poison to tea, Lord Void had escaped outside, where he found it doubly hot even under the palm trees. He pitch-black full-length robe didn’t help matters either. However, with a little magic-working with the Earth Magic, the Dragon Master sorceror soon conjured up a little sphere of coolness that enveloped him completely. After fifteen minutes of idle wandering, he was approached by a Dragon Master soldier clad in heavy, hot-looking armor. Lord Void wrinkled his nose as he caught a whiff of the sweating man.

“Do stand downwind!” Lord Void snapped.

There being no breeze whatsoever to cool the scorching heat, the Dragon Master had no where more desirable to move. So, flushed with anxiety and embarrassment, he thrust a wrapped parcel forward and then hopped out of what he hoped was smelling distance.

“It came only a few minutes ago, sir!” saluted the soldier, “It’s from the Classic Emperor.”

Lord Void dismissed the Dragon Master and then made his way to a stone bench, where he examined the parcel curiously.

How odd, he thought, what would Constantius send me?

Lord Void undid the sting and pulled away the rough outer paper. Nine slips of folded paper, one smaller than the rest, fell into Lord Void’s lap. Lord Void picked up the smaller note and read,

To Lord Void, King of all Dragonar, Overlord of the Dragon Provinces, and Master of the Grolling Fortress, greetings!

Contained in this package are eight identical invitations from the most high Emperor of LEGOland, who wishes that, if you so desire, you may distribute them among your deserving countrymen as you see fit.

Trusting that you, and or your delegated representatives will be able to attend, I remain,

Julius Hadrianica,
Imperial Steward of the Yellow Castle,

on behalf of His Imperial Majesty,
Constantius VII,
Emperor of Legoland,
King of Orion,
Lord of the House Legonis,
Overlord of Dametreos


Lord Void moved to one of the longer letters:

To whom it may concern,

The Court of Constantius VII, Emperor of Legoland and Overlord of Dametreos, is pleased to invite you to an Imperial Ball, to be held at the Yellow Castle in Orion on July 11th, 2005, C.C.

With the end of the Wolfpack Civil War, and the end of the Royal-Falcon Conflict (2004-5), Dametreos now enjoys near-total peace, with no nations possessing formal stances of aggression towards any of its neighbors, a state which has not occurred, according to Imperial staticians, since 1723 C.C.

It is therefore in honor of this most momentous occasion that His Imperial Majesty is hosting a Ball, for all the invited dignitaries of the Empire and of Dametreos.

The festivities will open with a parade for the edification of Orion's citizens, in which as many guests as desire may partake in. A formal feast will be held for the guests immediately prior to the Ball. Both will be held in the Yellow Castle.

At midnight between the 12th and the 13th of July, a fireworks display will be provided, ending the official festivities.

In the days leading up the ball, and ending the day after, Orion will be hosting an international trade fair, open to merchants from across Dametreos. All guests of the Emperor are invited to visit this, and promote the trade of their nations.

All guests will receive food and lodging free from the Imperial bounty, and will be lodged in the Yellow Castle or in the great estates of Orion.

Trusting that the guest, or his or her delegated representative will be able to attend, I remain,

Julius Hadrianica,
Imperial Steward of the Yellow Castle,

on behalf of His Imperial Majesty,
Constantius VII,
Emperor of Legoland,
King of Orion,
Lord of the House Legonis,
Overlord of Dametreos


Lord Void put down the invitation. Now this is most interesting, he mused.

As he was stowing the nine letters in his robes, he heard a commotion coming from the front gate. He stood quickly and strode to the gate. What he saw pleased him momentarily. He saw Caimlin. Then a scowl covered his face again. He saw no slaves.

“Milord!” Caimlin dismounted from his horse and bowed deeply.

“Caimlin.” Lord Void nodded, “Welcome back. Where are the slaves?”

Caimlin didn’t hesitate.

“At the ruins of the Fire Breathing Fortress, milord, or traveling to it. I sent my men to with the slaves and ordered them to start construction of holding pens when the get there while I rode back here to alert you.”

A very thin smiled graced Lord Void’s lips.

“Well done Caimlin. If there were any higher ranks, I would promote you. That, however, is impossible, so I suppose a raise in pay is due. Oh, and--”

Lord Void drew out one of the Emperor’s invitations, glanced at it, and handed it to Caimlin.

“How would you like to go to a ball?”

Caimlin looked at the invitation, read it through quickly, then looked back up at Lord Void.

“I would be honored, milord, but what about you?”

“Oh, I am attending as well.” Lord Void smirked, “I think my appearance will make ol’ Constantius jump a bit. I’ll put Thorninsforge in charge where’ll we’re gone.”

Caimlin nodded, then his eyes focused on something behind Lord Void.

“What the--?”

“Void, dahling!”

Lord Void sagged and growled.

“Who the--?” gawked Caimlin, as the tiny levitating form of Elsa Byrd floated toward them, a sunshade clasped in one hand and her wand and a tall glass of ice tea in the other. Her normally wacky appearance was made doubly so by the fact that both the sun shade and the little paper umbrella in her ice tea were both bright pink and plastered with gaudy flower designs.

“That is my architect.” growled Lord Void, “You don’t know how close I’ve come in incinerating her.”

“I can imagine…” murmured Caimlin as Elsa Byrd floated up.

“Void, dahling!” Elsa Byrd exclaimed, “I’ve done it! The plans are finished! The blueprints for the Fire Breathing Fortress are complete! What’s that?” she added, glaring at the letter in Caimlin hand, then: “Who’s that?”, glaring at Caimlin himself.

“This is Brigadier-General Caimlin, my second in command.” said Lord Void through gritted teeth, “He had just returned from acquiring slaves, the same slaves to build the Fortress.”

“Excellent, dahling!” Elsa Byrd squinted her eyes and flashed a big mouthful of perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth, “And what is that?”

Caimlin held up the invitation, glancing at Lord Void hesitatingly.

“It’s -- it’s,” Lord Void scowled, “It’s an invitation from the Classic Emperor. To a ball. And --” Lord Void’s scowl deepened, “And he has given me several to hand out to whomever I choose. And--”

Lord Void thrust an invitation at Elsa Byrd.

“Here.”

“Oh, Void dahling!” Elsa Byrd emitted something that sounded like a cackle, “I’m thrilled! And what good timing too! While we are away enjoying the company of the Emperor, your Lame-Kin can oversee the beginning construction of the Fortress!”

“Caimlin.” Caimlin growled.

“Caimlin is going as well.” said Lord Void, a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes, “And besides, the Ball isn’t for a month. Plenty of time for the groundbreaking.”

“Very good, dahling!” exclaimed Elsa Byrd. And then she was gone, her pink accessories floating along behind her.

“I don’t like her.” snorted Caimlin.

“Nor I, Lame-Kin.” smirked Lord Void, “Here,” he continued, thrusting the last five invitations at Caimlin, “Send those along to Governor Drock. Let me him send them to whomever he wants. Then we shall dine. Then, tomorrow, we set out to the Fire Breathing Fortress for the groundbreaking.”
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Postby Formendacil » Mon Jun 06, 2005 10:36 pm

Grid: P-10
Location: Hemmerington, in the southern Dark Forest Fell Isle territory.

Formendacil wrote:They had walked back to where Thomas still stood by the freshly-turned earth.

"Come along, lad," said Sir Dractor, shoving Thomas gently but inexorably. "Let's get going."

Thomas nodded, but said nothing, and silently followed.


"I never realised my grandfather had so much stuff," said Thomas. It was the day after the burial, and Thomas was momentarily being distracted from his grief by going through his grandfather's things. Sir Dractor and Healer Melkan were there to help.

"I may as well just give most of it away," said Thomas. "I'm leaving, I'm not likely to come back, and I can't take much of it with me anyway."

So the task turned out to be not so much sorting the things, as giving it all away. Clothes were given to more needy families, furniture was given piecemeal to Thomas' assorted friends. The smithy and equipment was being given to the village blacksmith. The house was being given to a young couple about to be married, who had been planning to build a home, but who would be much more pleased with a finished one.

All the Thomas kept were smaller, personal things of his own. He had an enormous backpack full of clothing, personal items, and small mementos. He also had a sword his grandfather had made, many long years ago.

Sir Dractor had found it in a corner of the attic, carefully wrapped. Thomas drew it carefully. Though the scabbard was dusty, the blade was bright and sharp. It was light, for a sword, strong, and well-balanced. An excellent sword. A beautiful sword. Sir Dractor wondered that Brakespear had been unwilling to make him one. Perhaps he was afraid of the strain...

In addition to the sword, Thomas took one other item: his grandfather's hammer. The heavy smith's tool was plain and unadorned, and showed many years of use on it, but it was in fine condition, for a hammer, and Thomas readily slipped it into his belt, although its weight made him slightly lopsided.

"What about your grandfather's papers?" Melkan asked. "There are boxes and boxes of them..."

"What are they about?" asked Thomas.

"They mostly seem to be records. Who he worked for, what he was paid, when, and other notes like that," replied Melkan, having rifled through the first box.

"Just burn them," said Thomas. "Nobody will want them now."

"I don't know about that," said Melkan. "If it's all right with you, I'd like to keep them. If I ever get the time, I'd like to organise them. Some of them might be the sort of things a royal archivist might want."

"If you want them, they're yours," said Thomas. "I could care less."

It took a couple days to deliver the furniture and goods to the local people. The recipients gladly came to help, and there were more than a couple tearful thank-you/good-byes. It was only on the last night, when Thomas and Sir Dractor laid out their bedrolls on the plain floor that had once been the Brakespear kitchen, that Thomas realised that he was really and truly leaving, and not likely to come back.
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Postby Lord_Of_The_LEGO » Mon Jun 06, 2005 11:03 pm

Grid: J-18
Location: Far off the coast of Kingdom Isle

The crew of the Aterops was subdued. Men who were not in the rigging tiptoed across the deck. There was not boisterous calling. No manly chatter. No, they all kept quiet, lest they disturb the captain.

Captain Horatio Johnson had been in a fowl mood ever since the Aterops had limped out of Anka Dolour harbor. He had been in good spirits after his victory over Korgan and his rabble, but when they had returned to the Aterops, those spirits were squashed. The Aterops was a shambles. Her skeleton crew was either dead or wounded, her ballista was a tangled mass of disjointed timber, her tiller was awry, and to add insult in injury, Johnson’s cabin was a mess. Blade marks scoured his desk, there was ink splattered everywhere, and some of his possessions were missing. In a rage, Captain Johnson had ordered for the Aterops to set sail, and then locked himself in his cabin. Johnson’s first mate, a man by the name of Niles McMurray, quietly contradicted the captain’s order and instead set workmen to repair the tiller. After a long wait it had been patched, and the Aterops fled Anka Dolour. It would become the butt end of jokes in the seedy bars of the slave island for years to come.

Now the Aterops was heading toward Kingdom Isle, for repairs and supplies, before reluctantly heading home to Port Crowne, where more ridicule waited. Not man onboard looked forward to the return journey, especially Johnson. Dark thoughts passed through his head as he contemplated his fate. Demotion. Lost of his ship. Jail time, perhaps? And never being able to hold his head high again. Johnson cursed the Bombardier with a thousand curses. Oh, why had he followed that ship? Why didn’t he just stay and patrol like he was ordered? Johnson pounded at his head as he tried to answer that question. The was a knock at the door.

“What?” snapped Johnson.

“Sir…” came a voice, “We’ve docked at Port Maltressa. We’ve landed at Western Knight’s Kingdom land.”
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Postby Robin Hood » Mon Jun 06, 2005 11:10 pm

Grid: G-8
Location: Castleton

"Milord, a letter from the Emperor."

Kjeld looked up from his book. He had managed to justify a few hours of no work, and had decided to use them reading. It was a luxury he had not had for a long time.

He took the letter that Robert handed to him, and read it.

"Most interesting," mused Kjeld. He would very much like to go, but it had been very hard to excuse himself for a few hours of ruling. To leave for a month, just to go to some ball was quite out of the question. The country was in far too much turmoil to leave so suddenly. It would take many months to return the land to how it had been before the war.

"Do you have a reply?" inquired Robert who was still standing beside the king.

"Not at the moment," replied Kjeld, "but could you please send me Sir Theodore."

"At once sire."

Soon, the knight/general was standing in front of him. "Yes your majesty?" asked Theodore.

Kjeld told him about the ball. "With the country as it is, and Lego still on the isle visiting Vallen, you are the highest ranking person I can spare to send. I am sending you as the official representative of the Royal Knights. You can spread out the rest of the invitations as you see fit."

"Very good sire," replied Theodore. "I'll leave today."

The knight turned and left Kjeld by himself. "Any possibility of leisure has left me," thought the king. "I guess I had better get back to work."

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

As Sir Theodore contemplated on whom to give the other seven invitations to, he bumped into Valric.

The other knight was not to absorbed in his surroundings either. For in his hand was an invitation.

"Hello," said Theodore. "I see you have received one of those yourself."

"Yes, the Emperor sent it to me directly."

"I can see why, seeing as you are a Classic," answered Theodore. "I am going to be heading out myself today, I take it you are too."

"Aye," said Valric. "I won't mind your company at all."

"Good. Though I hope the roads are better since the last time we traveled from Orion."

"It should," laughed Valric. "Shall we get ready?"

"In a minute," replied the other. "I have seven other invitations to give out."
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Postby TheOrk » Mon Jun 06, 2005 11:20 pm

L-12 Castle Dracul

It was the usaul Fright Knight Weather, dark and stormy. Lighting arced through the sky, occasionally striking a withered tree. Rain vcame down in sheets. Belzzar sat near a tall window watching it. The fire place almost crackled merrily. To bad it illumanated things in the corners of the castle not meant to be seen.

Belzzar sat backwards in his comfortable chair, taking the occaisonal swig from a bottle of some relaxing brew his witches conjured up.

He looked around the room bored. Life was almost back to normal. The strange matters of his men causing a ruckus seemed to be finished. To top it off, Pythos was making plans to leave. He said he might pay another visit in a year.

But by then Belzzar could have a knife poised for his throat.
The comfortable silence was interupted by a loud rap at the door.

Belzzar cursed. “Come in!” He growled.

“A thousand humble pardons my lord!” Croaked a balding servant. He scurried up to where Belzzar sat.

“What?” Answered Belzzar.

“M,master a letter from Lord Durak…” Belzzar tore one of several parcels out the servant’s hand.

His dark eyes raced across the tidy scrawl. The servant was on his knees awaiting the usaul beating that Count Belzzar so “lavishly” bestowed upon all his servants.

Belzzar finshed reading it some gibberish about the Emperor holding a ball to celebrate “peace” and representatives from each faction.

The Emperor sent Lord Durak the parcel because he was most favored of She-Of-The-Barrow. He never took to formal occasions.

Belzzar nodded. He’d go, he enjoyed these types of things and he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to get away from Pythos. “You!” He gave the cowering servant a murderous glare. “I shall be gone within the week. Prepare some clothes and see to it my windship is up and running! “

“Yes master!” The servant wimpered he bolted out the room.
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Postby Lord_Of_The_LEGO » Tue Jun 07, 2005 3:45 am

The Green Knight wrote:“Mister Bobart,” said O’Brion. “I’d like to have a word with you.”


Grid: L-18
Location: Port Mary

“I’m much obliged, Captain Bobart.” said O’Brien, shaking the man’s hand.

“Not at all.” smiled Bobart, “Goo’ luck with yer search an’ all.”

“Thanks.”

Captain Bobard left O’Brien, who turned to his marines and Targon, who had opted to come along was well.

“Right, then, men. Now that we’re in Port Mary, we have a job to do. We must find Burtrand, we must rescue Princess Anastasia, and we must get in contact with Captain Johnson and the Aterops.”

“And we must find my rock!” added Targon grumpily.

O’Brien ignored the Dragon Master.

“We’re in Knight’s Kingdom now, so we don’t have as much authority as we would on our own good soil, but the Knight’s Kingdomer folks aren’t half-bad. I don’t think we will have much trouble.”

“What if Burtrand slips into Fright Knight land?” demanded a marine.

O’Brien replied, “We follow. We follow until we find the princess.”

There was no groaning or moaning from the Crusader marines. They were all fiercely proud and patriotic men, and they determined to rescue Princess Anastasia or die trying.

“All right men,” continued O’Brien, “let’s go…”
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Postby Lord_Of_The_LEGO » Tue Jun 07, 2005 4:42 am

Grid: G-7
Location: Falconis City


Note: I meant to post this addition nearly two weeks ago, but never got around to it. Oh well.

Several days later, when the ambassadors from the friendly nations had left and as the last of the signs of the coronation were being swept away, the Lone Falcon confronted Vanderdious and said, “In all this hubbub we’ve barely seen one another. Come, let’s have some coffee and sit.”

“But aren’t you busy with more important matter, O Lord Protector?” grinned Vanderdious.

The Lone Falcon smiled. “Can you think of anything more important than two old friends taking a sup together?”

“None.” said Vanderdious, “I’ll get the coffee.”

Once with a mug-full of coffee each, the two Black Falcons sat at a small table just big enough for the mugs and a place to rest their arms.

“So, Vander…how goes things for the master of masks?” asked the Lone Falcon.

“Too much,” Vanderdious sighed, swishing his coffee about, “I’m tired of the overactive life. I’m thinking of retiring to hermit-hood.”

The Lone Falcon chuckled. “That’s what I had wished, but when Queen appointed me to Lord Protector, I couldn’t say no, could I?”

“You could have. At least, I did. Say no, that is, when she asked me to be the Director of the Department Of Strategic Intelligence.”

The Lone Falcon looked at Vanderdious over the rim of his mug.

“You refused the control of one of the most power intelligence centers in Dametreos?”

“Yup. And I’m not sorry. Can you really, really see me sitting atop a leather chair with shiny boots and a fat cigar, sending hundreds of secretive Black Falcon agents left and right with a wave of my hand?”

“No.” the Lone Falcons said immediately, “I can’t see it. I can see you, though, as one of those agents.”

Vanderdious shrugged. “Perhaps, maybe someday. But I’m a bit tired of a life on the line, risking my well-being day in and day out. It gets…dull…after a while.”

“Not to mention dangerous.” smiled the Lone Falcon, “So, what then? What are your plans?”

“Start a theatre group.” Vanderdious said at once, “Everyone’s been focusing on politics, public relations, the economy, the deficit, the military, the navy…but not the arts. I intend to change that. It’s time to promote the arts.”

The Lone Falcon nodded approval.

“Good for you. That is just what this city needs.”

They went quiet for a minute, then Vanderdious said, “So, what of the others? What has happened to our former ex-Rebels?”

“Let’s see,” the Lone Falcon sat back, “Freena left with Dordrot and the rest of the Bulls. Bersun and Xonyer are now managing things up with the military. Nothing’s official yet, but I’m thinking both of them will probably be appointed to positions there. Forden and Gaffner are working with the construction crews to rebuild damaged parts of the city. Mills is managing the carrier pigeons and their coops. And Mayriz is working in the Spire kitchens and gardens.”

“And you’re now Mr. Big Guy as the Lord Protector.” winked Vanderdious.

The Lone Falcon chuckled. “Yes. But thankfully, it is simply an honorary job. I just appear at certain social events and look noble. Any other time, and I’m free to do as I wish.”

“And what will you do with that time?” asked Vanderdious.

“Finish chronicling my past.” said the Lone Falcon firmly, “Now that is an adventure I was to save for the next generation.”

Vanderdious nodded, then drained his cup.

“Well, I’d best be off. I’ve got meself a playwright and a set builder, but I’ve gotta find meself a costume designer…”

“What, you can’t do that?” asked the Lone Falcon jokingly, also standing up.

“Heh…no. I wear the costumes. I can’t make ‘em.”

“Each to his own, then.”

The Lone Falcon and Vanderdious looked at one another, then they slowly embraced.

“Take care of yourself, your gov’ner’ship, sir.” said Vanderdious.

“You too, Vander.”

They departed. As the Lone Falcon watched Vanderdious mingle with the crowd, he saw him meet with two other persons: a petite Royal woman with spectacles and a brawny Bull with a bushy beard. The playwright and the set builder with the actor. Royal, Bull and Black Falcon. The Lone Falcon smiled. If that wasn’t a sign of the good future awaiting the newly peaceful Black Falcons, what was?


And, close curtain! Thus, the Black Falcon political plot has now officially come to a close! And please don’t ask for an encore! :wink:
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