Classic Castle Roleplay: September 2005

LEGO gaming, including group role playing games
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Formendacil
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Post by Formendacil »

Grid: L-7
Location: Hemlock Stronghold

Arabella I, Queen of the Dark Forest, finished her day with some bad news.

"Your Royal Highness," one of her captains addressed her after supper, "we have just received word from our forces in Fort Spruceview. Jewel Reef has been taken."

"What?" demanded the Queen. "By whom? Surely the Wolfpack wouldn't dare..."

"It was not the Wolfpack, milady," answered the captain. "It was the work of an unknown fleet, not bearing the colours of any Dametreosian nation. They took the city at night, at unawares. Word reached Fort Spruceview early this morning. Such intelligence as they sent us reports that the city is occupied by roughly 700 well-armed troops, who are going about constructing a strong palisade."

"Any ideas as to their intention?"

"It appears to be plain old conquest, milady," replied the captain.

"This cannot be tolerated," said the Queen, a steely iron in her voice. "The northern half of our mainland is little populated, to be sure, but it is our tie to the coast. And Jewel Reef is the religious centre of the Forestdweller realms. In any event, we have our pride and national unity to consider. Summon Prince Radjar Kath."

"Yes, milady."

While Radjar Kath, the Queen, and several senior captains discussed levies, provisioning, and plans of attack, another message arrived, from Drullen Bell Keep. The Queen silently read it over.

"Milady?" asked a captain when she had finished.

"The Forestmen know of this threat," the Queen informed them. "One of their settlements on the Fell Isle was razed by them. They've sent a fleet north to monitor the situation, under the command of Sir Aethelred Dractor. Odd, I didn't think that the Forestmen had any knights."

"They don't," replied the captain. "No more than we do."

"Sir Dractor is a foreigner," interjected Radjar. "He's befriended Bjarn, and has been staying in Drullen Bell on and off for the past year."

"Bjarn writes recommending that we send a force northwards to defend our territory in case of attack," continued the Queen. "That has already happened, but he goes on to say that in case of an attack, his men will be ready to assist if we call for it."

"That would help things a great deal," noted one of the captains. "If we could rely on allies from the north, we would not have to waste time calling up extra levies, but could make do with our standing army, thus saving time, and hastening the end of this little altercation."

"Quite," said the Queen. "Make it so. Send word to Drullen Bell that Prince Radjar is marching north with 500 Dark Foresters. Bjarn will relay the message to his fleet."

~~~~~~~~~

Grid: M-8
Location: Putting out to sea from Delvarden Gard.

"Well," Thomas said to Sir Dractor, coming up on deck of the Sea Elk after stowing their gear in the hold, "are we ready to leave?"

"We are," nodded Sir Dractor. "All the ships are loaded, and conditions are favourable. Captain Maplecreek," he addressed the trading captain whose ship had been pressed into service as the flagship, "signal the fleet with the order to ship out."

"Aye, commodore," replied the captain, with only a hint of displeasure. All in all, the Forestmen merchants had taken quite well to the commandeering of their vessels. Of course, they were being well-paid for it.

Sir Dractor and Thomas made their way over to the helm, were they had a reasonably clear view of the waters ahead. The Sea Elk was the largest ship in the fleet, the only proper open seas sailing vessel. The rest were large barges or small galleys, typically used for coastline trade with the Crusaders, Forestdwellers, and Bulls, or for trade across the Fell Strait. There was, in total, eleven ships in the fleet, but the total draftage of the vessels was probably only half that of the Ikrosian fleet.

"Commodore..." murmured Thomas, shaking his head with a bit of a laugh.

"It's more of a title than I ever got during the BloodVaine War," said Sir Dractor. "Of course, Bjarn was there to give legitimacy to anything I might suggest, and I was in a much less important role. Here, I am the chief commander. And I not only have to command the soldiers who know me and respect me, but the sailors who don't know me at all."

"Surely Gonderin would be enough," said Thomas. "Actually, I'm surprised that he's along at all. He hardly ever leaves Drullen Bell, I'm told. And this is the second time in a month."

"Gonderin used to leave it quite a bit," said Sir Dractor, "but from Isaac's death until the present, he has been needed many times to fill in while the Leader has been gone, or to help Bjarn learn the role properly. I'd say that with Bjarn fully comfortable with it, and with peace as established as its ever going to get, we'll see Gonderin going on quite a few more trips. I know that Bjarn wants to send him on a tour of the Fell Isle territories someday. They've been neglected since the Fell War."

"Talking about me?" said a voice behind them. Gonderin had just come on deck, without them noticing.

"You and your neverending duties, yes," replied Sir Dractor.

"My neverending duties," agreed Gonderin. "Yes, that is very much the case. It's good for those duties to lead to some physical action for a change. My archery grows rusty, I fear."

"Rusty to a Forestman means a quarter of an inch off target," laughed Thomas.

"Off target is offtarget," shrugged Gonderin. "One should always strive for perfection."

"They should indeed," agreed Sir Dractor. "Captain, signal the Princess's Pea! It's coming too fast behind the Snuff Box.

"Thomas," he turned to the squire, "how would you like to take a turn at the helm?"

Thomas grinned.
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Post by Maedhros »

Grid: K-14
Location: Small hut outside Castle Milash


Cecilya Drazescu lived in a small hut in the shadow of Castle Milash. The hut consisted of a single room with a small fireplace, a table and a small wooden bed.
Cecilya had lived there her whole life and given birth to two sons. Her husband had been dead for ten years now and she rarely went out more than to get some food from her garden.

She was eating her dinner when a heavy knock on the door interrupted her. She looked up but before she could say anything a voice called from the outside:

"Open the door, hag. Lord Zaharia wants to speak to you."

Her heart began to beat faster and she shivered. Why did the Batlord want to talk to her?
She left the dinner on the table and opened the door.

A tall man dressed in the armor of clan Daneshti stood outside the door with a spear pointed at her chest. He smiled a cruel smile.

"Ah, good hag. Follow me, lord Zaharia expects to be obeyed."

He turned around and strided away in a quick pace and Cecilya quickly fell behind.
The march up the mountain wasn´t very long but it felt like many miles to the old woman. When they came to the courtyard she suddenly stopped dead and recoiled in horror at the sight of Traians impaled body on a stake. She was used to the dead bodies but the sight of Traian sent shivers through her body.

The guard stopped and gazed at her.

"What´s the problem, hag. Come on, we shouldn´t keep lord Zaharia waiting."

With tearfilled eyes she stared at Traian´s dead body.

"What, what did he do? Why did he deserve to die?"

"He broke the silence, and it´s because of this lord Zaharia has called for you."

Cecilya wiped the tears out of her eyes but now another fear rose inside her.

"Marian, has something happened to Marian?" She stammered out.

The guard turned and continued. "All shall be revealed in time, hag."

But Cecilya didn´t move. "You can´t take my other son from me too. You took my first when he was a baby and now Marian?!" She shouted and gazed at the guard with tearfilled eyes.

The guard turned and walked at her quickly. "Now you will follow me, hag." He grabbed her arm but she resisted.

She drew out a small dagger from her clothes with her free arm and stabbed the guard right in the eye. He was caught unaware and fell down with blood gushing from his eye. She left the dagger in his eye and quickly took his spear and drove it through his back and nailed him to the ground.

Then she suddenly realized what she had done. It seemed that all force left her and she just wanted to cry. But her survivalinstinct made her think clearly and she knew that she had to flee. She left the guard where he was and limped away as quickly as she could. She didn´t know what to do if she got away but she knew that she wanted to live. They may have taken her sons and her husband but they wouldn´t take her.
"Hinc satis elucet maiorem habere uim ad discenda ista liberam curiositatem quam meticulosam necessitatem.”
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Post by Robin Hood »

TheOrk wrote:“The Count has several.” Coughed Valric, trying out his leg. He limped over to the window, the dark bulk of Castle Dracul was framed against the sky. He grasped the hilt of his sword, which seemed to had a faint glow this close to the castle. It wasn’t long now.
Grid: L-12
Location: Castle Dracul

The passage in was hardly worth calling a passage, rather a crack. For crack it was. Castle Dracul's outer walls were old, and in several places had developed cracks. The largest one was at the rear of the building, squashed beside a cliff. It started near the top as a small dark line. As it came toward the ground it widened slightly. At the bottom it was large enough for a man to crawl through.

This might seem like a weakness to the castle, but the whole wall in which the crack resided was nothing more than a smoothed out cliff. Near the top it left the ground, but at the bottom it was merely an extra layer of rock.

"Where does this lead?" Asked Rodney as they snuck up toward the crack.

"To the lower halls. If Pythos is where I think he is, he'll be five stories beneath us." Answered Valric, who then went down to his hands and knees and crawled into the crack. Theodore and the others followed.

Following right behind Valric, Theodore saw that the passage had apparently been made by an old earthquake. The walls were such a perfect match that you see were each section had been joined.

After ten yards or so, and just when Theodore began to feel that he would go insane if he couldn't get some space, the crack met a real passage.

Standing up, Theodore asked Valric. "What’s this place?"

"Air passage. This tunnel connects all the lower halls with small openings, about the size of a fist, that’s why we had to use the crack. The halls are so deep that this was the only convenient way to get air."

"So where to now?"

"This way," responded Valric. And he set of down the passage. After a few minutes of walking, Theodore saw a small grate set into the right wall. Through it he could see a torch lit room. They passed many of these, each showing a different room. For each grate on the right side, a small shaft, leading to the surface, was on the left.

Another twenty minutes later, they stopped. Theodore figured they must have traveled halfway around the castle.

There was another grate, but this one had fallen out of the wall. For good reason too, for a small cave in had occurred, and the wall and the room were both half buried in stone.

The knight scrambled over the rocks with the others as they worked their way into the caved in room. They reach the room's door and entered another passage.

This one however was obviously used. The floors were polished and torches were set in the wall at regular intervals.

"Now we have to be careful. If we meet anybody, Pythos will know and it'll be over." Cautioned Valric and he led them down the hall. Soon he reached a door, opened it and revealed a stairway.

"This stair goes all the way through the castle. If we follow it for five stories, we should find Pythos." Said Valric, and the company started down the stairs.
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Post by Lord_Of_The_LEGO »

Formendacil wrote:"Thomas," he turned to the squire, "how would you like to take a turn at the helm?"

Thomas grinned.
Grid: M-8
Location: Onboard the Sea Elk, sailing on the Fell Sea half a mile off the Forestmen shore


After Thomas had tried his hand at the helm (which he found to be a thrilling but challenging duty), he returned it to the bo’sun, and approached Gonderin.

“Gonderin, sir…mister…”

The elf turned about, arching a sculpted brow.

Oh no, worried Thomas, I hope I didn’t offend him! Can I do much worse than offend one of the fair folk?

“Yes, Squire Valt?” said Gonderin smoothly. With slender hands and keen eyes, he was examining a quiver of fine arrows.

“Er, sorry,” said Thomas hastily, “But how are you to be addressed? I’ve heard soldiers call you Commander, Captain, Sir…”

Gonderin continued to examine his arrows.

“Gonderin. Elves have no titles. Only names. The Forestmen often apply some sort of title upon me as a sign of respect. I do not mind this, but I have no title.”

“Yes si- Gonderin.”

Thomas watched quietly as Gonderin finished inspecting arrows, yearning to ask questions, but not daring to interrupt the elf.

“Speak,” commanded Gonderin, “Your questions are many, I can feel. Do not hesitate to voice them.”

“Yes, Gonderin.” Thomas paused, “Why do you have those tattoos?”

Gonderin tossed aside an arrow with a rumpled feather.

“They were once only things of necessity.” he explained, “Crude markings to camouflage the hunters. But as the elven culture grew, and adopted agriculture, hunting was lessoned. But the markings remained. Designs began to be more artistic, using dyes and hues instead of mud and soot. Eventually actual tattooing was used. They were much more than camouflage marks now: they were holy marks. And they still are, though you will be hard pressed to find a roomful of marked faces. The elven race dwindles.”

There was a silence, then Thomas asked, “Is it true elves live for hundreds of years?”

“It is.” said Gonderin, now returning the arrows to the quiver, “I was one-hundred and fifteen when Jethro Argue Tahmyll ruled the Forestmen. I am what you would call middle-aged, now.”

Thomas blinked in wonder.

“Is it true that elves are the best archers ever?”

At this Gonderin allowed himself a rare chuckle. He took out his bow and rapidly shot an arrow into a target across deck. It landed near-dead center. Then he challenged a Forestmen recruit.

“Place your best arrow in that target.” he commanded.

The Forestman obeyed. His arrow landed less than half an inch away from Gonderin’s. Gonderin turned back to Thomas.

“Elves are no more skilled at archery than men are. Nor dwarves, or any other race for that matter. There are some awful Forestmen archers out there, and there a even some Crusader archers who could rival me. Your race nor nation will not determine your level of skill, young Squire, it is the one who teaches you.”

Gonderin looked up, past Thomas and to Sir Dractor, who was standing behind.

“You will be a master swordsman, young Squire.”

Gonderin bowed his head briefly and turned away.
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Post by Formendacil »

Grid: P-10
Location: Hemmerington

Captain Drazzuil had arrived in the Hemmerington district, walking with his twelve men up the same road from the coast that Sir Dractor had taken in the spring, heading for the same village, looking for the same man.

Four leagues from the village, he ordered his men to halt, and make camp deep in the trees, while he went on and scoped out the village alone. If he needed help, he'd send up a signal.

Alone, he continued on...

~~~~~~~~~~

People in Hemmerington liked to think of the Korvalt boys in terms of the Three Billy Goats Gruff, or The Three Little Pigs, or The Three Bears: three identical individuals of like personality, perhaps ranging in size from biggest to smallest.

Sizewise, this was somewhat true. Erik, the oldest boy, was certainly the tallest and strongest of the three. Paul, his next brother, was half a head shorter, but just as stocky, while Matthew, the youngest, was the same height as Paul but more slenderly built.

And it WAS true the Korvalt brothers had similar tastes, similar skills, and were as thick as a band of outlaws. They were not, however, quite identical.

Erik, the oldest, was the least cerebral of the three. He was as strong as an ox and truth be told, he usually thought like one. Paul the smart one. Not a thinker like Thomas Valt was, or some high-falutin' intellectual, but he was very practical. Give him time and he'd reason anything out. Matthew, the youngest, was the dreamer of the family. Not that their mother gave him much time for daydreaming, but he was the one most prone to wondering and pondering all the same.

It is perhaps then a great irony that it was Erik Korvalt who went to check out the west field that day. When harvesting, Matthew had spotted a mole hill near the road, and had told his brothers. They had drawn straws, and Erik was the one who had landed the task of going out and seeing how bad it was, and then dealing with it.

Erik had just finished dealing with the molehill, and was both very dirty and well-pleased with himself when he started back to the village, and met Captain Drazzuil. And therein lay the irony. Paul Korvalt would have asked the Fright Knight what he was doing in Hemmerington, and then tried to figure out in his mind if it made sense. Matthew Korvalt would have wondered the same, and would probably have begun to concoct a story in his head for his presense. But Erik Korvalt...

Erik noticed the stranger, of course. He had good eyesight, and he was quickly gaining on him. He noticed his military garb and outlandish Fright Knight look. But it didn't bother him. He was a stranger, so what? Hemmerington hardly ever had strangers, but that didn't matter to Erik. He had other things to think about, like repainted the tool shed.

It was Captain Drazzuil who broke the silence, and approached Erik first.

"Nice weather, isn't it?" he said, deciding to appear polite, and grabbing at the world's most used opening line.

"It's pretty good," agreed Erik. "It's been a fine crop so far, and if it keeps up, we'll have one of the best harvests in years. They say it's gonna get real bad again this winter, though."

"Snow," said Drazzuil, shivering, his only experience with it having been the freak blizzard over Kingdom Isle caused by BloodVaine. "Can't stand the stuff."

"I don't mind it," said Erik nonchalantly. "It's good for the plants, I guess. Fun to play in, when you're a kid."

Anyone other than Erik would have wondered what Drazzuil looked like as a child. He was really an outlandish sight to a Hemmeringtoner, with his dragon helm, silver cuirass, black and red livery, and bushy goatee. But Erik's mind was on winter memories, and on whether or not they had enough wood by the back shed.

"Indeed?" said Drazzuil, not certain that snow had a positive side. "Well, your ways are different up here."

They walked on in silence, until they came to village. There, Erik headed off from the Fright Knight in the direction of his home.

"Well," he said, "see ya."

"Erm," said Drazzuil, "right."

Drazzuil looked around him. The village had no inn, no town hall, no major structures from which to begin his enquiries. He had no idea where to begin. Then he saw it, the small hanging sign reading "Pu" over a larger doorway. The end of the sign appeared to be missing, probably with the letter "b" on it.

Feeling slightly better, Drazzuil headed over.
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Post by SavaTheAggie »

Grid: L-5
Location: Inland, The town of CinderWood, inside the home of Maerl, the blacksmith

The Wanderer was sitting quietly in a corner of Maerl's home, contemplating his situation. As the sun set on yet another day of inaction by his host, it became another day wasted in trying to find his aunt and nephew. There could be any number of Ikrosian forces heading into Dametreos at any moment, and nothing he could do would stop them.

Maerl, on the other hand, was busily working in his kitchen, nursing a spoiled soup that he had left unattended too long. The Wanderer winced as he watched the blacksmith add ingrediant after ingrediant to mask the flavor of scalded milk.

"So tell me," Maerl broke the silence, still concentrating on resurrecting his soup.

"Yes?" the Wanderer asked, his eyes still focused on the floor.

"My father always referred to you as an old man, but if I understand you correctly, you met him before I was born. That was over twenty years ago."

"And?"

"And, well, to be blunt, you're old now. Just how old are you?"

The Wanderer shot an incredulous stare at the blacksmith, who had still not turned from his soup.

"Old." he said, returning his gaze to the floor.

"You'd have to be at least 80 years old, but you don't look a day of it."

"At least."

"Older?" Maerl asked in shock, finally turning from his soup pot.

The Wanderer nodded his head slowly.

"90?"

The Wanderer continued his slow nodding.

"100? 120? Certainly you can't be older than that..."

The Wanderer looked up at Maerl with a raised eybrow.

"So just how old are you?"

"I've honestly lost count of the years. Let's just say I've met a lot of twenty year old blacksmith's in my time."

"Are you an immortal or something?"

"I'm not immortal, just haven't died yet."

"Long life... what a blessed gift," Maerl sighed.

"Not in the least," the cloaked man stood up quickly, his voice had suddenly changed into one of anger, "This is a curse! A curse of the worst magnitude."

"But how could that be?" Maerl asked defensively.

"Imagine," the Wanderer growled, stepping closer to Maerl as he spoke, "living your life, day to day, year by year, decade by decade, as you are, as you always will be. Imagine seeing every single person you have ever loved age day to day, year by year, decade by decade until they die. And then to watch as their children die, and their children, until you have watched ten generations of the people you love most turn to dust."

The Wanderer's voice had turned from anger to sorrow, his voice had begun to crack and Maerl could see tears welling up in his eyes.

"Imagine holding the ones you love, knowing that they will die and you will linger on, walking the earth without them, never to meet them again in the next world. There is nothing I wish more than to die and leave this world and be with my family again."

The Wanderer collapsed back into his chair in the corner of the room. He held his head in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. His hood had fallen backwards, revealing his silky, grey hair, and for the first time Maerl could see humanity in the old warrior.

"I... I'm sorry," Maerl said helplessly.

The Wanderer nodded his head slowly. The two men kept silent for a painfully long moment, Maerl stood searching for the right words.

"The promise you spoke of, the reason why you're on your quest, how long ago did you make it?" Maerl finally said.

"Lifetimes ago," the Wanderer said, sitting up. He recomposed himself, recovering his head with his hood.

"And you've kept your promise this whole time?"

"Been trying to fulfill it, yes."

"Willing to share what that promise was?"

"Not now," the Wanderer shook his head slowly, "but I would like to know where your Aunt is right now."

A sharp and hurried knock at the door drew the two men's attention. Maerl rushed over to the door and opened it quickly. The Wanderer recognized the man behind it as the large man from the bar he had scuffled with the few days prior.

"Maerl, have you heard?"

"Heard what?" Maerl shook his head.

"Jewel Reef has been overrun by some unknown army! The whole city!"

"It can't be..." Maerl gasped in disbelief, glancing over to the cloaked figure in the corner. The Wanderer slowly folded his arms tightly and stared back, raising an eyebrow as if to ask 'and you're surprised?'

"Queen Arabella is sending an army to march on Jewel Reef to take it back," the large man continued, "we're about to be in the middle of a war!"

"But..." Maerl started.

"It gets worse, Maerl," the man said, handing the blacksmith a tattered piece of paper, "this started circulating, delivered by a messenger from Jewel Reef."

Maerl read the letter quickly, then again, and again, refusing to believe what was written.

"What is it?" the Wanderer stood.

" 'Reward: One-Hundred Ikrosian gold pieces each for the live capture of the blacksmith known as Maerl, the farmer known as Haraldein and his wife, the woman known as Olivia. Deliver to the Ikrosian city of Dahnar, formerly Jewel Reef. Signed: Vice-Admiral Dahnaris,' " Maerl raised his gaze off the paper and stared at the Wanderer as he finished reading, "That's..."

"Your Uncle and your Aunt, I know," the Wanderer nodded.

"Thank you for this, Fiero," Maerl said to the large man, who nodded in reply and left in a jog.

"We MUST reach your Aunt and Nephew, Dahnaris is not someone to be taken lightly."

"You know him?" Maerl's voice and gaze were distant. It was as if he had been given a sharp blow to the head, and in reality he might as well have.

"We've met... focus Maerl. Your Aunt and Nephew are in grave danger now. They have a price on their head. Where are they?" the Wanderer shook the blacksmith gently.

"In a small village north of here, near the coast..." Maerl said softly.

"What??," the Wanderer grit his teeth, "you said they were south of here!"

"I didn't know if I could trust you..."

"Fool!" the Wanderer slapped Maerl hard, waking the man from his stupor, "Do you know what you've done by stalling me here? You've put them in unecessary risk! They might already be dead!"

"I'm... I'm sorry," Maerl stammered.

"We'll leave immediately for the North," the cloaked man said, quickly gathering a few supplies and placing them in a nearby napsack he took from a hook on the wall. "We'll need enough food for a few days, for four people. We won't be stopping until we find a safe place to hide them."

"Y.. yes..."

"And I'm going to need a sword."
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Post by Maedhros »

Grid: K-14
Location: Border between the Fright Knights and the Western Knight´s Kingdom.


Mircea gazed over the landscape. He could see nothing but endless barren wastelands to the north. The easy part of their journey was over now, they would leave the beautiful plains and woods of the Western Knight´s Kingdom and enter these tainted lands where nothing lived.

He felt a cold hand on his neck, it didn´t frighten him. He was used to it. It was a sign.

"Evil is in the very air here, brothers. Be careful", he said and spurred on his horse. The poor animal moved reluctantly but his conviction made it continue.

The knights followed him and he could hear their struggling horses but they forced them to move. He quietly thanked the knights. Most men would have wanted to turn back by now but they carried on.
The Dragon will reward his servants, he thought.

Only the exceptionally foolish or brave would enter these lands. Mircea was both.
"Hinc satis elucet maiorem habere uim ad discenda ista liberam curiositatem quam meticulosam necessitatem.”
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Post by Robin Hood »

Robin Hood wrote:"This one," replied the elf. "You heard the captain. It could be months before another boat headed there appears."

"Then lets go." Smirked Aiden.

Two hours later, the Hard Luck sailed away from the port, carrying two rather heavy barrels.
Grid: D-15
Location: The big blue wet thing.

Those two barrels soon became the most miserable places on the ship. Aiden and Kae-Os spent everyday in them. Only leaving to get food and drink, and to relieve themselves. Kae-Os spent his time in the barrel in a semi-trance. His mind wandering to places only an elf mind could go.

Aiden on the other hand was going insane. It’s hard to sleep in a barrel at the best of times, and this was far from the best. His barrel began to reek with sweat and un-washed cloths. Apart from sleeping and the occasional raid on the pantry, there was nothing to do. Finally, after more than a week at sea, Aiden cracked.

He clambered out of the barrel and jumped onto the deck. Noticing the change, Kae-Os opened his eyes looked out of his barrel. "What are you doing?" inquired the elf.

"Sleeping on the deck." He replied. "I can't take it any longer." And stretched full length on the deck and sighed. "Ah, leg room." In minutes he was sound asleep.

Shaking his head, Kae-Os lowered himself back into the barrel and re-entered his trance.

Two hours later, one of the Hard Luck's sailor entered the store room. He saw Aiden, stretched out on the floor and thought he had gone crazy. After rubbing his eyes, and pinching himself, the sailor was fairly sure that the man was real. How he appeared there he didn't know. But he did know what to do. He ran to tell the captain.

"Ouch, don't squeeze so hard." Said Aiden to two sailors whole had him by the arms. They dragged him on deck and deposited him right in front of Captain Bob McKaffy. The huge man was surrounded by the entire crew, all of whom seemed eager, as though expecting a fight.

"So," cried McKaffy. "A stowaway. Didn't feel like paying the toll did ya?"

"Toll my eye." Muttered Aiden, getting to his feet. "I could buy a boat and crew it for the price you wanted."

Ignoring this, the captain said. "Where's your friend? The tall silent chap."

"Didn't want to come."

"Ha, you ain't foolin me. Boys! Search the ship. There be another stowaway here."

The crew scrambled to obey, and for a few minutes nothing was said as the men searched every nook and cranny on the vessel. Then, from the cargo hold, a man cried. "I got him captain, I got hiMMMMM!!!" At the last word, a sailor came flying out of the hold and came to rest in sprawled heap on the deck.

Kae-Os calmly walked up. He faced the captain and said, "your men shouldn't try to lift people if they can walk on their own."

The captain didn't seem too worried or mad. Rather he gave a great laugh. "Haha, you got some spirit there. Not bad for a youngin."

The elf looked at the captain, but remained silent.

"I'd like to accommodate you. Be a pleasure to do so, but I don't like stowaways. So I am afraid you'll have to leave the ship."

The friends might have debated the point, but McKaffy seized Aiden by the arm, pulled him the edge of the deck, and flung him over before you could say "Bob McKaffy".

Kae-Os could have taken the whole crew, and probably won, but Aiden wasn't the greatest of swimmers. The elf took a running leap and dived over the deck. The captain and crew, laughing loudly, leaned over the side.

"Have a pleasant trip gentlemen. And since I feel charitable today, here's a goodbye present. He then flung an old door over the railing.

It splashed close by Kae-Os, who was now helping Aiden stay afloat. He swam to the board and pulled them on.

Spluttering water, Aiden growled. "That thieving captain. He’s practically committed murder. We'll never make it to land."

Looking at the now shrinking Hard Luck, Kae-Os replied, "Oh we will. And I'll make sure that that fat captain gets his due. I think that he needs to taught a lesson in guest courtesy."
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Post by TheOrk »

L-12 Castle Dracul

Word must have reached the castle by now. It did not seem likely that anybody in their right mind could excuse the fact that over six hundred unfriendly minifigs were marching towards Castle Dracul, intent on either killing or “correcting” all those they encountered enroute. When the army of Fright Knights finally came within sight of the castle, night had fallen.

Lead by Radu, the angry horde fell on the traitor army’s camp. All those that couldn’t get away in time were put to the sword. Radu looked on suspicously. He surveyed the battle field, noticing something amiss. All the slain traitors were being dragged to the center of the camp.

There weren’t many, only around a dozen. The camp was large enough to sustain nearly a thousand, most likely just over half that.

“Captain!” Radu turned to see one of his sargeants walk over to him looking for instructions.

“Get the men back into formation. We’ll position them directly infront of the gates, just outside of range of their archers” Commanded Radu.

He was doing his part of the plan perfectly. If only the Count could uphold his part of the bargain, Radu could be back in his coushy bed this very night…”

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

There seemed to be a hint of rain in the air. Belzzar felt several drops sliding down his bathelmet, going into his eye. Thunder boomed ominously in the distance. The small hidden, iron sidegate creaked open. It had been built several generations earlier. According to the records, some scheming Count Dracul from ages past built it incase of such a situation.

It had been hidden by as thick thorn bush. Belzzar could have fryed it in a second, but that would alert a certain sorcerer that someone in the vicinity had tapped into the mana flow. The fifty odd men surrounding the count set to work destroying it. Unsurprisingly to Belzzar it lashed out, giving out a fair number of wounds to it’s attackers.

Lead by the fuming count, the Fright Knights scurried into the dark depths of the castles lower levels. Many of these old chambers hadn’t been used or even opened in centuries. Many had cobwebs soo thick, that none thought twice about entering them.

Belzzar raised his staff and it began to give off it’s own faint reddish glow. The surrounding soldiers had halberd, scimitars and crossbows at the ready. After stalking the dark passages for an encalculable amount of time, the force neared it’s goal; an old cracked archway that was flanked by two chrome armoured elites. In a flash of steel, several crossbow bolts and daggers buried themselves in the two, both dropping with a clatter.

Belzzar muttered an order to a sargeant, one group of soldiers lead by the sargeant continued off, up into the upper levels while the other group lead by Belzzar turned at a fork and began to move downward, into the lowest level of the dungeon.

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

Pythos had donned his old suit of emerald coloured, enchanted armour. It was more ceremonial then battle worthy but it was now virtually indestructable and this was indeed going to be the greatest ceremony ever held! He looked up at the dark twisted portal before him. Now was the time.

The great cavern five stories below the dungeons was one of the deepest underground chambers in any castle. It had a complex maze of tunnels above it, no Fright Knight no matter how hard had managed to explore it’s depths. There was most likely an entrance to the malevolent crypts in there. To increase the security for this occasion, the six or seven hundred men now fanatically loyal to him now guarded every entrance.

Over a hundred of these soldiers, the elites; stood in formation in the cavern itself. The huge oval room was dominated by the towering portal in the center. On the farsides of it were blank rock walls, in the areas where the lower levels of the castle reached were pillared alcoves.

Valric and the others slunk silently through them. Valric stiffened as he saw all the Fright Knights who apparrently had come to watch the ritual. “Great! This looks like fun!” He laughed sarcastically.

Theodore turned pale and began to grumble, wondering about the logic in taking on soo many. Rodney just nodded, probley looking forward to recording this for his ballad, that is, if they survived. Stickle was about to slither away from such a hopless situation, but Venvorskar wasn’t the most forgiving master. Darkold and Midark looked at eachother sourly and turned to Valric.

“We didn’t sign up for this…” Growled Midark.

“Eh?” Blurted out Valric.

“We came to see a dragon, not go along with a bunch of madmen who want to take on the full might of a Batlord!” Snapped Darkold, this whole thing was disturbingly similar to one of his many nightmares.

“Well, divided are chances of survival are less. But on the other hand, this isn’t your fight and I won’t try to stop you leaving.” Growled Valric whose sword was glowing brightly for some reason.

As the two Fright Knights of Count Durak began their departure, they were soon stopped in their tracks. The way they had taken into the chapter was swarming with the enemy. Six Fright Knights took up sentry postions around the doorway.

“Ah well…Might as well go and die with the others” Said Darkold bluntly.
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Lord_Of_The_LEGO
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Post by Lord_Of_The_LEGO »

Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:Lord Void clasped his hands and leaned back. Now he only had to wait for the return of Morgue.
Grid: G-11
Location: Grolling Fortress



Lord Void was getting impatient. It had been a whole week, and Morgue had not returned. He curse the Wolfpack assassin, but he had to admit to himself that there was little, if anything, he could do. There was a knock on Lord Void’s door.

“Enter!” snapped Lord Void.

The door opened. Lord Void surged to his feet, nearly knocking over his desk. There stood Ajaxx Dragonsbane, dressed in full body armor, a satchel by his side.

“Greetings.”

Lord Void stared long and hard.

“Dragonsbane.” he spat, “Such a…surprise.”

“I be thinking it is.” said Ajaxx, sitting himself down, “I being alive.”

Lord Void sat. His hands were whiter than usual. Ajaxx said nothing more. He reached his hand into his bag and pulled out his treasured chess board. He began to set up the pieces, black facing Lord Void.

“You are a fool.” said Lord Void icily, “Coming here, alone.”

“Who be the greater fool?” asked Ajaxx craftily, “The fool, or the one who is fooled by the fool?”

Lord Void’s eyes flashed.

“I know you, Dragonsbane. I know why you are here. You hate magic, you hate what it stands for. You hate all who use it.”

“That I do.” said Ajaxx coolly, “That I do.”

“You are a fool. How can anyone -- anyone! -- defeat me? Even BloodVaine failed! How do you expect to defeat me?”

“Cunning.” said Ajaxx. The board was now set.

“You be more exposed that ye think, Void.” sneered Ajaxx.

He flicked away a knight.

“Ye second-in-command be gone.”

He flicked away another knight.

“Ye assassin be gone.”

He flicked away a bishop.

“Ye architect be gone.”

He flicked away another bishop.

“Ye foreman be gone.”

Lord Void sat up.

“Thorinsburg!” he snapped.

Ajaxx continued, flicking away a rook.

“Ye Fire Breathing Fortress remains un-built.”

Ajaxx’s beetle-black eyes bored into Lord Void. Lord Void’s eyes, pinpricks of fire, burned back.

“And ye army…gone.”

Ajaxx swept the pawns and the queen away vehemently. Lord Void surged to his feet.

“You fantasize, Dragonsbane. My Dragon Master army stands strong!”

Lord Void strode to a large window and swept back the curtain. The wide expanse of the courtyard of the Grolling Fortress lay in full view. The Dragonsbane Brigade stared up at Lord Void, hatred in their eyes. Their ranks were swelled by other Dragon Masters, from Gulaan, from Trank, from the Fire Breathing Fortress, and from the Grolling Fortress itself.

Lord Void stood, immobile.

“Check,” said Ajaxx, “And mate.”

Lord Void felt nothing inside. Then the shock came. The shock and the anger. He had been betrayed. Betrayed by his entire nation. Then the rage came. The consuming, burning fiery rage.

With a chuckle, one that could only described as evil, Lord Void turned back to Ajaxx.

“You forget, Dragonsbane, one thing. Never underestimate the power of magic. Bogo dryasgrah!”

Lord Void spiraled around, and a behemoth fireball of superheated gas erupted from his hands like the belch of a dragon. It billowed out through the window, blasting it out and peeling back the surrounding walls like paper. It landed in the middle of the Dragonsbane Brigade, sending screams of horror and pain slicing through the air. At least a hundred men were instantly incinerated. Hundreds more were set on fire. Limbs were burned off, and blood boiled.

Lord Void screamed in pain. He fell against his desk, gasping and clutching at his sides. Ajaxx strode up.

“I may be underestimating the power of magic, Void,” sneer Ajaxx, “But ye overestimate it. Magic has it’s limits.”

Ajaxx tossed a book -- a spell book -- on Lord Void’s desk.

“Ye might want to read that.”

Lord Void looked up. His monocle had popped out. His moustache was disheveled.

“Dragonsbane…” he hissed, painful righting himself, “Dragon’s nuisance…”

Ajaxx stood upright. He smiled.

“I prefer the translation: one who is fierce like a dragon.”

“Ironic,” said Lord Void, careful ling putting his monocle back in place, “You are fierce as a magical beast. Ironic indeed…”

Ajaxx faltered. It was all Lord Void needed.

“I learned this from an old adversary of mine.” he said, “Blew out my dungeons, and well as Majisto.”

Ajaxx drew his sword.

“Sometimes,” Lord Void cried, “You’ve got to tip the board!”

Lord Void kicked over his desk, sending Ajaxx’s chess board flying. Ajaxx leapt aside to avoid the heavy desk. He raised his sword high, but Lord Void reached it first: a tall cabinet, filled with potions. Lord Void rammed it. Glass shattered, and lacerated the sorcerer. But that was nothing to what happened next. The cabinet fell over, splintering wood and smashing potion bottles. Deadly brews mixed and combusted. A terrible explosion ripped the room in two. Lord Void was blasted sideways through the already open hole and was shot over the Dragonsbane Brigade and into the dragon stables. He landed in a pile of grain, barely cushioning his hard fall. Ajaxx was blasted in the other direction, further into the fortress. Beams crashed around him as part of the roof collapsed. Dazed, Ajaxx cured up as stone crumbled and wood splintered.

Outside, in the courtyard, the Dragonsbane Brigade was still in chaos after it’s ranks were set ablaze. But Japheth witnessed Lord Void’s forced ejection.

“Brigade!” he bellow, “Be not letting Void flee!”

Immediately, the recruits within earshot and of sound body turned to storm the stables. But they didn’t get far. A roar issued forth, and a thunder-black dragon belched fire, incinerating more troops. Atop the dragon, sitting firming between long neck and shoulders, was Lord Void. The sorcerer dug his heels deep into the scales of the beast, and it lurched forward, crushing and batting aside troops. It dug it’s hind legs in deep, and like giant springs, they catapulted the dragon and it’s ousted rider into the smoky air. In a few minutes, both were lost from sight.
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Post by Formendacil »

Grid: P-10
Location: Hemmerington
Formendacil wrote:Drazzuil looked around him. The village had no inn, no town hall, no major structures from which to begin his enquiries. He had no idea where to begin. Then he saw it, the small hanging sign reading "Pu" over a larger doorway. The end of the sign appeared to be missing, probably with the letter "b" on it.

Feeling slightly better, Drazzuil headed over.
Unfortunately for Drazzuil, the Pu was closed until evening. There was no point in any Hemmerington establishment being open while the whole village was at work.

So Drazzuil found himself at a dead end. Pride dictated that he couldn't just go up to a villager and ask bluntly where Harold Brakespear was, not if he wanted to be subtle.

So he went and stood in front of the Pu, hoping it wasn't too long until it opened. It was there that Corporal Jarva found him.

Corporal Jarva was the representative of the queen in Hemmerington, it's only royal official, and its only member of the military. He was fat, middle-aged, and balding, and it was said about the village that his wages went straight from the royal exchequer into the Pu's coffers. Certainly, the Corporal liked a good drink, and liked it often, and sometimes overdid it.

And Hemmerington was a dead-end assignment. No hopes of getting out, no hopes of being promoted, and little likelihood that he'd ever have a real disaster to deal with. Consequently, he was quick to leap on anything out of the ordinary in the village. And when he saw Captain Drazzuil lounging by the Pu's walls, in his full Fright Knight military glory, it certainly qualified as out of the ordinary.

"You there!" he called, coming up to Drazzuil, looking a little red in the face. "What are you doing?"

"Standing here," said Drazzuil. "What does it look like?"

"That's loitering," said Jarva pompously. "And loitering is illegal."

"Standing beside a wall, waiting for the bar on the other side of the wall to open constitutes a crime in this country?" said Drazzuil incredulously. "No wonder you go to war so much..."

"Are you insulting my country, Dragon Master?" demanded Jarva. Drazzuil looked at him coldly.

"That's Fright Knight, Dark Forester, not Dragon Master. Haven't you got the brains to tell the difference?"

"I've got brains enough, all right," said Jarva. "And what those brains want to know is why a Fright Knight is loitering around Hemmerington. You ain't no trader."

"No, I'm not," agreed Drazzuil, fighting back the temptation to gut the fat corporal in front of him. "I'm a traveller passing through on Gynthaunt's business."

"Gynthaunt..." pondered Jarva, "ain't that that place where they..."

"Rule the Fright Knights from," interjected Drazzuil. "Yes it is. And I'm on my way back from Daggerfall, where I was sent to see King Blackcloak. I had been hoping for a drink, since I was in a mood to celebrate, my mission having gone well."

"Celebrate, eh?" said Jarva, his mind already having shifted gears to think of drinks. "I suppose I can let you off this time. No harm being done, anyway."

"Of course not," said Drazzuil, deadpan.
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Post by Lord_Of_The_LEGO »

Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:A roar issued forth, and a thunder-black dragon belched fire, incinerating more troops. Atop the dragon, sitting firming between long neck and shoulders, was Lord Void. The sorcerer dug his heels deep into the scales of the beast, and it lurched forward, crushing and batting aside troops. It dug it’s hind legs in deep, and like giant springs, they catapulted the dragon and it’s ousted rider into the smoky air.
Grid: G-11
Location: Above the Grolling Fortress


Lord Void gripped the reigns and leaned over to one side, squinting to keep his monocle in place. He had a complete view of the smoldering Grolling Fortress. Tiny dots of Dragon Masters, all of the Brigade, scuttled about inside the courtyard and outside the walls. Lord Void cursed. The whole of the Grolling Fortress was overrun with Dragonbane’s men. The sorcerer swung back into the saddle and tugged the reigns. The dragon growled and turned about, flying north. Dragon and rider were heading toward the Fire Breathing Fortress. If there were any allies left, they would be there. But as the construction site came into view, Ajaxx Dragonsbane’s words reverberated: “Your foreman be gone.” And it was true. Lord Void could see that the Dragonsbane Brigade was in charge of the construction site.

“Tyco!”

Lord Void didn’t care how much it hurt him. His was going to delve deep into the Earth Magic, and obliterate this pest, this virus, this plague. He would destroy the foundations of the Fire Breathing Fortress, but that did not matter. There were always slaves. Lord Void would rebuild, once the Dragonsbane Brigade had been eliminated.

“Ergothote tag!”

The ground far below began to shake. The tiny figures of the Dragonsbane Brigade scurried about, like ants whose hill was about to be stepped upon. Lord Void chuckled.

Then something within him snapped. The ground stopped shaking. The world went black for Lord Void.
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Post by Sir Dillon »

E-9
On a ship near land.

“Land ho!”

As he heard the shout, Donall leaped out of the hammock he was resting on and hurriedly started putting on his cloak and gathering his belongings. After over a fortnight on this blasted ship, he was more then eager to get his feet on solid ground again.

He swiftly clambered up the ladder on to the deck, taking a deep breath of the ocean air. The sun was just rising, and though it was still early, he could tell it would be a good day. The crew were all already up and bustling about; doing various jobs around the ship.

Stifling a yawn, Donall pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and strided over to where the he saw the First Mate standing.

“Beaut’ful day t’day,” the first mate proclaimed as Donall walked up to him.

The First mate was a small, rough man, and rarely caught smiling. But today he was grinning ear to ear as he scanned the beautiful horizon.

“Yep,” he continued, “Good luck be in the air t’day, I can feel it.”

“Aye” Donall said, half to himself, “Today is a lucky one.”


Later that day, he sat in a small rowboat with an officer and three of the crew; two of which were steadily rowing the boat towards the shore. In a time, they reached the small beach. Donall pulled a small bag of coins from his belt, and handed it to the officer.

“See this gets to the Captain” He told the officer. Then leaped off the boat into knee high water, and started wading to shore.

The officer grunted a command, and the crew men started rowing the boat back to shore.

Donall gave a sigh of contentment, as well as life had gone in Sikaron, it felt good to be back.
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Post by Lord_Of_The_LEGO »

Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:“Had enough of adventuring, Vik?”

“Not yet.” said Viktor, blinking rain out of his eyes, “but I’ve had enough of being wet and bloody, for now. There’d better be an inn up ahead…”

Grid: K-10
Location: LEGOland plains


There WAS an in up ahead. The Dancing Tom Cat was a sorry sight for sore eyes, but to the bedraggled trio of Eastern Knight’s Kingdomers, plus Solesstorn, of course, it looked like a gift from the Wooden Duck. Of course, they were not only sore of eye, but sore of the rest of their bodies, and they were chilled from the rain. ANY structure with a sound roof would have looked good to them. And so, shivering and grumpy, the four companions trudged in, paid there due, and stumbled off to sleep.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:Mistress Korvalt offered, “Anything you do for the village will be payment enough for me, Dale. Fredfry’s building a new cellar. I’m sure Fredfry would appreciate any extra help.”

Dale nodded.

“Good. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
Grid: P-10
Location: Hemmerington


The next day, Dale rose early. The warm dawn rays caressed him as he dressed, and after having a quick breakfast with Mistress Korvalt and her three surly boys, Dale made his way to Fredfry’s.

“Ach, a fin’ day tis’, laddie!” greeted the glassblower jovially.

Fredfry MacDouglas was a chubby, but not overly heavy, man in his fifties. He had a balding head and flabby, loose cheeks, but they were always molded into a grin. He never called anyone by their names: everyone was “laddie” or “lassie”.

“Greetings, Fredfry.” smiled Dale, “I hear you’ve a cellar to be built.”

“Ach, that I do, laddie. The wife be needin’ it fer ‘er herbs, and ‘er canned goods. Alas, it’s got a fair fine time ‘fore it’s finished.”

“Then let me offer you my services.” said Dale, “I can’t lend much of a strong back, but I can at least haul stones.”

Fredfry’s face lit up like a lantern.

“Ach, laddie, ye be my savior!”

Fredfry led Dale around his house to a muddy pit in the back. Two broad-shouldered girls of fifteen and seventeen were chest-deep in the muck, wielding shovels.

“Orla, Maeve, this ‘ere be Dale, ‘e’s offer to lend a kind ‘and.”

They both offered Dale nods and smiles before returning to their work. Fredfry began to retreat.

“Fire’s a-flamin’…” he said, “Gotta see to th’ glass…”

Dale waved goodbye and approached the two sisters, crouching by the edge of the pit and rolling up his sleeves.

“What can I do?” he asked.

Orla, the older, wiped a calloused hand across her brow.

“Ye can empty that wheel-barrow yonder as we fill it up. Dump it over there.”

Dale nodded. “Right.”

It was hard work, pushing the lilting, creaking wheelbarrow back and forth, but Dale found it gratifying. Soon he was sweating as much as the MacDouglas girls. Hours passed, and the whole grew deeper. Noontide came, Orla cried, “Break!”

The girls tossed aside their shovels with gusto and leapt out of the hole.

“Come and cool off!” cried Maeve, pulling Dale along. Reluctantly Dale followed the girls down a worn path, back behind the MacDouglas homestead. It led directly to a little stream, and the girls jumped in, fully-clothed, without a thought. Maeve pulled Dale in was well, splashing him. Dale splashed back. After a short water-fight, they crawled out of the stream and sunned themselves on the shore while they ate a well-earned lunch.

“So, Dale, what brings ye to Hemmerington?” asked Orla asked, curious, “We’ve got naught of interest here…”

“Hemmerington interests me greatly.” said Dale, hands behind his head, “It’s a peaceful place.”

“Peacefully boring.” grimaced Maeve, “I wanna leave, but Father says no. Says it’s better to be bored an’ safe in Hemmerington than being out there where it’s dangerous. You know there’s recently been ah war?”

“Of course.” murmured Dale, “The BloodVaine War.”

“Not that one,” said Maeve dismissively, “The other one, the Wolfpack one.”

“Oh yes…” Dale recalled it vaguely.

“Gosh, it must have been exciting!” exclaimed Maeve.

Orla snorted.

“Maeve’s a little warrior princess. She and her dear Prince Thomas were to go off and battle dragons until…”

“Until that tyco Dractor took Tom away!” snapped Maeve angrily, “I liked Tom! And then that giant foreigner come in and take’s Tom away!”

Dale said nothing. Sir Dractor. Somewhere, Dale thought he had heard that name before. It was during the war, the big war, the BloodVaine War. But Dale couldn’t remember. He shrugged and let it go.

“I wish Tom’d come back.” said Maeve.

Orla began to hum the tune of a mushy love ballad. Maeve lashed out and snapped, “SHUT UP!”

Orla pushed back.

“You shut up!”

“LASSIES!” bellowed Fredfry from his shop.

“Saw-reee.” they intoned together.
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Post by SavaTheAggie »

Grid: M-5
Location: Port of Dahnar, formerly the shrine city of Jewel Reef, courtyard of the unfinished Dahnar Fortress

"Explain to me again, Sir," DeValle asked puzzled, "why you created that reward for those three people we're after? Won't that just flush them into hiding?"

"Do you honestly expect that they would come out and greet us?" Dahnaris raised his brow, looking up at the man from his desk which had been placed in the open air in the middle of the courtyard. Dahnaris was busily going over charts, graphs, maps and numbers, planning his next moves, and his grand fortress.

"I suppose not."

"Everyone has their price, DeValle. There are people who would sell out their own mothers for money. Someone, somewhere in Dametreos is someone willing to give them up to us. At the very least let us know where they are."

"No one in the Dark Forest would do such a thing to another," the mayor said in disbelief. The man was Dahnaris' only friendly face to the people of Dahnar, and it was his only useful quality, and the only reason he was still alive.

"We shall see..." Dahnaris smirked, "You know, DeValle - I think I might retire here. After His Majesty takes control over this land, I might ask for this little corner."

"Aye Sir," DeValle smiled.

"Sir!" a soldier saluted, running through the unfinished gatehouse.

"What is it Lieutenant?" Dahnaris was distracted, returning to his papers.

"A man came from the Dark Forest, he says he can lead you to Olivia."

"You see?" Dahnaris stood up quickly, looking over at the mayor, who quickly shuffled away, "anyone can be bought. Devalle."

"Yes Sir," DeValle stood up straight.

"I will be departing after our quarry. I will take a small number of men with me... hmm... fifty should do well. I am leaving you in charge of my city."

"Yes Sir"

"Place two ships at the mouth of the harbor. Capture or burn any ship that trys to approach until the Fortress is complete. Keep the Trebuchet ship at the ready, and place the Messenger along side to defend it. Be ready for anything. I don't want to leave anything to chance with these savages."

"Of course. You can rely on me."

"You've never failed me, DeValle. I know you won't fail me now."
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