Classic Castle Roleplay: September 2005

[Lord_Of_The_LEGO]

Greetings Roleplayers!

Additions to the continuing epic should be posted here. Questions and comments regarding the CCRP should be posted in this thread.

Let the adventure continue!

[TheOrk]

L-12 Castle Dracul Area

The six companions slowly made their way through the wildnerness. With Darkold and Midark leading they didn’t seem to be encountering any of the creatures that haunt the area. Following up behind the two were Valric and Theodore talking softly to eachother. Behind them Rodney and Jother took up the rear.

“If I’m right Castle Dracul is only a few miles away.”

Muttered Darkold as he stepped into a knee deep puddle.

“Good.” Replied Theodore, with all his injuries and moving through the rough terrain, he was really starting to ache.

It was not yet the afternoon but to all the members of the party not familiar with the Batlands, it was hard to say. It was always cloudy and dark here and if it wasn’t boiling hot, it was freezing. Then at last the party emerged from the trees, into the main road leading to the castle. The group continued on warily, not knowing what dangers awaited on the main road. Whatever it was it was mildly safer then back in the woods.

Not that long afterward Valric head a rumbling coming from up ahead. “I’ve heard that before. It sounds like an army!’ exclaimed Valric.

“Perhaps we should get off the road? Grumbled Theodore.

“If Pythos lives in the castle he must have some authority over the soldiers there.”

Valric nodded in agreement “into the woods!” the six ran into the foilage. The six crouched in the muck, waiting for the soldiers to pass. Soon the clank of weapons and armour and the silent padding of feet filled the silent forest.

Coming into view were around fifty soldiers. Each wore the crude and curved armour of the Fright Knights. They were armed with either scimitars or jagged halberds. Each warrior wore a bat helmet similar to those of the batlords, giving them the appearance of leering demons.

The crossbowmen in the force had dragon helmets and their facial features weren’t much different from the helmets of the others. Each moved in perfect unison, every left foot moved at the same time, every right foot moved at the same time.

One big bloated looking Fright Knight with a notched battle axe at his side, hobbled along on a horse. Behind him came a group of warriors in the livery of elites, one waved a banner with a Black Dragon symbol on it. Valric glared when he saw the Black Dragon of the Dracul family. Soon this whole ordeal would be over…Everyone remained perfectly still. Those soldiers didn’t look like the kind who die easily.

“Pssst…Valric” Whispered Midark softly.

“What?” Asked Valric not taking his eyes off the passing column.

“There’s people moving in the trees on the otherside of the road.” Whispered Midark.

Everyone’s gaze flew over to the opposite side of the road. Several tense moments past. When the column moved several hundred yards away, chaos broke out.

A dozen arrows flew from the trees felling soldiers left and right.The column didn’t panic, the crossbowmen took aim and launched a return volley. Only Midark could see it but several minifigs in the same livery fell in the trees. Just then about sixty soldiers poured out of the trees. All wore the same gothic armour of the Fright Knights. In seconds the road turned into a blood bath as the two groups of Fright Knights began dissecting eachother with their scimitars.

Valric turned his head to Midark “Whats happening?”

“I don’t know. None of the Batlords are at eachother’s throats. Besides if I’m right both of those groups of soldiers are in Count Dracul’s army.”

“Good” Laughed Theodore, his hand on his sword hilt “just less minifigs between us and the castle.”

“Interesting. This ballad is starting to come together nicely” Laughed Rodney.

As the group began to edge away in the forest the fighting reached it’s conclusion. Captian Felgriz waved his notched battle axe around uselessly. His troops were broken.

“Retreat!” He screeched, turning his horse away. A passing scimitar sent him sprawling into the blood soaked muck.
Frantically he grabbed the sword of a dying soldier. The same man who unhorsed him knocked the sword out his quivering hands. Felgriz raised his hands in surrender. A quick looked around told him all of is surviving men also lay in the muck, swords at their throats.

Captain Radu kept his foot on Felgriz’s sword as Count Belzzar stepped forward. “Master!? Bless the Lady your alive!” Croaked Felgriz his eyes wide.

“Silence traitor.” Hissed Belzzar pointing his Batstaff at him. “What is the meaning of this? What have you to gain by joining Pythos?”

“He told us you were dead master! He said when he unleashed the Megablox on the world he’d make me a King…” Wimpered Felgriz.

Belzzar gave him a dirty look and turned away. “Take his head. A head on a pike always inspires dicipline”

“Master no!” Before Felgriz could finish his plea for mercy, several halberd blades found their mark.

Theodore turned to Valric “Well this looks interesting…”

[Formendacil]

Grid: M-8
Location: Drullen Bell Keep

Four Weeks Ago:

When Sir Dractor first returned to Drullen Bell Keep with Bjarn, Thomas, and the rest of the Forestmen company, he had been extremely weak, and extremely sleepy. He had spent the better part of each day in bed, snoring. It took him three days before he realised Thomas was gone.

Three Weeks Ago:

Sir Dractor began questioning Bjarn as to where Thomas had disappeared to, but the Forestman king only smiled, and refused to tell. Sir Dractor was not sleeping as much anymore, but he didn't have the strength to leave his bed much. He spent his days laying in it, reading, playing chess with Bjarn and whoever else would stop by, and itching to get out of bed.

Two weeks Ago:

Sir Dractor started wandering the Keep after two weeks in bed. He was still weak, but he was able to walk, and he did so with a good will, traipsing all over the Keep on a walking stick, if only for the purpose of relieving the boredom of sitting in bed. When he tired, which was often enough, he could usually be found in the wooded, be-gardened, courtyard, sitting on one of the wooden benches. He began to ask everyone he met where Thomas was, but no one knew, apart from Bjarn, and he wasn't telling.

One Week Ago:

Sir Dractor had discarded his walking stick as unneeded, and was more or less fit, although his strength was not yet fully recovered. By now, Sir Dractor had scoured the entire fortress, and had ascertained that Thomas was most definitely not inside its walls, unless he was hidden down the well, or something crazy like that. He was beginning to get frustrated at Bjarn's smiling insistence on not telling him what was happening.

At present:

Sir Dractor awoke on the first of September feeling, for the first time in a month and a half, like his normal self. What precisely was different would have been impossible to pinpoint, but he knew that, if the necessity presented itself, he would be able to walk in two weeks to Glondur, fight off thirty Cross Knights, battle the Sorceror-king, even, perhaps, take a glancing catapult stone to the head.

It was with a bit of an extra spring to his step that he made his way down to breakfast that morning- wearing his armour. Bjarn gave him a wry look, but it was clear that the big knight was feeling better.

While Bjarn did the tedious tasks that all kings must do, Sir Dractor took himself down to the fencing grounds, and tested his rusty skills on the drilling captain, proceeding to beat the snot out of him. Then he tested himself against a squad of men practising, and beat the snot out of them. Then he had lunch, and went for a walk outside the keep, stretching his legs in the moist forest air.

He returned after supper, ate late on his own, and then joined Bjarn for a late-evening chess match. The match was rudely interrupted halfway through the first "check" (Bjarn was winning) when the door of the chamber burst open, and Thomas and Gonderin walked in.

Sir Dractor and Bjarn rose in surprise to greet them. They looked rather awful, their clothes being rather ragged, Thomas sporting a dirty bandage on his head, and both looking rather leaner than they ought. But they looked jubilant. Sir Dractor was dumbfounded. In all his Thomas-searching, he had not realised that Gonderin was also absent.

"Where in the name of Mud have you been?" he demanded, as he pressed Thomas against his chest in a bearhug. Thomas grinned, and unbuckled the swordbelt he was wearing.

"Here," he said, "this is for you."

Sir Dractor took the belt, drew the sword, and looked it over. It was a marvellous blade, long, double-handed, of shining steel. It was light, and very strong. Into the iron-wrought hilt was set a golden dragon with ruby eyes.

"Is this..." he said, not believing it.

"The Dragonwrath," finished Thomas, "also known as the Slayer of Chyroprax, the Blade of Carmalin, and the Beesting? It is."

"How did you..." gasped Sir Dractor, looking from blade to squire. Thomas grinned.

"Know you were planning to look for?" he finished again. "It was easy. You left notes on those research pages Hans gave you in Orion. You had it narrowed down to three. Bjarn and I decided that this one would be the best blade, by which I mean the easiest to come by. As soon as you were safely settled in Drullen Bell, and Bjarn was back to ruling, he sent Gonderin with me to go retrieve it."

"He what!" said Sir Dractor, turning on a beaming Bjarn.

"He did," nodded Bjarn, unable to suppress a smile. "Although," he said, frowning at Gonderin and Thomas, "I certainly didn't expect them to come home looking like this. What on earth happened?"

"We took a couple of bad shortcuts," said Gonderin. "Shortcuts infested with bandits. Not anymore, I might add. The sword was also booby-trapped, hence the fact that it isn't in a treasury somewhere, or on some noble's hip."

"We'd look better if we hadn't travelled so fast," said Thomas, "but we wanted to get back before you were able to wander away."

"Or choke Bjarn," said Bjarn.

"Or choke Bjarn," agreed Gonderin.

"Small fear of that," said Sir Dractor, gazing at the sword before him. It was a beautiful blade, easily better than the one he had had before, for all that it had been a worthy sword. Forged by Cenwick Aurelious 1200 years before, it bore the pedigree of the greatest swordsmith ever to walk the earth- or so said some. Certainly, great things had been done with his swords, and none were known to have broken on any other blade as yet. The sword Sir Dractor now held had slain the great dragon Chyroprax, while in the property of great Prince Carmalin, whose emblem had been the Bee. Some said it was magically enchanted. Either way, it was a great sword, and Sir Dractor was glad to have it.

"Thank you," he said to them. "I cannot say how deeply touched I am."

"Then don't," said Thomas. "I hate gushy moments."

Sir Dractor looked at Thomas. Something about the boy had changed. He wasn't a boy anymore. He was a young man. Something about his adventure with Gonderin had pushed him past the threshold of manhood.

"Now what?" asked Thomas, "Seeing how you appear to be completely better."

"I have no idea," said Sir Dractor. "You two just stole the only one I had."

Thomas, Bjarn, and Gonderin grinned.[/b]

[Formendacil]

Grid: Q-18
Location: Envika Sorgodh

"Milord?" Andrei Bartavlo's face appeared in Vækadær's crystal ball, the Batlord unable to see his master in the telaharm, but his master able to see him.

"I am here," replied Vækadær. "What do you have to report?"

"Nothing with regards to the Imperial Court, nor any dictates received from She-of-the-Barrow," replied Bartavlo, "but rather, concerning a matter which you entrusted to me immediately prior to my appointment as Ambassador."

"Continue," said Vækadær.

"I have found the location of Harold Brakespear," said Bartavlo. "I do not know if he be living or dead, but his home is, or was, in the Dark Forest village of Hemmerington, located in the south of Fell Isle."

"Excellent work," said Vækadær. "Return to your regular duties. I will see to Brakespear."

"Yes, milord."

And as Bartavlo ended the telaharm, the crystal went dark. Vækadær summoned a servant.

"Bring Captain Drazzuil to me. I have an assignment for him."

"Yes, milord."

[Formendacil]

Grid: R-6
Location: Wolfpack highlands, territory of the Houndstooth Clan.

Elbadar wiped the sweat off his brow, and looked around him. He was standing in a small Wolfpack fortress, lodged deeply in the wild Wolfpack highlands. One of several haunts of the Houndstooth tribe, it was the last to stand up against the forces of the returned King, Willem Blackcloak.

It had been a brutal campaign. Short, but brutal. The Wolfpack forces had done most of the guerilla, countryside fighting, but there was a reason Elbadar's Dragon Masters had been hired, and that was the storming of the fortresses. So far, they had taken four, and now they were done. It had been ugly, gruelling work, but they had done it fast and thoroughly.

The last fortress had been the last. Peter Houndstooth, second cousin of the rebel leader, had been the commander of this fortress. He had held out until the very end, forcing Elbadar and his Wolfpack employers to take it by storm. It had been a dirty, bloody battle. They had been forced to take down every single rebel. Not one had surrendered. Most had died, or had been taken captive. Only a few had escaped. And those few were too few to worry about. The last remnants of rebellion had been quelled.

Elbadar pulled off his helm, letting some fresh air blow over his sweaty, dirty face. He wiped his brow, and turned to Graygon, who was leading the Wolfpack forces.

"It's done?" he asked.

"Totally," replied Graygon. "We've searched the chambers. Not a person is left. The fortress, I fear, is unusable without some major repairs. We've practically destroyed the main wall."

"It took everything my men had, too," said Elbadar. "My men are spent. A week spent in rest and repair here will do them good."

"And then?" asked Graygon. "What are your plans?"

"I have none," admitted Elbadar. "I'm trusting that something will come up. I'm just grateful right now that casualties were slim. Only a few deaths, for all the nasty fighting. I've got wounds enough to tend to, though, while we sit here."

"Well, stay as long as you like," said Graygon. "But once you head back to more populated areas, don't tarry. Willem doesn't want any more trouble."

"Don't worry," said Elbadar. "Once the time comes, we'll leave quickly. I assume that you'll have the balance of our pay ready before then?"

"It'll be here in a couple days," replied Graygon. "I've already sent a messenger to Daggerfall."

"Excellent," said Elbadar, and then, to himself. "Pity Del Grakken isn't one of the dead ones."

[SavaTheAggie]

Grid: L-5
Location: Inland, The town of CinderWood, The Great Oak Tavern

"Haven't seen you around, stranger," the burly woman behind the bar smiled, "what can I getcha?"

"Information and three fingers of the strongest you got," the cloaked man said wearily, hunching over the edge of the bar, resting.

"Sure, information's free; I'm not sure you can handle our strongest, but free, it ain't," she chuckled.

The cloaked man slid a large gold coin across the bar to the woman, resting it in front of her.

"That's Ikrosian...!" she gasped in a whisper, quickly scooping up the coin and slipping it into her blouse.

The cloaked man looked up at the woman from beneath his hood, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Yes, of course," she said, quickly pulling out three small shot glassed from behind the bar and began pouring an odd, green liquid into them. "This is what we call Moss Milk, we usually use it to knock out livestock to brand them. Strongest stuff in the wood. So... what do you want to know?"

"I'm looking for a blacksmith..." he said in a gravel tone.

"We've plenty of those."

"A very special blacksmith. He makes weapons with strange powers, more often than not useless powers."

"Can't say I've head of one like that" she said, standing straight.

The wanderer quickly downed one of the shots, drinking as if it were water. Without pause, he picked up the second glass, and then the third, downing both just as the first, without flinching or emotion. The burly woman and several of the patrons around them stood motionless, staring agape at the man. As he placed the third glass down, bottom up, the cloaked man looked up at her.

"I don't have time to play games."

"Maerl, you want Maerl, he's on the other side of town..." she said softly.

The wanderer slowly stood up from the bar and turned to the door. He hadn't taken a step when a huge man dressed all in green stood before him, blocking his way.

"Just what do you want with Maerl?" the huge man said, folding his arms tightly.

"My business is my own," the cloaked figure growled, staring straight ahead into the man's chest. He began walking forward, but the huge hand of the man in green stopped him.

"That's not good enough, friend."

The cloaked man slowly looked up into the man in green's eyes.

"I mean him no harm, I assure you."

"I'm sure..." the man said, holding his position between the wanderer and the door.

The wanderer quickly kicked the man's knee, stunning him temporarily. The man in green lunged at the cloaked man, but he had already side-stepped him. The wanderer pulled the man's arm behind his back, pulling it painfully close to being out of joint.

"I want to save his life," the wanderer growled angrily, throwing the man in green to the floor. Without another word, he once again started for the door. This time, no one in the bar took any one step towards him, letting him pass without further incident.

-------------

The town of CinderWood was a quaint hamlet, nestled deep in the woods of the Dark Forest, at the crossroads of the three major roads in the area. Home to a few hundred, the trees easily hid the true size of the town, which not only added to the cozy feel, but helped in its defense. There were plenty of places in the woods to hide. Plenty of places for eyes to watch in secret.

The wanderer made his way slowly to the other side of town, keeping a watchful eye about him. He would never see the attack come, and without his sword, he would find it difficult to defend himself against an armed attacker.

---------------

"Greetings!" the man said, grinning from ear to ear, walking out of his small workshop, "what can I do for you on this fine day?" He certainly looked the part of a blacksmith; his arms were huge, covered only by thick pieces of leather, scorched by fire and heat. His large leather apron hung heavily across his chest, and his bald head was covered in sweat and ash from his work.

"You're a hard man to find, Maerl," the wanderer said slowly.

Maerl paused suddenly, looking the cloaked figure over slowly.

"Y... you....," he stammered, "my father always said you'd come, but I never believed him..."

"You're in danger Maerl, we must get you to a safer place," the wanderer said in a low tone, staring deep into the blacksmith's eyes.

"Why, what did I do?"

"Where is he, Maerl?"

"Who?"

"The man you call 'Uncle'"

"He passed away last spring. After he died his wife and son moved south, towards the middle of the continent somewhere."

"He had a son? Where did they go exactly?"

"Hey, I have a few questions of my own, here. And I'm not telling you anything more until you answer them. Like how did my father know you'd be coming here? And why is it that when he talked about you, he talked as if you were a hero and a villain in the same breath? And just why are you here, anyway?"

The wanderer picked up a sword fromt he wall of the blacksmith's shop, inspecting it carefully.

"You do excellent work," the cloaked man smiled, swinging the sword around a bit.

"Thank you..." Maerl raised an eyebrow, "but that doesn't..."

"Your father was a good man, Maerl. Did he ever tell you about his life before you were born?"

"... No, he never did..." Maerl said, confused.

"Your father was once a very important man in my homeland. He was part of a very small, secretive group that worked to keep a very powerful and dangerous secret. The man you called 'Uncle' was also part of that group. The group had worked for centuries to hide the secret from those who would take advantage of it, waiting for the day that they could use it to save my people."

"You've got to be kidding..." Maerl put his hands on his hips in disbelief, "my father was a simple blacksmith, and he couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it."

"Of course he could," the wanderer continued, "which is why he didn't share his secret with you. He wanted to protect you. Unfortunately he was discovered here, while in hiding. And now you, his heir, are in the most terrible of danger."

"What do you mean?"

"There are people from my homeland that are looking for you, too. They don't know that you are ignorant of what your father knew. And they will torture you till your death while they try to get it out of you."

Maerl swallowed hard.

"So what's this big secret?"

"It's best you didn't know. Just tell me where your Uncle's wife and son went, and then find a good place to hide."

"No. I don't think so."

"We don't have that much time, Maerl," the wanderer growled, walking over to the blacksmith.

"If you really knew my father, then tell me this: Where did he hide his secret stash of pipe weed from my mother?"

The wanderer quickly slammed his fist into a brick in the fire pit wall at his side. The brick cracked and then slipped out of place, revealing a small wooden box behind it. Maerl's jaw dropped, and he began studdering as he searched for a reply.

"Am I really in that much danger?"

"Yes."

[Lord_Of_The_LEGO]

Time to revive a plot:

“Your hand!”

Viktor looked close, and felt his stomach turn. Solesstorn’s hand was not bleeding. Viktor realised this had been the first time he had seen Solesstorn’s hand. It was green, and looked dead. Dead flesh that had not rotted. An undead hand.

Santis looked at the hand and recoiled. Then he glowered at Solesstorn.

“Looks like you’ve got some explaining to do…” he growled.

Grid: K-10
Location: LEGOland Plains

Solesstorn waved his hand, the living one, impatiently.

“Not now!” hissed, and quickly wrapped his undead hand in a cloth.

Viktor bit his tongue and Santis glowered. The rain continued to lash, but the orcs remains hidden. Cautiously, Viktor eyed the new persons who where sheathing their weapons. The three Ninjas approached, almost gliding. They stared at the Eastern Knight’s Kingdomers, assessing them, then they bowed.

“Greetings.” said the taller of the two, a man who appeared to be in his twenties, “I am Kukishinden Hidemitsu. This is my brother, Kukishinden Takemasa, and our companion, Kor.”

“My name is Solesstorn.” said Solesstorn quickly, stepping forward, “I am acting as a guide for these Easterners. This is --”

“I’m Sir Rufusclaw.” said Santis brusquely and gruffly.

“Er…Jaythus van Hawkonus.” said Jaythus awkwardly.

“Viktor Okzskcarouldghf.” said Viktor sharply, eying the quiet Wolfpack person suspiciously, “Who are you?” he demanded.

The Wolfpack person looked up. A demonic light burned in his eyes.

“Swift.”

Viktor snorted. These mysterious Ninja and Wolfpack types made him nervous.

“We are grateful for your aid.” Solesstorn was saying.

[Maedhros]

Solesstorn waved his hand, the living one, impatiently.

“Not now!” hissed, and quickly wrapped his undead hand in a cloth.

Viktor bit his tongue and Santis glowered. The rain continued to lash, but the orcs remains hidden. Cautiously, Viktor eyed the new persons who where sheathing their weapons. The three Ninjas approached, almost gliding. They stared at the Eastern Knight’s Kingdomers, assessing them, then they bowed.

“Greetings.” said the taller of the two, a man who appeared to be in his twenties, “I am Kukishinden Hidemitsu. This is my brother, Kukishinden Takemasa, and our companion, Kor.”

“My name is Solesstorn.” said Solesstorn quickly, stepping forward, “I am acting as a guide for these Easterners. This is --”

“I’m Sir Rufusclaw.” said Santis brusquely and gruffly.

“Er…Jaythus van Hawkonus.” said Jaythus awkwardly.

“Viktor Okzskcarouldghf.” said Viktor sharply, eying the quiet Wolfpack person suspiciously, “Who are you?” he demanded.

The Wolfpack person looked up. A demonic light burned in his eyes.

“Swift.”

Viktor snorted. These mysterious Ninja and Wolfpack types made him nervous.

“We are grateful for your aid.” Solesstorn was saying.

Grid: K-10
Location: LEGOland Plains

Hidemitsu wiped the blood off the katana he held and turned to Takemasa. He bowed and handed it to him.

"Thank you, brother. It has served me well."

Takemasa quickly took the katana. He blushed slightly and looked away from all the strangers.

There was a long akward silence as everyone watched Hidemitsu and pondered his strange behavior.
Then he turned back to Solesstorn.

"We only did what was right."

Solesstorn nodded slightly. "Very well, we can´t stay here. Where are you heading?"

Hidemitsu shrugged some water out of his long dirty hair and glanced at Kor. There was another long silence and the Eastern Knight´s Kingdomers began to fidget.

Finally Hidemitsu spoke again:
"Southeast, my ship is waiting by the coast. And you?"

[Maedhros]

Grid: J-14
Location: A chapel in Dashria

Mircea looked at the red dragon on the altar. It was very beautiful, a real masterpice. Every single detail was perfect. The dragon had been a gift from King Leone IV to The White Flame.

Mircea shrugged. Not now, concentrate.

He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind. But it was hard today, his head was full of thoughts and the sounds of the tournament outside interrupted him. He took another deep breath.

Oh, Great Dragon. My blood is thine, my body is thine, my soul is thine. I shalt never falter, to renounce thee is to renounce all hope.

His thoughts began to fade away and his mind became clear. The dream he had seen last night came back to him...


The sky was dark and cloudy. Rain was falling and a biting gale was blowing. There was no life to be seen, only naked cliffs. But suddenly he heard a voice. It was a loud cry. It sounded like someone in great pain and agony. He quickly walked in the direction of the voice. The wind pounded at him and drove him back but he mustered all his force and managed to continue.

After a long walk he finally arrived at the bottom of a high, black cliff. He looked at the top of the cliff and saw an old, crumbling castle. He felt corruption and evil in the very air.
There was no other way so he climbed. It was a rough cliff and would have been easy to climb but this night nature itself was against him. The rain made the cliff slippery and the winds almost blowed him away but he endured. When he had nearly scaled the cliff a huge swarm of bats came down from the castle and began to fly around him. They were harmless but very disturbing. After what felt like an eternity he was finally there. He had climbed the cliff and stood in front of a huge black gate. Above the gate he could see a black shield with a red serpent. Then everything began to fade away...

He opened his eyes again. The real world came back to him with the sounding of trumpets outside and the loud voice of a herald.

"Argent, chief azure, eagle proper."

Mircea thought for a moment. That should be Sir Giuvian. He was a good man who had donated much of his land to the Order.

Then the herald continued:
"Vert, chevron or."

He didn´t recognize that blazon. Some foreigner probably.
There was a short silence and then he heard loud cries of excitement. He smiled slightly, that probably meant that Sir Giuvian had won.

He stood up and lit a candle on the altar. Then he bowed and walked out of the small chapel.

The chapel was a part of a big manor which belonged to the Order. Mircea had lived here nearly all of his life and knew every corner of it. He quickly went to the library and got out a book about Fright Knight nobles. He sat down in a comfortable chair and began to read.

After about ten minutes he found it, the black shield with a red serpent. He read carefully.

Clan Daneshti from the province of Milash.

--------

Grid: K-14
Location: Castle Milash

Something stirred deep within the soil below the castle.

At last...

[Lord_Of_The_LEGO]

Japheth rubbed at his eye patch.

“My eye be itching.” he murmured worriedly.

Ajaxx blinked. Then he rushed forward, and ripped back Dolter’s sleeve of rough cotton.

“Sir--??” said Dolter, startled. The next moment he was screaming in pain.

Grid: F-10
Location: Ttrank

The other officers of the Dragonsbane Brigade looked on in horror. Ajaxx stood there, his chest heaving, his drawn sword clutched tightly. Blood dripped from it's blade. It was Dolter's blood. Dolter was gasping, screaming in pain. He clutched at the stump of his arm.

Japheth gaped.

"What'd you do that for??" he gasped.

Ajaxx knelt, careful examining Dolter's severed arm.

"I saved his life." Ajaxx said quietly.

"What?"

"Be looking here."

The officers leaned forward. Ajaxx had indicated a small bit of wood embedded in the flesh of the arm. The flesh was slowly turning green.

"Poisoned dart." said Ajaxx sharply, "From a blowgun. Cobra venom, methinks."

Ajaxx turned toward Dolter and, with his bloodied sword, cut a strip of cloth. Expertly, he wrapped it around Dolter's stump.

"I be sorry." he said quietly, "Amputation be necessary. Any longer and ye would have died."

Understanding appeared in Dolter's eyes, then he fainted from pain.

"Be getting him proper care!" snapped Ajaxx, rising, "Triple the guards."

The officers scattered, some of them carrying Dolter. As Japheth rushed out, Ajaxx caught him by the arm.

"Wait." hissed Ajaxx, "Ye go, now. I want ye to find this assassin. Void's move be a clever one, but now it's time to checkmate. Find this assassin, and kill him."

Japheth inwardly gulped.

"What about ye?" he asked.

"The attack on Madadelillon be no more." said Ajaxx, a glint in his eyes, "I be going to the Fire Breathing Fortress now!"

Japheth nodded. Inwardly he was nervous. How could he battle an assassin with such tools as cobra poison?

[Lord_Of_The_LEGO]

"The attack on Madadelillon be no more." said Ajaxx, a glint in his eyes, "I be going to the Fire Breathing Fortress now!"

Japheth nodded. Inwardly he was nervous. How could he battle an assassin with such tools as cobra poison?

Grid: F-10
Location: Ttrank

The Dragonsbane Brigade had erupted into a sort of organized chaos. The word of the attack up Captain Dolter spread quickly, and the recruits were nervous. Medics crowded around Dolter, quickly and properly dressing the wound. Amid this bustle was Japheth, slinking quietly away in the darkness. When he was far enough away, he quickly withdrew his travel-size crystal ball and spoke softly.

"Opal? I need your help."

A few feet away, Morgue readied his blowgun.


In the camp, Ajaxx was in his torn, bloodstained tent, pacing. On the table lay his prized, battered chess board. He was deep in thought. The move he was about to take was risky, very risky. Was it worth it? Ajaxx did not know. But he couldn't delay much longer. Lord Void had the power to wipe out the entire Brigade, now that they had left the safety of Gulaan and it's mines.

Ajaxx considered some information Japheth had brought him: when Void, at the construction site of the Fire Breathing Fortress, had tried to lift a giant obstruction, he had failed and apparently had hurt himself. Ajaxx's steady pace faulted as he considered this. Could Void's power actually have a limit?

Ajaxx's eyes flicked to a wooden chest. It was a black chest, shackled and bound in leather and chains. Three thick locks held it shut. It held dangerous material. It held spell books.

One might be surprised to learn that Ajaxx Dragonsbane, hater of all things magic and related to magic, owned a small amount of spell books. And it was true, Ajaxx loathed to even approach the chest. But Ajaxx's motto was: "Know your enemy." To know a magical enemy, you had to know that enemy's spells.

With jerky movements, Ajaxx drew out three keys from a ring. He unlocked the locks and pulled away the chains. He threw back the lid. And once the smell of magic filled the air. An awful metallic taste formed in the back of Ajaxx's throat. He swallowed angrily to rid himself of the awful taste and, with a grimace, he reached inside the chest and drew out a book. He shut the chest lid quickly and went to his table. He opened the book and began to read, turning to Section Two: Earth Magic. As he read, he began to chuckle. So that was it. That was what as affecting Lord Void. Ajaxx shut the book. A gleam was in his beetle-black eyes. Yes. He had the power. Void had a huge crack in his armor. A huge crack indeed.

[TheOrk]

L-12 Castle Dracul Area

It was well into the night. Count Belzzar and his force of troops marched for hours after their victory over the rebel force further back. Once a small walled village came into view, the soldiers turned half the buildings into their barracks. Belzzar and his tiny number of officers took over the entire inn.

Once night fell, the forbidding forest looked even more unpleasant. Soon bloodwolf howls filled the night. “Good thing we didn’t get caught outside.” Muttered Belzzar.

“Those mongrels were probley attracted by the corpses we left in the road.” Replied Radu reading an old news parchment.

“Good let ‘em rot!” Snapped Belzzar gleefully. He walked over to the common room window.

It was a good thing most real towns in the Batlands were surrounded by walls. Besides his soldiers, the town guardsmen there was a large group of men, most with training or weapons who had a grudge against Pythos. The sorcerer was said to kidnap townspeople in the middle of the night for his foul experiments. There was even a case in which an army of demons supposedly came out the castle and completely destroyed a village.

“Before I go to bed we had better review review the plan. I don’t won’t those incompotent fools spoiling my revenge tommorrow.” Growled Belzzar looking at a map of the countryside.

“Aye, a good idea” Replied Radu in a bored tone.

“Ok, one group of elites sneak in through the secret passageways. They eliminate anything they encounter enroute. Once they reach the gatehouse, the main force will advance. The elites will open the gate, our men will pour in and destroy the traitors in one blow.” Cackled Belzzar scornfully.

“Yes. The traitors number about the same as our own troops but they don’t have the frontier soldiers or the local mitilas on their side.” Added Radu lazily.

“Remember the most important part of the plan.” Muttered Belzzar with a hint of unease.

“While the soldiers or that confounded tyco ritual attract Pythos's attention, I will return to my chambers and collect the “nessecary” artifacts. That should be enough to finish the crazed tyco off once and for all.”

“Why didn’t you just use those “artifacts” in the first place?”
Snapped Radu in a scandalized tone, “you mean I could have been sitting in the nice warm castle right now with a bottle of fine Black Knight wine!? This is all because you hesitated?”

Belzzar looked at Radu as if for the first time. “Watch your tongue captian… I did not use it because it seemed their was no need. Pythos made it clear he was leaving soon and would never return!” Hissed the Count dangerously.

[Maedhros]

After about ten minutes he found it, the black shield with a red serpent. He read carefully.

Clan Daneshti from the province of Milash.

Grid: J-14
Location: Manor of the Order

Mircea pointed at a point on the map.

"There it is, Ignazio. You see, it´s not far away."

They were standing in a small chamber which acted like Mirceas office. There was nothing but a table, two chairs and a big painting with a red dragon in the room. The table was covered by open books, parchments and maps.

Ignazio was the High Commander of the Order. He was a rather old man now and he had devoted all of his life to the Order. Nowadays he prefered diplomacy to the sword though.

He nodded slightly. "Yes, but tomorrow. We can´t gather enough brothers."

He was interrupted by Mircea. "We have about twenty skilled knights here who are able to march immediately. I´ll go with them and then you will follow with as many as you can get in two days."

Ignazio wanted to protest but he recognized that voice and saw the characteristic fanatical gleam in Mircea´s eyes.

"So, what say you?" Mircea demanded.

Ignazio sighed deeply. I´ll probably regret this, he thought.

"I think it´s a foolish plan. Fright Knights don´t know words like mercy or goodness. You could all get slaughtered."

Mircea shrugged. "Of course you´re right. We would get slaughtered if this was just another expedition. But, remember that I saw this in a vision. The Dragon watches over us."

Ignazio nodded. "Of course, sir. Forgive me my lack of faith."

Mircea nodded absent-mindedly and continued to study the map.

I hope he´s right, Ignazio thought and offered a silent prayer for the Dragon.

[Formendacil]

Grid: M-8
Location: Drullen Bell Keep

"Now what?" asked Thomas, "Seeing how you appear to be completely better."

"I have no idea," said Sir Dractor. "You two just stole the only one I had."

Thomas, Bjarn, and Gonderin grinned.

Two days later, Sir Dractor announced to Thomas at breakfast that they were leaving.

"Where to?" asked Thomas.

"No idea," said Sir Dractor. "We'll head out onto the road, randomly pick a direction, and keep going until we run out of land, or find ourselves some trouble."

"That's your plan?" said Bjarn, just down the table. "You're going to go and abandon me so that you can wander down a road looking for trouble? I think I should feel insulted."

"That's my plan," said Sir Dractor. "Unless you have a better one. I need to stretch my legs, and do some travelling. I need to find some bandits, perhaps, and perform some justice. Sitting here is very pleasant, but I've been doing it for over a month and I need some adventure."

"I used to know how that feels," said Bjarn nostalgically. "But since the Lost Stars adventure, I fear that the urge has left me."

"A gift I could almost envy," said Sir Dractor, "save that it would render me useless. You, at least, have the preoccupation of running a country."

"And a lovely preoccupation it is," said Bjarn with an understated sarcasm. "You'll be leaving today?"

"Tomorrow maybe," said Sir Dractor. "I'm ready to go, but my feet aren't itching. Who knows, if we run into enough trouble, we may be back for Yuletide, sated enough to wait out the winter months in cozy warmth here."

"Or you may be in the middle of a life and death adventure somewhere in the balmy south," said Bjarn wryly.

"True enough," laughed Sir Dractor. "We'll see what happens. I won't make any promises, except that I'll visit here again, someday."

"I'll take that as the best I can get," said Bjarn. "Have you time for a final chess match before you leave?"

"I've got all day."

[Lord_Of_The_LEGO]

Grid: G-11
Location: Grolling Fortress

Lord Void looked down the message in front of him. It had come via carrier pigeon less than ten minutes ago. Lord Void shouted at a guard. The guard came in, nervous.

“Bring Brigadier-General Caimlin to me at once.” ordered Lord Void.

The guard bowed, hastily saying “Yessir,” before exiting.

Lord Void poured himself a glass of wine, downed it, then stared back at the parchment. At that moment the door burst open. It was not Caimlin.

“Void, dahling!”

Lord Void’s face darkened.

“Greetings, Miss Byrd.” he said dryly.

He motioned at the half-full bottle of wine.

“Wine?”

Elsa Byrd shook her head emphatically, floating over and depositing herself on a squashy chair.

“No, dahling, I must refuse. I have come to tell you, dahling, that I must be on my way.”

Inwardly, Lord Void’s spirits lifted.

“Is that so?” he said, pouring himself more wine.

“My God, yes, dahling! I have a new commission, quite as-stound-ing, dahling, from some Classic nobleman. Wants me to design a mausoleum! Grand, it will be! Solid granite, will arches and pillars and ab-sole-LUTE-lee massive dome!”

Elsa Byrd’s wild eyes flashed from behind her huge lenses.

“I am happy for you.” said Lord Void drolly, “I take it your supervision here is not needed?”

“Not at all, dahling! Even an im-BIH-sill should read my blueprints! My God, I am an architect, not a foreman!”

Lord Void smiled tightly.

“Then I wish you luck, Miss Byrd.”

“Thank you. And call me, dahling, when the fortress is complete. I do so love our little chats.”

Elsa Byrd flashed a grin that was all teeth an floated out of her chair and out the door. As her tiny hovering shadow disappeared, Lord Void could hear her exclaim, “Hello and goodbye, Tame-Tin!”

And instant later Caimlin had entered the room, glowering.

“What was she doing here, milord?” he asked tightly.

“Paying her farewells.” said Lord Void, sipping wine, “I’m afraid Elsa Byrd will no longer be around.”

Gladness sparked in Caimlin’s eyes. Lord Void nodded, his monocle gleaming.

“Yes, good news. And I have more good news, Brigadier-General. You are Borianis Dracis’ new governor.”

Caimlin blinked.

“Wot?”

Lord Void leaned back, clasping his thin, white hands.

“Governor Molkoor died last night. Dragonar law states I must appoint a new governor within forty-eight hours. I have chosen you.”

Caimlin began to stutter. Lord Void held up a hand.

“If you are going to speak, do so intelligibly.” he snapped, “You are to depart immediately. There will be persons there to guide you through the ways of governorship.”

Caimlin stopped stuttering, then said, “But what about the Fire Breathing Fortress, milord, and this Dragonsbane fellow?”

“I have dealt with Dragonsbane.” said Lord Void coolly, “And Captain Thorinsburg is overseeing the continuing construction of the fortress. Your duty now to me and the Dragonar Empire is to fill the void Molkoor has left.”

Caimlin bowed deeply.

“Yes, milord.”

Stiff-legged, Caimlin left. Lord Void clasped his hands and leaned back. Now he only had to wait for the return of Morgue.