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L-12 Castle Dracul

Valric crounched behind a pillar, simply waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Theodore and Rodney stood further back in the shadows, debating their chances of survival. Jother who was further back near the doorway, heard a footsteps. Turning, cautiosly with a spell ready he was relieved to see Darkold and Midark return.

“Decide to come back eh?” Cackled Valric.

“Wouldn’t dream of leaving” Replied Midark, Darkold winced at the mention of “dream”.

The six companions had been through some pretty tough situations so far. Valric would hate to lose any of them and yet, with the odds stacked against them, many if not all of them could die. Valric didn’t care much, either way he would be victorious. Once that tyco wizard was dead they would only have normal minifigs to deal with. Valric would prefer fighting a hundred men then one cursed sorcerer, the Wood Duck gave every minifig the strength to face their foes.The two fright knights drew their longbow and crossbow, Jother had several spells on hand and the three knights had their weapons ready.

Pythos began a long winded incantation that seemed to lull the surrounding fright knights into a false sense of security. Many lowered their halberds and stared stupidly ahead. Belzzar who also watched from a far vantage point snickered.

“We could wait for reinforcements but by the time they arrived, that madman down there could have attacked us.” Whispered Belzzar to his men “carve a path to him and I shall do the rest!” Snapped Belzzar. His elites nodded and moved into position.

The four traitors standing closest to main entrance let out muffled cries as daggers moved silently across their thoats. All of the others had their full attention on Pythos. Belzzar and his handpicked few scurried up onto the pillared catwalk opposite the companion’s. Two more men got their throats slit for their troubles.

Once they came as close to portal as they could they struck. Pythos was justed rounding off the final verse of the ritual when a series of crossbow bolts embedded themselves into acouple men standing nearby. Turning calmly he took in his attackers. A spell quickly delt with half the crossbowmen.

“Dear nephew!? Why would you dare to a thing such as this? What have I done to have irked your iritation?” Hissed Pythos pleasantly, as if expecting it all along.

“You shifty brickin… The list is too long finish reading!” Growled Belzzar, brandishing his batstaff.

“Hmmm…Yes perhaps. No matter, I see that had the sense to come to see the “Enlightening” of your whole entire weakling race.” Replied Pythos happily.

A glance around told Belzzar that only one squad of traitors out of the whole army seemed to have engaged his men. “What do mean?” Gasped Belzzar who suddenly felt a horrible sensation course through his whole being. Something was wrong with the mana flow, very wrong. Belzzar’s heart almost burst out his chest when he saw what was happening behind Pythos. The portal was glowing a strange chaotic colour between red and blue.

“You are too late.” Smiled Pythos “it’s a pity dear nephew, that you never had the wit to see what you could have gained from all this. But you have made your decision, instead of checking my king you have allowed my pawns to surround your king!” Giggled Pythos, as the colours dancing behind him grew brighter, his sanity seemed to melt away irrovacably.

Valric turned to the others, they nodded grimly. Valric edged forward, the crumbling stone beneath him could not hold the big knight’s weight, without warnning it gave out. Valric yelped in surprise and fell about eight feet and landed face first. “Tyco shifty blockers!” He weezed, spitting out blood. Up ahead the great portal suddenly turned bright orange. To everyone’s(except for Pythos) horror, dark shapes began appearing out it…


(1000 post ^_^)

Grid: K-14
Location: Batlands

They had stopped to rest for the night. The small valley wasn´t much of a shelter but it was the best place they could find. Two of the knights had begun to light a fire and four knights went out to look for some fresh water. Not an easy task in these lands.

The journey through the Batlands had taken it´s toll on the knights but Mircea was still enthusiastic. They would soon be there. They would smite the evil at Castle Milash.
The other knights were praying but Mircea climbed up the valley to get a good view of the landscape.

Unfortunatley there wasn´t much to see. Endless cliffs, rocks and mountains. He turned to go down the valley again but then he spotted something in the corner of his eye. He turned to look and gazed at the thing he´d seen.

It was a minifig, no doubt. And it was walking towards him, or walking wasn´t a good word, it was limping very slowly.

He glanced at the knights but they were deep in prayer. I´d better not disturb them, he thought and went out to meet the minifig. It was hard to distinguish anything about the minifig in the twilight but he had a feeling that whoever it was, wasn´t hostile.

After a walk of about five minutes he met the minifig. It was an old woman. She had ragged, dirty clothes and looked exhausted. When she met him she stopped dead and just stared at him. After a long awkward silence she spoke:

"Marian, is that you? You look so strong, so handsome. And where did you get that armour?"

It was hard to see if she was happy or sad, but her voice sounded happy though it was very weak.

Mircea shrugged sadly.

"I´m afraid I don´t know what you´re talking about. I´m not from around here. I´m a Western Knight´s Kingdomer, from the city of Dashria."

She sobbed and sat down on the ground.

"So you are not Marian, sir?"

Mircea sat down in front of her and embraced her.

"No, I´m afraid not. My name is Mircea", he said in a kind voice.

She met his gaze and just stared.

"Mircea... Mircea..."

Then she fainted. Mircea pondered what he was going to do a few moments but then he lifted her up and carried her to the valley. He had no idea of who she was but she needed help, and he felt a certain strange kinship with her.

L-5 The Land of the Bulls

The whole forest was silent. There was just the sound of leaves waving silently in the breeze. Besides that the whole place was unnerving for the hunting party. The wild boar slowly hobbled along and stopped underneath a great redwood tree. Sensing something, it turned to see a single bley eye staring at it from the shadows. Before it could react, Kale glided out of the underbrush and threw his spear at it. His enhanced strength sent the spear flying with such force, that it skewered the boar onto the nearby tree.

“Good shot!” Laughed a young squire.

Kale nodded to him and retrieved his spear from the dead boar. “How the bloody tyco do ye do it?” Muttered the squire’s knight.

Kale turned to the other members of the hunting party, “call it luck.” He replied.

The ten man hunting party had gotten their share of game for the day, sighing, Kale said they would return to the Taurus Stronghold. If only Barbod or even Dordrot came along, Kale knew anyone of the three of them had more skill then the other six members of the current party combined. Kale only tagged along so he could explore this part of the kingdom.

The six horsemen with their hounds rode onward. It was not an hour later when they bumped into the main road. It was not that overgrown, the Dark Forest border was only a mile or two away. Merchants from the Forest Dweller nations and the Black Falcons journeyed across it on a regular basis. Now on the road, the pary began to make good time.

Soon they came upon a group of solemn minifigs, clustered around a cart packed with valubles. Over a score of heads swiveled fearfully in the direction the riders. Kale took them all in with a glance. All were of them clearly Dark Foresters, one or two had a weapon but most seemed defenceless. One man was dressed in blue silk and rode on an overfed mule. He fearfully rode up to meet them.

“Hello there!” Said Kale to the man.

The man turned to another and muttered something about them being Bulls “Thank the bring we’ve found you stranger!” He gasped.

Kale blinked, could it be he had some action at last? “Is there a problem sir? Are you not just settlers?” He replied politely.

“No, refugees…”

The seven Bulls now had their full attention on him. “We have had no news of any disasters”

“No, it wasn’t anythin’ like that laddy, we was invaded!”

Croaked the man. “Some army came from o’er the sea and took Jewel Reef! That’s rather far from our village but they sent soldiers there still. They was searchin’ fer a bunch of farmers or something like that. Besides, many of us had ideas of settling here anyway.” Gumbled the man.

Kale looked at the men around him. “Lord Barbod should be informed at once!” The other bulls nodded in compliance.

Grid: K-14
Location: Batlands

Cecilya was awakened by the distant sound of horses. She looked up and saw a group of knights riding away from her. She lay in a small valley and was covered by a blanket. Beside her lay a small note.

Stay here, we will return tomorrow.

Mircea

When she had read it she lay down again and tears filled her eyes. For a moment she had thought it was just a dream but now she remembered it all clearly. She pulled up the blanket over her shoulders and fell asleep again.

Grid: K-14
Location: Castle Milash

The weather was worse than ever before. A biting gale blew right through the castle and rain and hail pounded against the barred shutters. Lightning bolts lightened up the dark and cloudy sky every now and then.

Lord Zaharia sat on his dark throne clad in his black batlord armor. His commander Manu bowed deeply before him.

"You summoned me, Lord Zaharia." He stood up and met the lifelees gaze of the Batlord. He was stunned for a second. There was something wrong with his eyes. They had changed, changed to a sickly grey colour. They looked haunted in some way.

Lord Zaharia answered in a deep voice that sounded more like a bestial growl.

"Yes, Manu. We will be attacked very soon. 19 knights from the Western Knight´s Kingdom..."

He was interrupted by Manu.

"But, how do you know?"

"Speak when spoken to, fool!" Lord Zaharia shouted and stood up. His cold gaze made Manu kneel. A faint cruel smile was seen on Lord Zaharias lips.

"Good... Let the serfs go home for the night and then gather every single warrior. Bring them here, to my throneroom."

Manu looked at Lord Zaharia and seemed confused.

"But, shouldn´t we defend the walls and..."

"Do as you´re told, you filthy Megabloks!" Lord Zaharia´s haunted eyes burned with an eerie fire and Manu felt a burning pain in his forehead.

"Yes, milord", he stammered and then he quickly went out of the throneroom.

Lord Zaharia sat down again and a cruel smile adorned his sickly white face.

----------

Two hours later the company of knights reached the foot of the peak where the castle was.

They were all soaking wet but that wouldn´t stop them. Mircea remembered it clearly from his dream, but there was one difference. Tonight he could see a way up to the castle. He turned to the knights.

"We have reached our destination, Brothers! Now is the time to punish the Batlord and stop his blasphemous practices! For the Dragon!"

The knights joined him in the last sentence and with their chorus echoing in the air they spurred their horses and rode up the peak.

They met no resistance and when they had got up all the way to the castle an open gate was all that greeted them.

Mircea stopped his horse and told the others to stop.

Something was wrong, it was far too easy. He looked at the dark and gloomy castle which´s crumbling towers and turrets reached for heaven. What did this mean?

But after a few moments something strange clouded his mind. Everything slowly turned red and he could hear a voice chant something in the back of his head. It became louder and louder and a rage rose inside him. He tried to fight it for a few moments but it won and got hold of him. With a loud frenzied cry he spurred his horse and rode right into the castle. The other knights followed their leader and shouted:

"For the Dragon!"

Mircea´s horse carried him with the speed of a lightning bolt and every single door in the castle was open. He continued on and on into the castle through dark dwindling corridors and finally came to a great hall.

It was a huge room with no adornments but a single throne in the far end. On the throne sat a giant of a man in a black armour and with a huge mace in his hand. But apart from him the room was empty.

He stood up and raised his mace high in the air. A wicked smile adorned his featured and he cried:

"You will die, tyco paladin!"

Mircea continued toward him and raised his axe.

He prepared for the hit and let his axe fall but the Batlord disappeared right in front of him. With a thunderous roar of rage he stopped his horse and glanced around the room.

But he saw no Batlord, the only strange thing he saw was a big black hole in the floor behind the throne. He was still filled with rage and dismounted his horse and ran to the hole. The Batlord must have escaped there.

The hole led to a long dwindling stair down into the dark foundations of the castle, just as he had expected. With a roar of fury he rushed down the stairs...

A moment later his knights finally reached the throneroom. The leader of them, Sir Ambrosio saw Mircea disappear behind the throne and spurred his horse onward toward the throne but suddenly a wall of magma erupted right in front of him and he fell off his horse. Before he could stand up a Batlord in black armour with a huge mace appeared out of thin air right in front of him and crushed his body to a bloody mess with his mace.

The second later the doors to the room slammed shut and suddenly about 100 warriors appeared out of thin air along the walls. More gaps erupted everywhere on the floor and magma and fire spread quickly. The Batlord laughed maniacally.

The remaining knights rode closer to each other and started to pray as the warriors closed in on them.

They would sell their lives dearly.

"For the Dragon!"

Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:“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.

Grid: G-11
Location: Grolling Fortress

Ajaxx sat up. Light blinded him.

“Ajaxx!” it was Japheth, “Ye be alright?”

Ajaxx squinted.

“Where be Void?”

Japheth’s stare faltered for a moment, then he said: “Dead. He be dead.”

“Ye be sure?”

“I am. I disposed of the body meself.”

Japheth pointed to a burning pile of corpses, most of them from the Brigade. Ajaxx grimaced.

“Pity. I wanted to kill him meself. No matter.”

Ajaxx looked about. He was under a shaded pavilion, in the courtyard. The surviving Brigade was hurrying about, attempting to put out the blaze that blazed over one area of the Grolling Fortress.

“How I get here?” asked Ajaxx.

“I pulled ye from the rubble meself.” said Japheth, “’Fore the fire raged too hot.”

Ajaxx grasped Japheth’s arm warmly.

“I be in your debt.”

Japheth only smiled.

“What casualties.”

“Three-hundred and seven by our best count.”

Ajaxx nodded grimly.

“I knew there’d be sacrifices.”

“The men knew that as well.” said Japheth.

Ajaxx stood, stretching his back.

“Be everything done?” he asked.

Japheth nodded.

“Void be dead. Caimlin lives, but he be away on Borianis Dracis, far away and ineffective. Thorinsburg be dead, and his officers. There be no on else loyal to Void.”

Ajaxx let a triumphant grin spread across his face.

“That be good. Then there be only one move left: my coronation.”

Maedhros wrote: The hole led to a long dwindling stair down into the dark foundations of the castle, just as he had expected. With a roar of fury he rushed down the stairs...

Grid: K-14
Location: Castle Milash

The spiral staircase continued far far down into the darkness. When Mircea had rushed past a few turns of the stairs everything had become pitch-black and he had to slow down. As he walked slower the fury started to disappear and he could think clearly again. He regretted his actions but now wasn´t the time to stop and think, he would get that tyco Batlord.

After a long, slow and careful walk down the dark stairs he finally reached the floor again. He couldn´t see a thing but he felt a wooden door in front of him. He carefully pushed it and it opened.

A big cave spread before Mircea´s eyes. It stretched about 100 yards from wall to wall and the ceiling was indistuingishable in the dark. Stalagmites rose upwards everywhere on the floor.
In the middle of the cave there was a one-foot high platform which seemed to be made of some sort of purple crystal. On the platform stood a great wooden sarcophagus which was surrounded by four red torches which illuminated the cave and coloured everything red.

Mircea carefully strode toward the platform, he could feel something that called to him. He forgot about the Batlord and focused his entire being on that sarcophagus. It called to him...

When he reached the platform he felt some kind of immaterial barrier in the air. But there wasn´t anything foul about it, quite the opposite. He could feel a divine aura.

He focused his mind and prayed to the Dragon: 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.

The barrier stayed but it let him through. He carefully walked through it and felt relieved and happy.

But the feeling disappeared as quickly as it had come, when he touched the sarcophagus he felt the taint of evil run like wildfire through his veins but he couldn´t let go of the sarcophagus. He felt a crippling pain in his whole body but he couldn´t stop, the sarcophagus called to him. He fought to stay conscious and gathered all his strength to push away the lid of the sarcophagus.

Pain, fire, evil...

The lid fell off and shattered as it hit the ground. Mircea fell and knocked down one of the torches in the fall. The aura of divinity disappeared and all the lights went out.

A twisted force oozed out from the sarcophagus and Mircea fought against the overwhelming pain.

Then he heard the laughter. It was a deep wicked laughter which pierced his mind like needles. He cried out in pain but then he felt a cold hand grab his neck and start to suffocate him.

I´ve failed you, he thought and then something sharp pierced the skin on his neck.

Grid: L-5
Location: Coastline, a small village

"We're too late..." Maerl gasped, staring wide-eyed at the small Ikrosian army burning each house they came to. His gaze was transfixed, however, on one house in particular.

The Wanderer quickly came up behind Maerl and the tree he was hiding behind.

Dahnaris wasn't playing around, this time, the Wanderer thought.

"Which one is Olivia's house?" he asked.

"That one, there," Maerl began to sob, pointing at a collapsed bonfire of a building.

The two men stared at the burning rubble for a few moments gathering their thoughts. The Wanderer's heart sank into his stomach at the sight.

"Wait.." Maerl gasped, "there she is! Over there! Those soldiers have her cornered!"

The Wanderer drew his sword, racing toward the building where Olivia and her son were crouched. Three Ikrosian soldiers had surrounded her, swords in hand. Olivia was cradling her young son in her arms, shielding him from the soldiers as best she could, her eyes shut awaiting the inevitable.

"You're coming with..." the middle soldier began.

The two other men looked at him, puzzled.

"Us?" one of the two finished, "Are you alright?"

The middle soldier dropped his sword and began stumbling forward, unsheathing himself from the sword lodged in his back. The Wanderer quickly dispatched the other two soldiers, gutting the one on his right and beheading the one on his left, waisting no time to get to Olivia. Maerl was not far behind, darting between the trees and houses, doing his best to remain unseen.

"Olivia," the Wanderer said gruffly, holding out his hand to her.

"Milord..." Olivia gasped, jumping up and hugging the robed man tightly.

"You... know him?" Maerl asked.

"Now's not the time," the Wanderer said, scooping up Olivia's son into his arms, "Olivia, do you have it?"

"Yes, Sir," Olivia nodded.

"We'll make for the heart of the woods. With any luck, the soldiers will lose us," the Wanderer ordered. The three began running, diving into the thick woods of the Dark Forest.

----------

It only took minutes for the deaths of the three soldiers slain by the Wanderer to be noticed. Dahnaris recognized it as no simple peasant's doing.

"They've escaped into the woods, and they have help," Dahnaris growled, studying the wounds of the three men. This was no ordinary swordsman, no, this was a master. And there was something eerily familiar about the way he fought...

"Into the woods!" Dahnaris ordered, "find them! Bring the woman to me alive; kill whomever is with her!"

Sir Kohran wrote:She turned, and confronted another green-skinned Orc, who was wielding a hammer. A sudden slash decapitated him.

"Mikelen, are you there?" she asked behind her.

"Yes, milady," an elderly man from behind her replied, as he swung his cane.

Grid: K-10
Location: LEGOland plains

She nodded to Mikelen, and then turned back to the fighting. A short, brutish Orc wielding a curved blade lumbered towards her. ”Feint up and then slice down…”, that’s what he said… she thought. No room for mistakes, this time… and then she attacked.

The sword trick worked, but the rainwater made her fingers slip, meaning her blow wasn’t strong enough and her broadsword did not break through the mesh of iron that the Orc wore.

The Orc roared, “Now you get bladed, she-human!” as he swung a huge blow with his weapon, knocking her sword away, and phasing her. Then he made a strange gurgling sound, which was possibly laughter, and raised his blade again.

She closed her eyes and waited for the final strike. Images of her life flashed through her head…As a child, running through the garden to her mother…Meeting John at the barracks…Fleeing the castle at night…

It took a second or two for her to realise she wasn’t dead. Opening her eyes, she saw the Orc lying slain, or at least unconscious. Mikelen, her friend and guide, turned from the Orc he had taken out and held out his hand for her. She eagerly grabbed his aged fingers and got up, thanking him.

“That’s all good and well,” he replied, “But you should wear gauntlets when you fight, just to stop the rainwater.”

“I’ll get some in the next town we’re in,” she muttered to him. She took the chance to straighten out her bright red hair, which was sopping wet from the constant downpour of rain.

Looking over the field, she could see that the Orcs and their Wolf steeds were being driven back by a group of Ninjas and a rogue Wolfpack that had come to assist the three bloodied Eastern Knights’ Kingdomers, who had been fighting hard, and the grey Wizard in the black cloak. The ground was littered with slain Orcs and Wolves.

She shrugged. “I guess that’s it, then. They don’t seem to need our help now. Let’s go south.”

She started to walk, but Mikelen held her back.

“No. We ought to find out who those people are. Easterners don’t usually go abroad, and not at all with Wizards, and in these post-BloodVaine days, are a rare sight as it is. We’ll watch from a distance.”

“Fine then,” she answered. “There’s no hurry, I suppose, though I don’t like the looks of the jellybeans, or the Ninjas.”

“The term ‘jellybean’ is vulgar talk and shouldn’t be used, at least not by high folk such as you. Now let’s listen.” Mikelen snapped.

For several minutes the talk went on, but little sense could be made of it. In fact, most of it was names and threats, before the two groups split, with the three Ninjas going southeast, and the Easterners and the Wizard turning due east.

“Well, that’s that, then. Let’s be going.” Mikelen said.

“No, wait…we should go with them.” she said quietly.

“Why?” Mikelen asked. “Just a minute ago, you couldn’t care less.”

“I know…” she said in an unusually soft voice, “But I’ve got a feeling that we should go with them. Don’t ask me why, but I think it’s the right way.”

“I haven’t heard you speak like that before,” Mikelen answered. “But anyway, if it’s important to you, I will follow you. My old life is gone; I cannot go back to it. You’re all I’ve got left in Dametreos now. I’m with you.”

“Thank you, Mikelen.” she nodded, before striding into view of the Wizard and the Easterners.

Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:“Well,” he said out loud, “Now that we’ve properly saved each other’s lives, been introduced, threatened one another, and have learned of our destinations, I, for one, am eager to be on my way.”

And with a dramatic twirl, Viktor turned about, churning up mud. Santis looked at Jaythus and winked. Solesstorn sighed and also turned away his horse, giving everyone a brief nod.

"Well done, Viktor," Solesstorn called, "That's the most sense you've made for the entire journey so far."

Viktor frowned for a moment, but then his face gradually lapsed into a gentle grin. Santis and even Jaythus smiled slightly. Solesstorn spoke again.

"Now, I have heard of an inn near here, or rather, Magarus told me. We will only be safe at the border inn, anyway. Anyhow we all have injuries, light or heavy, that need attending to, before any of us collapse from them."

"The Wizard's not wrong," Santis muttered, as he surveyed their awkward position.

Viktor had a wound in his leg from an arrow, and several bruises from the fall from his horse, and a cut on the back from the fighting. Jaythus had a bloody nose, and a limp to his leg. Santis was bleeding in several places, and had a large graze on his cheek. Even Solesstorn had not escaped without hurt, he had a broken arm and was forced to lean heavily on his staff.

"Well, um...why don't we start moving?" Jaythus asked, trying to clean his sword in the rainwater.

"I was wondering the same thing." Santis added.

"Wait! We wish to join you." a female voice called from across the field.

A tall women, with rich red hair landing on her shoulders, clad in a black tunic and a brown hood, followed by a lean old man in a grey cloak holding a staff, walked over to join them.

"Who are you?" Solesstorn asked.

"My name is...Storm." the red-headed woman said slowly.

"And you are...?" Viktor nodded to the old man.

"Mikelen, her..." he cut off.

"Come on, speak." Solesstorn urged. "We haven't got all day. What is she? Your daughter? Your wife? Your lover?"

"That 'she' is NOT!" Storm broke out. "If you must know, he's my teacher. "Now, can we get on to the inn please?"

"Hold on," Jaythus said, "how do we know you're not with the Orcs?"

"We're both rogues at the moment, but...we both used to belong to the Western Knights' Kingdom." Storm replied quickly.

Viktor raised an eyebrow. Santis set his teeth. There had always been adversity between the two Kingdoms, due to the Westerners' strict religious rules and the Easterners' frequent use of magic. Young Jaythus didn't know this however.

"Well, sorry for..."

"No, lad, you're right," Santis grunted. "Prove that you're Westerners..."

Storm felt her temper rising, and the three Easterners didn't feel in the best of moods. Things might have gone either way, were it not for Solesstorn's voice.

"Don't worry...I've been told who to look out for." Solesstorn said crptically. That ended the argument. Somehow, everyone knew that the two were coming with them, at least until the inn. With that, the group, now six strong set off again.

Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:Santis sidled up to Viktor.

“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…”

"If there isn't, I'll carve up the next person we meet, I'm sure," Santis muttered.

"And I want to know a bit more about those strange...Westerners." Viktor added. "There'd REALLY better be an inn up ahead..."

Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:There WAS an inn up ahead. The Dancing Tom Cat was a sorry sight for sore eyes, but to the bedraggled group of 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.

Solesstorn was the only one who didn't sleep much that evening. Instead, he rested in a large armchair by the dying fire for a while, sitting in the cool silence of the inn room, surveying the peacefully sleeping Knights' Kingdomers like an adult watching over snoozing children.

Yes, it's all going to plan...he thought to himself. So far, so good, but He knows where we are now, and the loss of many of His Wolves will have angered Him. We must move out as soon as we can...

With that, he fell asleep, as he always had done, with one eye open.

That way, he could see the dark figure standing in the corner of the room that had haunted his life for years.

Maedhros wrote:I´ve failed you, he thought and then something sharp pierced the skin on his neck.

A feeling of passion and pleasure surged through his body as the blood left his veins. He felt no pain or worries, his whole mind and soul was focused on the heart that beat in the same pace as his, how it emptied his veins.

He felt more and more dizzy and finally lost consciousness. The Dragon had left him, his hope had left him, the pleasure and passion had left him. There was only darkness.

---------

He awoke again. Everything was black. There was a strange taste in his mouth. Like the best wine in the world, but better. He just lay there for a long time. Something was terribly wrong. He could feel it. The air felt damp around him and, he didn´t breath.

He immediately sat up and touched his chest. There was no heartbeat, no sign of life in his lungs. Amazed and frightened he stood up and took a few slow steps.

"What is this...?" He whispered slowly.

Two glowing red eyes began to shine in front of him.

"You´re a strigoi, Dragon." A voice whispered. The voice was deep and hoarse.

Mircea fumbled for his axe but he couldn´t see a thing in the dark. The voice chuckled.

"Don´t you worry about that, Dragon. If I had wanted to kill you, I had already done that."

Mircea didn´t move.

"So I´m not dead?"

The voice chuckled again.

"No, you are just... superior."

"But... what..."

"Now is not the time to talk", the voice snapped. "You need nourishment. Walk up to the throneroom and feed."

"But..."

"Just go, your instincts will tell you what to do, Dragon."

Then a slight cold breeze blew across the cave and the door opened with a slight creak.
Mircea felt a slight scent of blood coming from it and suddenly an overwhelming hunger burned inside him. He forgot about everything else and dashed for the door.

"Ah, good. You will become a worthy progeny, Dragon."

The door slammed shut behind Mircea and the ancient being carefully lifted Mircea´s axe. He cut open his finger on the blade and smiled.

"Ah, finally. Laurentiu doesn´t forget, no, he doesn´t..."

Grid :J-10
Location: Siclent Villa

“Tyco tennis.”

Hans looked up from the book he was reading. Adrian threw himself onto a lawn chair.

“Running about chasing a little ball--” Adrian continued, uttering the final word with disgust, “--is utter nonsense.”

“I find it amusing.” said Hans from behind his book, hiding a grin.

“What’s amusing?” snapped Adrian.

“Oh, just how you look so manly flitting about wielding a racket -- and making a racket, for that matter -- swinging your arms in the air and getting thoroughly beating to a pulp.”

Hans raised his voice.

“What’s the score, Cate!”

Cate, decked out in a comely white frilled frock and still on the court, replied smugly, “Sixty-two to zero, my favor!”

Adrian grumbled something and Hans snickered.

“C’mon, Adrian!” called Cate, “Another one!”

Adrian shook his head firmly.

“Nay, Cate, I’m out. Badminton I can handle...but tennis..."

Adrian shuddered.

"I've never played tennis, but the very fact that it is a ball in the air gives me bad vibes..."

“Adrian…” Cate pleaded, her doe-eyes as big as plates.

“Oh, alright, one last time!” snapped Adrian, heaving himself out of the chair.

Cate beamed.

“Goody!”

“Sucker.” whispered Hans from behind his book.

“Not half as much as you.” was the retort.

Hans’ didn’t reply. He was deeply immersed in his book.

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

At tea time, the trio ate crumpets and scones in the vineyard while they talked. Or, rather, Cate talked and Adrian listened. Hans did neither. His book lay propped open on the table, and his eyes never left it. After telling a particularly corny joke about a Dragon Master, an Eastern Knight’s Kingdomer and a Forestman who walked into a bar, Cate snapped, “Hans, are you even listening?”

Hans looked up guiltily.

“What? Er…no.”

Cate looked hurt.

“Why not?”

“It’s not your jokes,” said Hans hastily.

Adrian grimaced and mouthed, Yes it is.

“It’s just that this book is really, really interesting.” explained Hans.

Cate cocked her head.

“Really? Isn’t that the one I gave you for your birthday?”

“Yup.” nodded Hans, holding up the book so the other two could see the cover, “The Classic Empire. Fascinating read.”

Cate looked pleased.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s fascinating.” said Hans eagerly, “Listen to this:

“Up until 1100, Dametreosians thought themselves alone in the world. This changed when a strange vessel, later to be called an airship, wrecked on what is now known as Talistrand Isle. The LEGOland Empire worked hard to, among other things, identify the source of the airship. The bodies of three elves were obtained from the wrecked vessel. Forestmen were called in, and they confirmed that these elves were unlike any Dametreosian elf. The investigative team also managed to recover from the vessel a powerful magical crystal. Unwilling to let the hostile clans that later became the Dragon Masters and Fright Knights examine the crystal, the Classics locked it away. The rest of the airship was disassembled and hauled away. It’s whereabouts are now unknown.

Five years after the discovery of the airship, 1105, first actual contact was made. A ship named King Garalt landed upon what is now the Fright Knight territory of Kingdom Isle. The pre-Fright Knight clans chased off the vessel, which fled to the mainland, where it made contact with Classic LEGOland. These foreigners called themselves Ikrosians. They were explorers, out to discover and claim more land for their king, after which their ship was named. Emperor Axdicis V welcomed the Ikrosians and after exchanging gifts, the sailors allowed a young ambassador to come back with them to Ikros. This man was called Nathaniel, and was recently named the Earl of Wells, a small LEGOland province. For seven years, nothing was heard from Nathaniel or the crew of the King Garalt, and it was feared they were all lost. But then, in June of 1112, Nathaniel returned in glory. He had survived the brutal voyage to Ikros, and had succeeded in establishing peaceful trade relations with that distant country. In a sign of good will, Ikros had given Nathaniel a grand mysterious object, known only as the One Brick To Rule Them All. Nathaniel immediately gave it to Emperor Axdicis V. It’s whereabouts are now unknown.”

“Now isn’t that cool or what?” demanded Hans.

Cate and Adrian nodded.

“That it is.” said Adrian, then said, “Hey, I wonder if that Nathaniel is the same Nathaniel who wrote The Lord Of The LEGO?”

Hans’ eyes brightened.

“Perhaps he is! We should check that out when we get back to Orion!”

A servant approached.

“Lady Cate,” the servant said formally, “Lord and Lady Slacs-Sicl wish to see you. They await in the parlor.”

Cate jumped up. “They’re home!”

Grid: L-5
Location: Somewhere in the Dark Forest

The small campfire gave only a modicum of comfort on the cold night. The four weary travelers had been on the run for nearly a full day, only now taking the time to rest. Maerl had slumped down against a nearby tree, wittling on his small piece of wood with his boot knife. Olivia was sitting near the fire, holding her son close to her side. The Wanderer was looking away from camp, studying the distant trees in the dim firelight.

"Who is that weird man, momma?" the boy asked softly.

"He is a great man, Barahm," Olivia smiled, squeezing the boy against her, "he deserves our respect."

"Yes, momma."

"Just how do you know him?" Maerl asked, focusing on his wittling.

"Just as your father, he helped your Uncle and I to Dametreos."

"He knew my father?" Barahm looked up quickly.

"Of course," Olivia smiled at him, "He taught your father almost everything he knew. Now, get some rest darling, we can talk about this tomorrow."

Barahm had no complaints; quickly snuggling up to his mother, resting his head on her lap. They were all exhausted from the day of flight, and Barahm fell asleep quickly.

"He was a good man," the Wanderer said softly, still facing away from the group.

"He was," Olivia smiled up at the cloaked figure.

"He looks just like him. He'll grow to be a fine man, you've done well."

"Thank you," Olivia looked down at her son, softly running her fingers through his hair.

"Is it safe?" the Wanderer lowered his voice, changing the subject.

"Yes," she nodded.

"What is 'it'?" Maerl asked, looking up at the two.

"This," Olivia pulled out a pendant from her shirt, tied to a string around her neck. It was of good size, being the diameter of a man's palm, covered in intricate designs and lettering, with the exception of a small wedge, which was flat, shiney metal.

"Our lives are in danger over that?" Maerl groused.

"This is extremely important," Olivia smiled, looking it over in her hand.

"Might I suggest someone else carry your dangerous load," the Wanderer suggested, walking over to her.

"Of course," she replied, handing it over to hooded man, who slipped it around his neck and under his cloak.

"So what is it?" Maerl asked again.

"The truth," the Wanderer groaned, slowly sitting on the ground against a tree.

"O.K....?" Maerl said, puzzled.

"It's a very ancient relic, over two-thousand years old," Olivia chimed in, "it holds a very detailed and specific history on Ikros"

"And this Garren guy is jealous he's not on it, and somehow his not being on there allows him to be de-throned?"

"Oh, he's on there," the Wanderer scoffed, folding his arms and lowering his head, casting his face in full shadow, "I wrote his name on there."

"What?" Maerl threw his hands into the air "Why?"

"It's... complicated," Olivia sighed.

"I bet," Maerl shook his head, "forget I even asked."

"Get some sleep," the Wanderer sighed, "we'll be needing it."

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

The morning did not greet Maerl well. A shift kick in his side shocked him awake.

"Get up," the Wanderer ordered in a whisper.

"What's going on?" Maerl winced, nursing his side.

"They're here..."

In the distance of the woods, blurred by the morning fog, soldiers swiftly and quietly darted between the trees.

"I let them get too close..." the Wanderer shook his head.

"What do you mean?" Maerl asked softly.

"I was trying to keep them on our trail. I got careless and let them get too close."

"What??" Maerl was having trouble containing his anger, "Why in..."

"Listen," the Wanderer growled, holding his voice low, "if Dahnaris lost us entirely, he'd go back to base. And if he went back to base, he'd come back with all of his soldiers. I'm a good swordsmen, but not that good. Fifty men is better than five hundred."

"What are we going to do?" Olivia hugged her son nervously.

"We need to get out of here," the Wanderer whispered.

"Too late," Dahnaris said smugly, walking up behind them.

"No..." Olivia gasped.

"I thought I recognized your handywork, old friend," Dahnaris said to the cloaked man before him.

"I had already recognized yours, you butcher," the Wanderer spat.

"What I am truly interested in, is why a man such as yourself would have an interest in two wanted enemies of Ikros?" Dahnaris pointed to Olivia and Maerl.

"Please, do what you want with me," Olivia pleaded, "but please leave the boy alone."

"I think I'll just arrest all of you, let my soldiers sort you out." Dahnaris smiled.

"Please," Olivia whispered, turning around to face the Wanderer, "take care of my son..."

Olivia quickly yanked Maerl's book knife out of its' sheath and attacked the Vice Admiral. Her attack was quickly met by drawn swords, skewering her before she had even come close to her target.

But it had been enough. The Wanderer had already taken Barahm into his arms, running off into the distance. Maerl, too, had found his chance to run, fighting the tears enough to see where he was going.

"Incompetent fools!" Dahnaris growled, shaking his fists at his soldiers who were already giving chase to the men.

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

"Momma..." Barahm cried out, reaching his hands behind the Wanderer as the he ran quickly through the woods.

"Quiet now," the Wanderer said softly, "You're safe with me."

"Where's Momma? Did those men want to hurt us?"

"She'll be along later," the Wanderer lied, trying to keep the boy calm.

"But who'll take care of me? I want my Momma..."

The Wanderer dove down behind a fallen stump, confident in his distance between them and the soldiers in pursuit.

"I will," he said, holding the boy out at arms reach by the shoulders.

"But I don't even know who you are..." Barahm whimpered. The Wanderer wrapped his arms around him tightly.

"My name is Kullvox, Barahm, and I promise no one will ever hurt you."

If one was able to look at Girard before and after he had landed on that God-Forsaken island five months ago, most would not recognize him as the same person. In those months he had established himself rather well actually, though the needs of survival did not allow for spending time on his own appearance – indeed there was no need to do anything about it, the island was completely uninhabited.

It was a large island too. Four months ago the former admiral had taken it upon himself to circumnavigate the isle. By his best estimates its perimeter was over sixty miles. It was densely wooded with a mostly deciduous forest of mature oaks, maples, and the occasional cedar. Logically then, he was not in a tropical climate, surprising considering that on the corresponding latitude were the jungles of Ninjara.

That also meant winter would come and it was for this reason Girard had made no real attempt to get off the island. Instead he was stocking up as much food as possible. Next year he would make some kind of boat. After all the mainland was probably only an eight or nine day journey.

All his plans were dashed the next day though. That afternoon he was spearing fish in a small lagoon bordering the sea. Looking up at the horizon his noticed a shape – then another and another. An hour later he could tell they were sails, but not the plain white sheets he was used to. These were large, square, and striped.

An hour or so later Girard studied the vessels that had beached themselves about a quarter mile away. For a moment, he was not sure whether to shout for joy or attempt to hide. He made the choice to hide. He used to be an admiral after all, and knew of nearly every class of ship that plied their way off of Dameteros’s shores. From his vantage point up in a tree, he stared again at the four boats. For sure these were different and the outlandish dress of the people on them reinforced his opinion.

Still, he had to do something. Summoning up all his courage, he climbed down and made his way to the place where they were setting up camp. For a moment he paused, lingering in the dense undergrowth that bordered the beach. Taking a deep breath he brazenly stepped out, stopping only a few seconds later when he heard a loud voice.

“Alt!

Immediately he found himself surrounded by four of the strange men, all pointing spears at him.


Girard looked at his captors. Three had full beards, but one was clean shaven save for a scraggy mustache. Slowly the Falcon raised his hands up and tried to speak.

“Who are you? Wh-”

He was cut off when the man with the mustache poked him lightly with the edge of his spear, pricking through Girard’s shirt but not quite drawing blood.

“Kom. Follow us”

Girard looked at him with a mixture of fear and incomprehension. Having a weapon at your back and being told to do something in a outlandish dialect would be enough to unnerve anyone.

Fortunately the strangers did not seem to be in a particularly aggressive mood. Girard began to slowly walk in the direction of the shoreline, the four soldiers closely following him
Surrounded on all sides, Girard was thus led into the position where these alien people had set up for the night. Two large fires were already being started, complete with matching cauldrons that were being filled with food. There were perhaps eighty men in all, each keeping busy one way or another whether it was pitching tents, cooking food, or making repairs to the four long vessels – all of which looked storm beaten.

Girard was made to sit down near the center of the camp and there he waited for some sort of explanation.

Maedhros wrote:Then a slight cold breeze blew across the cave and the door opened with a slight creak.
Mircea felt a slight scent of blood coming from it and suddenly an overwhelming hunger burned inside him. He forgot about everything else and dashed for the door.

Grid: K-14
Location: Castle Milash

With the speed of the wind Mircea almost flew up into the throneroom. He immediately spotted a body lying on the floor beside the stairs and jumped at it with a roar of rage.

He felt his body becoming warm again, the blood rushed through his veins and he felt more relieved than ever before. He didn´t know how long he sat there but finally he came out of his trance.

He was staring at the lifeless eyes of his Brother of the Dragon, Sir Ambrogino. He jumped up with a frightened shriek and almost fell as he stumbled on the corpse of a dead Fright Knight. He wiped the blood off his mouth and shot panicked glances throughout the room.

There were nothing but death to see, corpses lay everywhere. Fright Knights, Brothers of the Dragon and horses, all slaughtered without mercy. He expected to feel dizzy and vomit but he didn´t.
This was worse, he saw everything with crystal clarity and couldn´t escape it.

He sat down on his knees and buried his face in his hands.

After a few moments he lifted his head and looked at his hands. They were red with blood. He even wiped tears of blood!

"What is this?" He shouted but nothing answered him except the hollow echo of his own voice.

There was only silence for about a minute, then the deep, hoarse voice spoke again:

"Forever are we Damned.
Damned by Striga, Damned by his Father,
It matters not what we do,
It matters not what we say,
For we shall forever be Damned.
Damned we are for eternity.
Waste not your time here with repentance.
We are monsters, we shall forever be monsters."

Mircea slowly turned to the throne from where the voice had come. What he saw made him feel even worse.

There was a man sitting upon the throne. He was much shorter than Mircea, he was barely a man at all. But he was almost painfully beautiful, he had delicate graceful features and his skin was white as ivory. Long black hair flowed from his head but the most remarkable feature was his eyes. At first they looked icy blue but they reflected the light and almost seemed like some sort of rainbows.
He wore a strange burial shroud of some sort which appeared to be made of skin. A faint cruel smile adorned his face.

Mircea stepped back but the man just smiled.

"I am Laurentiu Strigulea, son of Striga the Damned. I thank you for freeing me from my prison."

Mircea just stared at Laurentiu and tried to find out something to say but he couldn´t. Laurentiu continued:

"I´m going to tell you a story. Come closer."

Mircea was enchanted by the voice and stepped closer. Laurentiu grabbed his hand and caught his gaze. Everything faded...

In a time before time, when the Classic LEGOland Empire was but a dream unborn there was a man called Striga. He was the son of a great and noble warchief whose name is long forgotten. The warchief was just and generous and he was loved by his own people. But his son Striga was different, Striga was a vile young man who wanted nothing but riches and luxury for himself. But he was very intelligent, and he was a very skilled actor.

His poison tounge made him as popular as his father. He gained many followers and soon he was even more powerful than his noble father.

But that wasn´t enough. He had heard about a powerful artifact that could let him force the sun to do his bidding. He gathered his seven sons and told them about it. Together they made a plan to steal the artifact from an ancient shrine high in the mountains.

But they didn´t succeed, his father heard of the plans and then he cursed his son to never see the sun again.

Striga went into hiding and was forgotten by almost everyone, everyone but his ever loyal sons who came to him, and he rewarded them by passing on his curse to them.

They were hiding for many long and dark years and learnt many dark secrets and ways to utilize their new powers.

They also spawned a lot of followers who were fiercely loyal to them. And finally the time had come for their revenge.

Striga´s father was long dead but one of his descendants battled Striga and his followers. The war raged for years but at last Striga was slain in a great battle atop a mountain called Milash. The Prince of the mortals drove a golden spike through his heart and left his immobilized body for the sun. His followers scattered and was killed but his seven sons survived.

They swore to take revenge and then parted to different parts of the land. But they also noticed that time took it´s toll on them as well and one by one they fell into a deep torpid slumber.

Years later they were found by mortals who bound them with powerful enchantments so that they would never be able to escape again.

A long time has passed since then and their hatred has grown to encompass every single minifig of Dametreos.

Mircea regained his vision and stared dumbfounded at Laurentiu.

"Yes, I am a son of Striga, in fact I am his youngest son, and the most loyal."

Mircea finally regained his wit.

"But what has this to do with me? I won´t do your foul bidding, monster!"

He was answered by a dry chuckle.

"Oh, how cute... You, my dear, will travel to each and everyone of my brothers and awaken them."

((Sorry to edit but I just changed ebony to ivory, I think you´ll forgive me for that))

F-10
Location: A blacksmith's shop

"What?!"
Donall glared at the blacksmith standing in front of him. They were standing next to the blacksmith's house, under a sort of shelter, where the blacksmith worked on most of his tools and weapons. It was a hot early September day, and standing near a large furnace in the shop didn't help. He wiped the sweat from his brow and face as he waiting for a reply.
The blacksmith calmly looked up from the sword he was polishing and, returning the cloaked stranger's gaze, replied, "I said, your swords aren't very good quality, and for a small price, I can make ye some new ones."

Made from a special Sikaron steel, Donall's swords were very fine weapons. Light weight, but very sturdy, and his most prized possessions, and there was no way he would let some stranger tell him they weren't good quality.

"I'll show you good quality!" he growled, unsheathing both of his swords.

The blacksmith jumped back and franticly lifted up the sword he was holding and prepared to defend himself.
Taking a step forward, Donall swiftly swung his swords at the blacksmith's, as they clanged together, he made a swift flick of his wrists, and snapped the blacksmith's sword in half.

"You've been warned" he snickered, "next time that could be your head!"

With that, he turned and walked out the blacksmith's shop. He kept walking intill he reached the main road, and contiued out of the town.