Classic-Castle.com

O-13
location: Shadow Knight fortress

Kor sat up and opened his eyes, at least he thought he opened his eyes, it was pitch black.

He was on a stone platform of some sort, and his head was killing him. He looked around straining his eyes, trying to see anything.

Suddenly there was a flare of light; it was far off, but coming towards him.
Kor watched as a stubby little man, carrying a torch and a plate of food walked up to him.

“Ahh, he finally wakes. Now eat” he said, in a croaking voice that reminded Kor very much of a frog. “Eat” he said again, pushing the tray at Kor’s face.

Kor took the plate and looked at it disgustedly. It looked like something you would feed to a pig. But as bad as it looked, he was too hungry not to eat it.

“The master will inspect you in a few minutes” croaked the man as he walked off, leaving Kor in darkness once again.
He was puzzled, who was the “master”? Why was he here? What was going to happen?

He ate with some trouble, then tried to stand up, but couldn’t. He felt around, there were two strips of iron around his ankles; attaching his legs to the “table” he was on.

“Tyco, I guess I’ll just have to wait. I hate waiting”

It was more like half an hour later when he saw a light once again, but this time there was two torches.

As the torches drew near, Kor realized that there were four men, two carrying the torches, and two who carried drawn swords.

lemon_squeezer2 wrote:It was a fine day at any rate. The sun shone brightly and the only clouds in the bright blue sky was a bank far to the south, hovering over the Rascun peninsula. Horatio stood on the main deck, scanning the horizon more out of sheer boredom then watchfulness. Just then, a sudden cry from the crow’s nest broke his daydreaming. Looking up, he saw a midshipman call down to him.
“There’s a sail out there capt’n – right out from the port bow.”
Johnson instinctively called back as he crossed the deck. “Very good – carry on then.”
“We have the wind favoring us. Plot a course Nor’ west by north.”
“Aye, aye capt’n”

Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:Viktor nodded, well aware he probably was beginning to turn green.

"I'll...be below..."

"Right." nodded Broadside, "I'll send Bill with you to find ye a cot."

Grid: O12
Location: At sea

Viktor was in agony. Pure agony.

“Ooohhh…I shoulda stayed and been ‘anged by the Crusaders…this is ten times megablocks worse…” he moaned.

He was on the forward deck, leaning over the rail in the position often used by those with ill bellies. Viktor’s face was a pale green, and the rest of his body was pale. His hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, and his clothes hung on him limply. He hadn’t been able to eat since he had boarded the Bombardier, and that was four days ago. His stomach growled for food, but he knew if he ate so much as a crumb of hardtack he’d puke it back up.

Viktor heard a guffaw from behind him. It was Captain Broadside, flagon in hand, his hairy face creased into a grin.

“Tyco, Vikky, the swea still w’angling yer belly?”

Viktor muttered and groaned and swore all at the same time. Broadside obviously had had a little too much to drink.

“Try sommat dish!”

Broadside trust the flagon at Viktor.

“Wha’ ‘tis it?”

“That’s a secret…” winked Broadside, “Tycosh good to givee swea legs…”

Viktor looked at the flagon warily, then took a swig. He coughed most of it up, not from the nausea in his stomach, but from the fieriness of the drink.

“What the tyco’s this??”

Broadside shrugged.

“C’usader ale. Like Is said, goods fer swea legs.”

Viktor could hardly believe it, but Broadside was right. His stomach still clenched and gurgled, but already he was feeling better. He took another swig.

“My thanks to ye, Capt’n.”

Just then there was a cry from above.

“Sail ho! A point off the port stern!”

“The shtern?” muttered Broadside.

Viktor turned and made his way up to the poop deck. “There’s a ship behind us!” he said.

“Can ‘ee see the makin’s…?” asked Broadside, trying to become as un-drunk as possible.

“Nay, Cap’n, not from dis distance!”

“Right then…keeps a sharp eye…”

“Aye Cap’n!”

Viktor turned to Broadside. “Could they be following us?”

“I dunno, Vikky, I dunno…”

Grid: G-10
Location: Ninjara borderlands

Khane had a sleepless night, images of ripped off horse limbs went through his head, soldiers being zeroed in by enemy catapults, large pieces of mud flying through the air. Khane dug in his memory, where did these images came from? After a while he remembered, Tartarus Hook or as the westerners called it: Hellfire corner; two weeks ago. Tartarus is the place that is spotted on every Ninjarian map, but sadly also on the enemies their maps, it was a place where the waterlevel of Shintashi River was at it’s lowest, easy for an army to cross but also an easy target for catapults and other kinds of artillery.
Khane lost over a third of his soldiers there, in the early days, that place was a paradise, the days before the decadence, the days before his father become sick.. Now, he had been sent to destroy the barbarian hordes that posses the northern part of Ninjara, mostly these were mountains, bad lands to grow food or so, but still, Zymeth wanted it back, they needed to stop the hordes before they would cross the river.
How long has it been since he saw Dragonholm? How long has it been since he saw Tarrant, his mentor?

All those thoughts filled his head, until he was woken by a familiar voice:

“Lord, shouldn’t we get going, if we wait much longer, the enemy might be prepared”

It was Tao Lang, Khane’s right hand man.

“Yeah, you’re right, prepare the men, get ready to strike—“ Suddenly loud screams sounded outside Khane’s tent “What on earth?”

The two men quickly ran outside and grabbed their weapons when they saw their camp being ran over by enemy soldiers and cavalry. Khane saw a horsemen charging him and in a quick reaction he planted his scimitar in it’s chest, with some swift moves he killed three other surrounding soldiers. When he gained a little place, he overlooked the situation: pretty bad, he saw, most men were trampled by the horses, others were slaughtered in their sleep, many didn’t even got the change to put up a fight. Still, Khane didn’t want to give up, he didn’t want to lose his position, not in the first month of the newly launched campaign. Together with Toa, he charged the enemy, but alas, the enemy’s numbers counted into the hundreds, impossible for them to conquer. With his last breath Khane shouted: FALL BACK, BACK TO THE RIVER!!! FALL BACK!!!

With this, the remaining men fell back towards the river. The men ran as fast as they could, but they were no match for the enemy cavalry. They ran through the cold water of Shintashi River, but soon they were intercepted by the horsemen their spears, lots of men drowned here, trampled by the hooves of the horses. Khane tried to stand up, but the weight of his garbs pulled him back down in the water. He threw of his heavy armor and his helmet and tried to swim towards the side of the river, once arrived there, he made a run, but he was quickly exhausted due to the wetness of his clothes and the steepness of the hill. Behind him, he heard some shouting, screaming and footsteps, they were coming for him, that’s for sure…

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

Grid: M-8
Location: Drullen Bell Keep

Kale was blindfolded and his arms were bound behind his back. The Forestmen took his weapons and then began to lead him through the forest. Kale knew that they were not taking a direct path and he also knew that he would have one tyco of a time finding he way out of the woods if he managed to escape. No, the best thing to do for now was to submit.

The band of Forestmen continued their trek for an hour or two. Then, sounds of a city came to Kale's ears. Pigs oinked, and chickens bawked. He could he the pounded of feet and the squeak and churn of wheels. Suddenly he was halted and someone said, "Report!"

"Captain Anardan, sir!" saluted the Forestman who had taken Kale prisoner, "We captured this tresspasser infiltraiting our lands. He appearently had come from Wolfpack territory."

"Why didn't you simply return him to the border?" asked Anardan.

"We are not a patrol squad. We did not catch him at the border. He was a good five miles inland."

"Hmm. Very good, Glademan. I'll have to check out the eastern border patrols and have a word with them later. Right now though...take this man to the dungeon and give him something to drink. I'll be along shortly to interrogate him."

"Aye, Captian."

Kale was prodded forward and he felt his feet scrape agaisnt something hard. Flagstones. Also, the air about him got cooler. They were entering a building. Kale was lead down some steps, then with a flourish the blindfold was removed, though his arms remained bound. Kale let his eyes get adjusted and looked around. He was, indeed, in a cell. A Forestman with a not unkind face gave Kale a drink of clean water from a jug and then waited with him until Captain Anardan arrived. Anardan soon came down and entered the cell and sat on a bench opposite Kale.

"Right." he said...

Location: Drullen Bell Keep

"Right..." said Anardan, sitting across from Kale as he sat on the cot in his cell. "Please cut his hands loose and leave us, sir." The Forestman guard scowled, then pulled out a knife and slashed the ropes binding Kale's hands. "I'll be outside if you need me, Captain." He slid the knife back into it's scabbard, then retreated from the cell, closing the door halfway behind him.

"My name is Anardan, and I am in command of the Forestman border patrol;" said Anardan, watching Kale in the dim light filtering down from the barred window.

"With the current situation, I am quite sure that you are aware that the Forestman border is closed to all outsiders who do not have permission from Lord Bjarn to enter."
Kale looked somewhat uncomfortable, thinking about his response while Anardan continued.

"I do not know how you got past our border patrols, but I have not come to find that out just yet. Why did you enter Forestman lands without permission?"

Kale, silent for several moments, answered.
"I can explain, Captain..."

Grid: M-24
Location: The Old Ruins

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

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

"How did you get here?" asked the Sorceror-king slowly, digesting what he saw: this was the Old Man's companion, the warrior. "Where are the rest of my men?"

"Dead or dying for the most part," replied Sir Dractor. "Now step away from that lady."

"One hundred and twenty-eight men!" came the voice of Del Grakken. "Dead or dying?"

"About that many, yes," replied Sir Dractor congenially, but keeping his eyes fixed on the Sorceror-king. The big warrior was slowly making his way across the chamber.

"But... but... how!!!" stammered the Dragon Master captain.

"My sword," replied the Sir Dractor. He was halfway across the floor. The Sorceror-king didn't dare turn away from him now. If he turned away, the big warrior could be at his throat before he could kill Elwen and raise his defence. He decided that his defence took priority. Elwen's death would be pointless if he died as well. His hand went to his sword.

"A most impressive score," he noted.

"I had help," replied Sir Dractor. Only then did the Sorceror-king notice the badly-limping figure of Sir Jayko standing by the entranceway. "And I hardly did it all at once. The streets are narrow, and they were spread out."

"Still," said the Sorceror-king, "an impressive feat." Sir Dractor had stopped, three yards from him.

Unwatched by the Sorceror-king, or the Dragon Masters, or indeed by anybody, Jayko had made his way over to the fallen Dragon Masters, and grabbed an assortment of weapons.

"Now," said Sir Dractor, his greatsword held ready, "stand away from the lady."

"And if I don't," replied the Sorceror-king slowly, menacingly, "what will you do?"

"I'll kill you," said Sir Dractor calmly and quietly. "I will die before I let you kill her."

"Then die you will," said the Sorceror-king with a laugh, his sword swept from its sheath, green fire coming alight.

While Dragon Master and Cavalier alike watched the slow, measured interplay between the two, Jayko carried the weapons over towards the surrounded Cavaliers. He then set them on the floor, and with a loud scraping sound, shoved them through the legs of the Dragon Masters to the Cavaliers.

Startled by the noise and the unexpected movement, the Dragon Masters and Cavaliers alike did nothing for half a second. Then the Cavaliers dove for the weapons, grabbing them and setting on the Dragon Masters. Jayko, too wounded to fight, scurried away from the battle.

As if that was the cue, the Sorceror-king and Sir Dractor leapt at each other, blades clashing.

Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:[It would be Rebel Resistance’s first and final battle.

Grid: G-7
Location: Falconis City

When the mighty Falcon Spire came into view, a load roar echoed across the Black Falcon plains as seven hundred persons -- male and female, Black Falcon and Bull -- let out a cry that had been bottled up for some for a decade.

“BLOODY FALCONS!”

The Bulls surged forward like a giant storm surge, their feet churning up the sod, their spears rattling. At their head was Barbod, his own spear raised, his voice louder than most.

“A BULL IS ALWAYS CHARGING!”

“HOLD!” Bersun cried to his own army as they started forward as well, “Don’t waste your energy. The Bulls must storm the gate. Too many of us, and we would clog the battlefield.”

And so the Rebel Falcons continued onward at their current pace, while in their foreground the last remnants of the Bulls -- the nation that had touched the edge of extinction -- charged the capital of the arch enemy.

The Black Falcons had form almost a shamble of ranks, twenty men across and ten deep, in front of the main city gate. With their entire attention fixed vividly on the approaching Bulls, they were unaware that a small party of horsemen had infiltrated the city by a side gate. Vanderdious and his team were in. Now, if the Bulls could only distract the Falcons long enough…

Bloodlust filled Barbod. A bloodlust like no other. The Bull King’s ancient barbarian roots welled up and consumed him, and he roared like a beast, challenging all who opposed him. As he and his Bulls neared the platoon of Black Falcon soldiers, Barbod saw only one thing; the face of Falconis XXVIII, the man who had caused all of Barbod’s pain. Falconis; the man who declared war on the Bulls, Falconis; the man who send Faolan the Assassin to kill Barbod’s father, Falconis; the man who sent Faolan again, this time to kill Barbod himself; Falconis; the man who had destroyed Barbod’s nation.

Falconis XXVIII may have been dead, but his corruption still permeated throughout the Black Falcon empire. Falconis’ cruelty and malice and hate still lived. And Barbod was here to kill it. And kill it he did.

The uneven Bull line hit the braced Black Falcons like a wizard’s magical detonation. The spears of both factions pierced shields, armor, flesh. Bulls fell. Black Falcons fell. Their blood mingled, and soaked into the earth as one. Shattered spears were flung away, swords were drawn. Blades hacked, flesh split apart. Limbs and heads were separated from torsos, and guts spilled freely. It was a mass, chaotic, insane blur. And when it was done, the Black Falcons were not more. They had died for a cause that was approaching it’s own imminent death. The Bulls had won the gate to Falconis City. It was the job of someone else to open it.

M-8 Drullen Bell Keep

Kale, silent for several moments, answered.
"I can explain, Captain..."

“A wizard I was once in the employ of, on the southern side on Dametreos sent me an urgent message requiring my assistance.”

Kale didn’t bother lying. “A wizard did it” was one of the oldest excuses in the book, but this Anardan fellow didn’t look like the type to willingly meddle in their affairs.

“With the Wolfpack in the state it’s in, I chose not to linger there. To reach my employer I had to go through a forest dweller realm. If I took the Dark Forest route, it could take monthes I do not have.”

That was all Kale really had to say. The situation looked grim but he had an insurance policy.

Anardan thought a moment. “One other thing, the Glademan who brought you in said a warrior with the Bull’s crest saved a forestwoman from a brigand. I assume the warrior of this tall tale was you?”

Kale gave him a toothy grin. “Aye that it was…”

Anardan began to speak again “Well tresspassers aren’t takin’ lightly, but if you really did save a forestwoman( Anardan was skeptical) Lord Bjarn may give you a pardon, it’s not my place to hand out the punishments ‘round here.”

Kale smiled “checkmate…” He said to himself.
Something got to him the way he said “Bull’s crest” Even in Garbite which was full of rogues, none knew the Bull Empire had ever existed…

Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:The Bulls had won the gate to Falconis City. It was the job of someone else to open it.

Grid: G-7
Location: Falconis City

Vanderdious, Freena and four other Rebels sped along the cobblestones of Falconis City. They were horribly conspicuous, but no one noticed them. All the residents were fleeing away from the gate and to the Black Falcon's Fortress. No one stopped to comtemplate why six Black Falcons were running toward the gate.

"Frasier, Jon -- get up on that wall and see how our Bull friends are doing!" ordered Vanderdious, "The rest of you -- come on, to the gatehouse!"

The two men split off to do Vanderdious' bidding. Meanwhile Freena had already skidding to a halt in front of the giant oak doors. Large beams barracaded the twin doors, but they were poorly placed, and the four Rebels spend little time shoving the beams aside.

"Vander!" Frasier cried from above, "The Bulls have completely kicked the tyco outta the Falcons!"

"Right then!" shouted Vanderdious, "Push!"

With Vanderdious and Freena pushing on one door, and the other two Rebels pushing on the other, the gates of Falconis City swung outward into the carnage of the Bull and Black Falcon battle. Lord Barbod limped forward, bloodied but still powerful, and pounded Vanderdious on the back.

"My thanks, Vander. Us Bulls can make mincemeat of bloody Falcons with our barge hands, but we can't knock down a door."

"Not a problem."

Bersun and his army had now approached the gate.

"Lord Barbod," Bersun said from his mount, "May I respectfully request we take the battle from here?"

"Aye." nodded Barbod, wiping muck from his forehead, "You do that..."

"Very good." nodded Bersun. Then he raised his voice to a cry, "REBELS! INTO THE CITY!"

The Rebel Black Falcons hurrahed and charged forward like a stampede. They knew their orders. Avoid bloodshed, but kill if Martin's men resisted. Like a rising flood the Rebels spread throughout the city, capturing soldiers and surrounding every building. There was no escape for Martin loyalists. Not even for Martin himself.

Martin was a stubborn man, but he was not an idiot. The recent plague had stopped the Falcon counterattack into Royal territory dead cold and the imitative had been lost. He had to have a contingency plan. Every great general had a plan B, and though he had feared and even tried to ignore the possibility of a revolt, it was now upon him. He had left Falconis City at the break of dawn in a carriage - ironically in the same fashion Durlass had left. This time though he was heading east, not north.

At the spire, Vanderdious broke into the royal chambers, sword in hand. The doors had been barred shut, but as he and his men entered, there was no one to be found, quite the opposite from the fierce resistance he had prepared for. In his calculating and well tuned mind there could be only one conclusion. Quickly turning around he pointed with his sword to one of the officers behind him.
“Chayefky – take your men and divide them into four parties. Take the roads north, east, south and west of here. It seems our bird has flown the coop.

Martin leaned out the window of his carriage. He had just passed Jogansburg – that meant has was a little over five miles out from the capitol. Hopefully he had allowed enough time for himself. With luck, he could reach the Forestman border, bluster his way through the single road that led to Crusader lands, and figure things out from there.

Chayefky had chosen to go east with ten others. Passing through the city gates, he noticed the painful fact that they were not manned. Ten minutes later he had reached Jogansburg. It was a simple fortified city with a small population. Seeing a lone soldier patrolling the main street Chayefky stopped and addressed him.
“You there – did a rider come through here recently?”
Planting the butt end of his spear into the ground the man rubbed his nose. “A rider? There hasn’t been any traffic through here all day ‘cept for a few supply wagons and a carriage.”
“A carriage?”
“Yessir – came through here in an awful hurry. Barely five minutes ago I would say.”
Chayefky turned to his men. “I think we’ve found our quarry. Ride on!”

Martin was felling uneasy. Leaning out the window again he called to his driver. “Can’t you make this thing go any faster?”
Whip in hand, the soldier turned his neck. “I’m sorry sir, but this is the fastest I dare go.”
Martin scowled and dropped back into his seat.

The road into Jogansburg had been paved, but now the highway was a stretch of dry dust. Cresting a hill, Chayefky strained his eyes looking for his prey. Far in the distance he thought he saw a cloud of dust. If that was Martin, his job would be done in a few minutes.

Martin saw his pursuers about the same time. He called out his window a third time.
“Stop the carriage.”
“Sir?”
“Dammit, I said stop!”
Pulling on the reigns, the driver stopped the four horses and opened the General’s door.
“I wait here. Go if your want to.”

Chayefky couldn’t believe it. A short distance ahead he saw a stopped carriage with a man directly behind it, facing him.
“Surrender your arms. You are outnumbered.”
The man did not respond. With a mixture of frustration and apprehension, Chayefky advanced further. He was now twenty feet from the lone figure whom he instantly recognized as Martin.
“Dismout men.”
The ten soldiers obeyed their commander’s orders, drawing their swords as they did so.
Pointing his weapon at Martin Chayefky spoke again. “I give you one more chance. Drop your weapon and surrender or I’ll kill you.”
Martin smiled and took off one of his leather gloves, advancing to the officer. When he came within ten feet he threw it at Chayefky’s feet. “Fight me first. If you win, your task is done. I win, your men will leave me and I promise never to return again to this land.
Chayefky’s noble blood boiled inside of him. One half wanted to accept Martin’s challenge – a thrown glove was an invitation to a duel. The other half pulled at him, almost convincing him to call his men to overwhelm the former dictator.
“Very well then. I accept.”

Martin attacked first. He was years out of practice, but in his day he had been one of the best swordsmen in his division. Chayefky blocked it, driving his sword around aiming for the General’s oversized waist. Swinging around Martin evaded the attack while simulations swing his weapon upwards aiming for Chayefky’s unprotected head. That blow was blocked as well while the cavalry commander deftly stepped aside, sword still in contact, letting his own drop while Martin’s dove to the ground, its momentum still going. Just before it hit the earth, the dictator pulled it to the right nearly cutting off Chayefky’s legs. The officer quickly jumped up, letting Martin’s swing go unobstructed, while leaving the entire left side of his body exposed. Chayefky stabbed to the left, making contact with Martin’s torso but rebounding off of his concealed armor. Still, the blow winded the older man causing him to stagger backwards. Chayefky pressed his advantage, attacking again and again until Martin collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. Grinning Chayefky wiped the sweat off of his brow. “That was too easy. I should have killed you then. In fac…”
Chayefky’s words were cut short as the enraged man, gathering every last bit of his energy jumped up driving his sword right into the commander’s stomach. Gasping, Chayefky’s eyes bulged out as he tried to scream in pain, finding he couldn’t. Staggering, he dropped to the ground blood gushing as Martin removed his sword.

The general turned to the other soldiers smiling when one of them swiftly drew an arrow sending between Martin’s eyes.

Martin was finally dead. As he sank to the ground he muttered something unintelligible before everything went black before his eyes.

Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:The Rebel Black Falcons hurrahed and charged forward like a stampede. They knew their orders. Avoid bloodshed, but kill if Martin's men resisted. Like a rising flood the Rebels spread throughout the city, capturing soldiers and surrounding every building. There was no escape for Martin loyalists. Not even for Martin himself.

G-7

It surprised everyone on how easily Falconis City had been taken. Aside from the resistance at the gate where twenty-four Bulls had died, and in the city itself, where eighteen Rebels died, there was very little violence. Most of the Martin loyal had simply surrendered, too weak and with too low of morale to fight. When is was confirmed that the violence have almost completely been quelled, the Rebels too old to fight or not willing to fight, the Lone Falcon, Lord Drakkko Rulph Belricks and Mayriz among them, entered Falconis City.

“Lone Falcon, sir!” saluted Bersun, riding up, “The city is ours.”

“Very good, Captain Bersun.” the Lone Falcon nodded his approval, “Has Martin Humboldt been captured?”

Bersun shook his head.

“Nay, sir. Vanderdious had sent scouts in all directions to search for him. It won’t be long.”

“Very good.”

The Lone Falcon turned to Mills.

“Mills, immediately organize runner messengers to the kingdoms of the Royal Knights and the Black Knights proclaiming the instant surrender of the Black Falcons. This is the message the messengers are to deliver personally.”

The Lone Falcon handed over two rolls of parchment.

“Also, send a messenger to the Classic Emperor with this message.”

The Lone Falcon handed over another parchment.

“What is it, milord?” asked Mills.

“A statement proclaiming Martin Humboldt’s downfall, and the rise of the New Age for the Black Falcons. The Black Falcons have turned away from their ancient and noble ways in the last decade. Now, that is about to change. The Black Falcons will be ‘bad’ nation no more.”

Grid: M-24
Location: The Old Ruins

Formendacil wrote:Startled by the noise and the unexpected movement, the Dragon Masters and Cavaliers alike did nothing for half a second. Then the Cavaliers dove for the weapons, grabbing them and setting on the Dragon Masters. Jayko, too wounded to fight, scurried away from the battle.

As if that was the cue, the Sorceror-king and Sir Dractor leapt at each other, blades clashing.

Jayko was safely away from the battle, clutching his arm, and limping. He had been rather badly hurt fighting the Dragon Masters with Sir Dractor. In reality, it had been Sir Dractor doing most of the fighting, stabbing and wounding the enemy with deadly efficiency.

Jayko was amazed at the big warriors martial skills. He was faster than seemed humanly possible, and he had a cat-like grace and powerful strength. He was, it seemed, a perfect fighter.

However, as Jayko watched Sir Dractor fight the Sorceror-king, it occurred to him that the great warrior might well have met his match. The Sorceror-king was meeting Sir Dractor's sword blow for blow, seemingly with as great of strength as that of the great knight. Their blades were hitting each other with powerful clangs, at speeds almost too fast for the eye to catch. It was a duel of titans, and Jayko couldn't keep his eyes from it.

On the outside, Sir Dractor would have appeared to have the advantage: he was a head taller, wider in the shoulder, larger of muscle, and clad in armour where the Sorceror-king was not. In practice, however, they appeared to be equally matched.

If anything, the Sorceror-king might have been better than Sir Dractor. The green-firey sword, in addition to clashing against Sir Dractor's own blade, was slipping under the big knight's guard, with him only catching on his armour in the nick of time. There were already several dents in the armour.

But after a few minutes of amazed staring, Jayko began to wonder about something: the Sorceror-king was only fighting in a normal human fashion (if remarkably well). He wasn't using his magic. And having seen the strength of it when he had dueled the Old Man in the streets, Jayko had to wonder why.

~~~~~~~~

The Sorceror-king, of course, had his reasons. The truth was that he had worn himself right out fighting the Old Man. It had taken pretty much all the strength he had. By now he had recovered enough that he could probably attempt something small, but he was winning, and who knew if he might need the strength later.

Although the tide of his duel might well turn. Sir Dractor was a excellent match. And had the big knight not tired himself by fighting- and defeating!- all of his Dragon Masters, he would be even harder-pressed than he was. And Sir Dractor was showing no signs of flagging in the near future.

He began to think that it might be better to use what magic he had, rather than allow the duel to go on beyond what he could definitely handle.

~~~~~~~~

Jayko had been following the fight, and by the next time that he noticed where he was, he was standing almost right beside the great table. Jayko rather quickly forgot the battle, and decided to try and revive Elwen. First he tried shaking her, but that seemed to have no effect. Then he saw a full waterskin sitting on the belt of one of the fallen Dragon Masters. He limped over to get it.

~~~~~~~~

The Cavaliers were beating the Dragon Masters. They outnumbered them, for one. For another, they had superior training. But mostly, it was because they were more determined. Quorandis was more than a little angry at Del Grakken, and at the Dragon Masters in general, and his men felt the betrayal by the Sorceror-king as well.

So it wasn't too long before the Dragon Masters had been defeated, and were lying on the floor in the same condition as Elbadar and his men.

But turning to see Sir Dractor and the Sorceror-king they saw that things were not going quite so well there.

~~~~~~~~

The Sorceror-king decided to try something simple, like tripping his opponent. So he whipped a thin, invisible strand of magic around the big warriors legs, and tugged. Sir Dractor tumbled to the ground, and the Sorceror-king's sword came slicing down. Sir Dractor raised his shield, but the sword cut right through it, ripping it in two. Sir Dractor tossed away the remnants of the shield, and rolled to the side as the Sorceror-king struck again.

Slashing with his own sword as he climbed to his feet, he caught the Sorceror-king in the calf, drawing the first blood. The Sorceror-king gasped in pain, and lashed out by wrenching Sir Dractor's sword-arm back, leaving him momentarily defenseless. Only a quick twist of his torso so that the centre of his breastplate took the blow of the sword saved the big knight.

His arm back in control, Sir Dractor swung double-handedly at the Sorceror-king. The Sorceror-king blocked his blow so swiftly that Sir Dractor's huge blade was shorn in two. Which mean that the bottom half kept travelling to deliver a nasty cut to his abdomen.

The Sorceror-king was angry now. Really angry. Wounded in two places, and facing an opponent who was STILL armed with an almost-normal sized sword, he decided it was time to go all-out.

Drawing all of his magic reserves, he prepared to send a bolt of power at Sir Dractor that would blow him down. It would take ALL of his remaining magical strength, but there was no way he could miss at that range, and Sir Dractor was no sorceror like the Old Man, to be able to withstand such an attack.

But when he had clenched his power, and put forth his hand to cast it, nothing happened. His power would not leave him. He looked up at the great table, and saw Elwen standing there, hands on the table, a triumphant smirk on her face. But before he could do anything about that, Sir Dractor launched himself at him.

Grid: B-18
Location: Camp Maurdord

Ajaxx Dragonsbane ordered a gathering of all his men the next day.

“MEN OF THE DRAGONSBANE BRIGADE!” Ajaxx greeted from a podium. The two thousand Dragon Master soldiers of all ranks cheered and hurrahed.

“I HAVE CALLED YE HERE TODAY!” Ajaxx continued, then lowered his voice, “To tell ye all one thing: It be our time. Yes! Our time! Our time to strike! Our time to attack! Our time to overthrow!”

The soldiers roared and pounded spear-butts into the ground. Ajaxx raised his hand and they all obediently fell silent.

“We be all waiting many months for this time! Many months, indeed. But we be waiting no longer. At last, the opportune moment has come! Our quest cannot fail! Tomorrow, we will sail from here, from our beloved lands, and we sail to Dragonar! To the capital! To the Fire Breathing Fortress! We will take what is ours!”

Once again, there was another loud ruckus. Again, Ajaxx raised his hand and the cheering stopped.

“It be not right for a unholy spawn of Satan to rule over the lives of men! IT BE NOT!”

Ajaxx slammed his fist into the podium. Dragon Masters booed.

“We be men of valor. We be men of strength. We be men of level mind. What right does sorcerers have to rule over US?”

“NONE!” cried the men.

“We be not sheep!” proclaimed Ajaxx, “We be not cattle! We need not someone different from ourselves to rule over us! We be men, and men should rule over men, not sorcerers! Too long Dragon Masters have been herded by wizards and sorcerers and warlocks! No more! We will break free! The men of Dragonar shall overcome!”

The Dragon Masters of the Dragonsbane Brigade went insane, roaring and shouting and stamping and pounding. Ajaxx did not bother quieting them. Instead he rose his voice higher and commanded, “WE BE LEAVING BY THE MORROW’S DAWN!”

Then he turned, and left the podium. Japheth greeted him with a slight bow.

“Ye be a masterful speaker, my friend.”

“Aye, Japheth, aye. Now, be sending out the order.”

“Aye.” Japheth turned from Ajaxx and bellowed into the crowd, “Captain Darvack! Captain Jeckel! Proceed with camp deconstruction!”

“Aye, sir!”

“Aye, sir!”

The two men saluted crisply and began barking orders at the recruits. Japheth turned away and entered Ajaxx’s tent. The Commander-General was already rolling up parchments and placing them in a chest. He looked over his should and allowed himself a smiled.

“This be a grand day, Japheth, a grand day indeed.”

Location: The Dungeon, Drullen Bell Keep

Anardan was still skeptical. Until he knew more about his purpuses, he could not make an honest decision about what to do with the prisoner.
"Sent by a wizard, you say?" he said, watching Kale closely.
"I've had more dealings with wizards then you would know, and they never send people on idle errands. If time is such an important factor in your quest, perhaps you wouldn't mind sharing it with me? It is my buisness, and Lord Bjarn's as well, to know exactly why you were trespassing on our land."

Kale seemed reluctant to answer, so Anardan continued, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword.

"We never take armed intruders lightly in Forestman lands during times of war, and now especially. If you remain silent, I am afraid that I cannot allow you to leave. Will you talk?"

M-8 Drullen Bell Keep

"We never take armed intruders lightly in Forestman lands during times of war, and now especially. If you remain silent, I am afraid that I cannot allow you to leave. Will you talk?"

Kale appeared calm on the outside but the inside was an entirely diferent matter. This was by far not the first time he was being questioned and by far no the last. He had always been able to talk his way out of things. If not he killed them in the first chance.

Still Kale nevered got into the habbit of lying. “Well…A wizard from Legoland by the name of Pythos always employed me years ago. He was always doing the right thing, the Emperor would call on him whenever he could stomache a wizard’s presence. Pythos recently sent a messenger requiring my services.

I don’t know what for but I believe it is urgent. He hadn’t need of me for years, he was quite capable of doing things on his own. He only asked for aid when failure had dire consequences!”

There was now a note of irritation in his voice. Anardan didn’t speak, he was clearly skeptical. “Tyco checkmating the King! I out to smash the whole board now…” Kale said to himself.

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

L-12 Castle Dracul


Count Belzzar was hysterical to Pythos’s amusement. Who wouldn’t? There was a massive hole in the side of his castle. Rushing in to see what in intellebrix happened were the entire force of Crypt Guard, the Elite Knights in the Fright Knight Army.

Belzzar would have slain Pythos on the spot, but he was too afriad. Even if Sir Weigraf was missing, Belzzar wasn’t keen to take on Pythos, even with the Crypt Guard behind him.

Smirking, Pythos steapt over to the edge of the hole, again. He kicked a small 1x1 brick over the edge. After a few seconds it was enveloped in darkness.

A pity about Sir Weigraf. He never had a better servant, even that ex-Bull Kale, paled incomparison. As Pythos thought of Kale he decided he was not as vital as he oringinally thought.

Pythos turned to see the Crypt Guard file out with Belzzar, who was muttering under his breath. The Crypt Guardsmen nodded to him. Pythos smirked, he had bent Weigraf to his will in the beginning. Belzzar’s goons appeared even easier to corrupt. With all of them his need for Kale lessened considerably.

But he was only a loose end. A reliable servant, but unnessesary. With that Pythos left. It was time to go through with the next phase of his master plan…