The Battle

Stannis's forces mobilize at his words. The cannons begin raining cast-iron rounds at Eddie's troops, and the line, however weak, remains. Somewhere, the sound of strings begins to stir. Looking backwards for a second, Stannis can see the eccentric wielding a slim white baton, a full orchestra behind him.

"Play! Play as if your hearts depended on it!"

From Eddie's perspective, his army's superior weaponry easily penetrates the infantry's mail armor. What the Varden forces lacked in technology, though, they made up for in numbers, and the primitive cannons did keep things...interesting.

Even more worrying, though, was the man wielding the orchestra. Eddie's solo flickers and fades away at the sound of the overture. Classical music. Where metalheads fear to tread.

Ellcrys

"Let us proceed, then."

((putting them in "travel mode" for a while. It takes time to get to Helgrind.))

Dras-Leona

Eragon is tiring; this much can be obvious. Starting with a two handed grip on his...Feanor was loath to call it a sword, as he repeated the counters again and again, his left hand eventually slid off the hilt. Sweat drips down his brow, and his last parry was barely adequate. Then, his free hand drops to his belt, an ornately decorated strip of cloth, and his next counter is a blur of motion; Feanor is taken back.

Filled with a new energy, Eragon presses his offensive.