Eragon the Lynching II: The First Age

[darkblade]

Eddie Riggs

"You better be. I need to get in there, we might be able to break there lines if we had our full forces here but the casualties would be too great. We already lost two good warriors here. Not to mention the fact that my Metal was next to useless with that symphony guy they got on their side." Eddie thinks.

"How much pull do you have with the King? Could you get us some more men?"

[nanobot_swarm]

"Bored already? Your attention span must be immesurably short!"
Once again he bum rushes the tail area, however, instead of letting her knock him off his balance again with a tail clap, he instead leaps into the air like a flea, straight into her, Zantetsuken prepared to strike once he is with range of her scales, any of them...

[Draxx]

Feanor
The tall elf feints, then twists his blade, forcing Eragon to over-extend then trying to force the blade from his hand.

Stannis
"We lost forty to their two. Not good odds, even if we were able to counter most of their strategies." He says, still surveying the battlefield. "They will be back, most likely with greater numbers and will be more ready for us." With that, he dismounts, handing the bridle to whoever is convenient.
Straightening his shoulders, he turns and returns to the war room.

[industrious]

Dras-Leona

Arms drenched in sweat, Eragon believes he sees an opportunity. He takes it.

One of Saphira's eyes turns to stare at Gilgamesh. Letta. The man freezes in midair.

I can keep you there for years. But I only need to do so until you die of starvation. Do we understand each other?

Surda War Room

"...Lady Nasuada, I must protest. It's too dangerous to go, especially yours..." As Stannis arrives back in the war room, what appears to be a highly animated discussion abruptly ends. Nasuada stares at the king.

"Anything to report?"

Imperial Border

Benton thinks for a moment. "Currently, he is still amassing the bulk of his army. But I should be able to request an additional...three hundred troops?"

Queen's Hall

One of the elves kneels beside Islanzadi, takes off his cloak, and covers her.

"It would not be...appropriate for you to give her the news alone. Arya deserves to know how her mother died. I will give you an escort on your way South."

Helgrind

"I serve the King. I'll help you however you like, but my primary allegiance is to him. As for what you are requesting...that sort of magic requires me to refresh my memory on a few salient points. Do you have any sort of research facility; library, knowledgeable resources?"

[Draxx]

Stannis
"They will be back." He says grimly. "I am unfamiliar with the weaponry and... steeds they used. If they have more, we will be unable to survive long."
With that he takes a seat.
"May I suggest we spread out our forces? Keeping our men here is a burden on our resources, and holds more soldiers here then are needed to defend this fortress."

Melisandre
The Priestess makes her way to the magic users she heard about before.

Feanor
With a contemptuous flick of his wrist, the blue blade is knocked from his hand. Reversing his grip, Feanor replaces the blade at his hip, and places a booted foot firmly atop it, holding it in place. "If you come against me again, I will kill you. I do not allow myself to be slowed, to be fettered by the by the restraints that hold men back. But for now, you are not my enemy. My Enemy left this world, and I never found my vengeance. So go, while you still have the opportunity to find yours.

[Cracklord]

Malus
"Of course. But I warn you, I will make a hard pace to the destination." He steps over to Quenthal. "I ride in an hour, I dare not delay longer."

Shaidar Haran
"I have the knowledge you require, little man. I will teach you as you need to learn. Now come."

[The Tygre]

Quenthel grits her teeth. Impudent males; they're the same in every damn species. "Very well." Quenthel isn't going to waste another one of her potions. It's time for something more drastic. Quenthel kneels and focuses on herself, centering on her body. The agony venom that coursed through her was intense. It was potent in that the pain was so horrible she couldn't feel the outside world to it, only the poison working through her body, the torment defining her like an silhouette against a blank field. Quenthel prays to Lolth and the Abyss in drow, drawing on her ancient spells. She feels life energy flow over her and through her, healing her wounds. Drow priestesses are wicked, not impractical. They do not command undead, that is the job of necromancers. Instead, drow command arachnids, and choose to channel positive energy over negative.

Her wounds allayed, Quenthel is able to stand on her own two feet, albeit shakily. She notes the state of her armor; the bursts of light from the Queen and Drizzt, to say nothing of her brief time in the sun, have made it brittle. The ensuing battles have cracked and shattered it, to say nothing of what her spider legs did to the back when they ripped from her spine. The blessing of Lolth gone, Quenthel is never above scavenging; "As I've said, the rogue said something about wicked items on him. I will need to inspect his body and sanctify anything unholy I find on him before his remains are properly disposed of. I will require assistance moving it. Any questions?"

[industrious]

Queen's Hall

The one apparently in command shakes his head.

"No objection that I know of, madam Baenre."

Helgrind

The man follows Haram, and waits for further instruction.

Surda War Room

"I'm not sure if that is a wise suggestion, sir." One of his lieutenants. Respectful, but firm.

"The problem is that our enemy seems to be far more mobile than we are. Their retreat was swifter than we could ever hope for. If we were to spread out, then it would play into their strengths. On a battlefield, their superior ability to field troops will be devestating."

Surda Fortress

Wandering the corridors for signs of magic, Melisandre runs into Angela again.

"Looking for the rest of the magic-users? They're busy at the front lines. Nobody like us but us for miles around. Any idea on what to do in the meantime?"

Dras-Leona

The boy's eyes narrow in hate.

"Fine. Let me up so I can go, then."

He sounds like a fuming teenager. Fitting, really.

[nanobot_swarm]

"Bah, you cheating dragon, really going to resort to magic? Well I understand you quite well then, you do not wish to fight (fairly). And now I have a question; are you maintaining this, or does it remain in effect unitl you give the say-so?"

[industrious]

Dras-Leona

The dragon yawns.In battle, there is only who is victorious, and who is dead. You were trying to kill me. I have no intention of giving you a sporting chance.

[darkblade]

Eddie Riggs

"What kind of troops? Calvary? Archers? Infantry? If we go back to town and bring the headbangers and have magnus erect a stage we can form a half-way decent defensive to break there ranks against before we go on the offensive again."

[nanobot_swarm]

"Actually it was more of a way to asure that Feanor was not interupted in his battle. Your rider is a dirty little coward, his style of fighting proves it, I did not want him to call upon a dragon to aid himself. By the way, I've picked up three spells in all my travels, and right now, one really seems to come to mind. If I remember correctly, it was Level Four Break." He then mutters the words to the spell, and hopes the dragon gets turned to stone, or will in at least 10 turns.

[Draxx]

Feanor
The elf stares at him for a moment, then steps back. However, he keeps himself between the Rider and the sword.

Stannis
"You are right. However, we cannot afford to wait. To be blunt, if he is given the opportunity to mobilize we do not have a chance. If we stop moving, then we lose the offensive and he can bring the force of his power onto us. We need to keep moving."

[Cracklord]

Malus
The dark elf heads out in search of Spite, smiling to himself, and leaving Quenthal alone, how ever foolish that may be. Honestly, he hasn't felt so well in a while. In a single, brutal strike he has gained a companion and a bodyguard.
Part of him wonders about her. He has always had terrible luck with women, any he's ever spent time with has, for one reason or another, tried to kill him. Especially his lovers.
What's more, most of them have gotten uncomfortably close. Still the thought of waking up with a dagger in his back is only slightly worse then the thought of navigating an unfamiliar land alone with only a demon for company.

Shaidar Haran
"For now, sleep, and regain your power. I will not need you for some time."

[The Tygre]

Quenthel 'supervises' two of the guards moving Drizzt's corpse to a table. The sun is coming out again. Quenthel is not happy with these developments. Drizzt's body at rest, she looks through his armor, hoping to find anything of value. In particular, she looks for a hunting dagger or anything that might serve as a secondary weapon; she can't rely on her vipers for everything.

[industrious]

Queen's Hall

The renegade has hidden a hunting knife in his boot; the blade looks to be in good condition, although the leather hilt is worn thin in some places. The statuette of his companion is also a welcome sight; the panther would obey whomever held the black carved stone. One of his gloves emits the faint stench of magic as well; removing the thing, Quenthal finds that Drizzt has a fresh scar, seared into the flesh of his palm; a single waving line.

But perhaps most worrying to Quenthal is a note that she finds. A single piece of folded parchment, it is addressed to her, and sealed with a blob of red wax.

Ellesmera

The small group of elves heading towards the stables, where assorted loud noises are emitting from, is an excellent clue as to the whereabouts of Malus's stead. Of course, it could be something unrelated, but the cries of
He ate Flitrunner and Keep him away from my horse would seem to confirm it.

Helgrind

"Sure. Whatever."

Stretching himself out on the rocks, the mage is soon asleep. He snores. Loudly.

Dras-Leona

Eragon stares at his sword for a moment, hesitates, then turns heel and strides back to his dragon. "Come, Saphira. We shall seek it elsewhere."

Gilgamesh's spell has no effect on the dragon. Or rather, Saphira counters it as he casts it. Truly a foolish little human. If we ever meet again, I will not be so merciful. As the Rider clambers on her back, and the duo take to the skies, Gilgamesh returns back to earth in an undignified pile.

Surda War Room

"The problem is," Nasuada begins. "that this fortress is important not only for its location, but for what it contains. Our most reliable intelligence is gathered from this place; losing it would jeopardize our entire crusade."

Imperial Border

"Crossbowmen, for the most part, and some infantry. Crossbows are easier to train recruits with, and while they are more difficult to make than bows, the Empire has no shortage of resources. Our problem is manpower, not materials."

[Cracklord]

Malus
The Darkelf smiles. This is more like it. Following the sounds, he strides up to the stables where Spite is being kept. The Cold One has a bloody snout in horseflesh, and is making satisfied sounds.
Malus takes a bottle of the Nauglir's poisonous slime and, with a wince of distaste, begins rubbing himself with it. It smells, though even delicate elven noses can barely detect it, but the effect, like being suddenly submerged in icy water is less then enjoyable. One by one, he feels his extremities go numb.
However, the Nauglir would never consent to bare him otherwise, hence the technique to make him seem like one of the pack.
It takes more then is healthy, otherwise the demon's stink gets through to the Cold One. He can feel himself taking off a year of his life. At last satisfied, he walks up. "That's my dragonkin." He says, taking the bridle. When confronted by those who claim to have lost horses, he tosses a few priceless trinkets their way. Wealth is more or less meaningless to him.
At last, he returns to the palace, and waits for the escort. While he's at it he checks his mounts scales, claws and teeth, to see how healthy it is.

[The Tygre]

"More drow than he'd like to admit." Quenthel says to no one in particular. She pockets the onyx panther and the dagger, then inspects the note. She mutters a spell over it, checking for any magics; this is Drizzt. It was paranoia around the queen, its a matter of survival around the rogue, even in death. When nothing appears (like it would have in the first run of the corpse, but it never hurts to be cautious around nemeses, especially in death), Quenthel opens the note and reads.

[nanobot_swarm]

Gilgamesh scrambles to his feet, with a frumious expression on his face. His honor had been tarnished, and since he holds it above reason, he would not let it escape so easily. With great anger he says,"I know now what feat we shall acomplish this age, we shall defeat the dragon, but not kill it, no, we'll rip that fell beasts wings messily off."

[industrious]

Malus

The Nauglir's snout and claws are bloody with horseflesh, but he appears to be in the same shape as he was earlier. If there was one thing elves were good at, it was keeping care of animals. Even if Spite's nature was such that taking care of him was a side-effect, rather than their goal. Meat was meat, when you got down to it.

Queen's Hall

There are no spells around the letter, though the words are such that Quenthel briefly wished that it was trapped. Magic she understood. His words, or at least the first two sentences, she did not. The letters were blocky, and written with straight, jerkily drawn lines, nothing like the usual flowing script so characteristic of elves.

I crossed the void beyond the mind. The Empty Space that circles Time.

Drizzt's usual style returned after those two enigmatic verses.

Hello Quenthel,


It is one thing to know that we shall all die. It is quite another to know the time and place and manner that one's body stops breathing. One would think that such news would horrify me. To know that one sunrise after I write these words down, they will be read is quite an experience. There is so much that I wished to do-redeem our race, find love once more...kill you again. But I am dead, and you are not. A wonderful little reversal of our last encounter, wouldn't you agree?

But there is a reason why I am writing these words down, Quenthel. Two last taunts, two final victories from beyond the grave. The first is the knowledge that I knew the hour of my demise, and I played my role willingly, without hesitation or rancor. And I did this because of this second reason. Lolth is the Queen of Spiders. But spiders have many foes, Quenthal Baenre, and I am afraid that one of them moves in the world once more. Beware the Serpents, Quenthal Baenre. We will meet again.

Your humble servant,

Drizzt Do'Urden

[Cracklord]

Malus adjusts his saddlebags, fixes the saddle and, last of all, fastens the warpsword to the cold one with the other relics. He learned a long time ago the best way to keep something safe is fasten it to the back of a short tempered cold one.
Instead he removes a pair of heavy, broad bladed swords, and attatches them to his hips. They have no power, and are worn and notched from use, but they don't try to stab him in his sleep or kill people he'd rather remained alive, and they don't take control of him or give him soul pains. All in all, far preferable. They also meant he had nothing to use to hold of the demons control, but he'd see.
With that he removes the wineskin and takes a sip, then makes a face. Sour.
Tossing it aside, he gets up again, and removes a medallion on a heavy chain from his saddlebag. It weighs enough to seriously hamper a wearers posture, is made of a kings ransom in gold and set with precious stones, the central one a ruby the size of a hens egg. The gem is slightly flawed, detracting from the value slightly.
He passes it to the first elf to approach. "Get me a few skins of wine." He orders, then reseats himself, resuming his waiting with bad grace.

[The Tygre]

Quenthel takes in the note, especially the first two lines. Scrawled... she knew Drizzt went insane in the wilderness, but this still seems wrong. The high priestess plainly commands, "Burn the body and bury the ashes in an unmarked grave. Put a spiderweb over the dirt when you're done. But bring his armor to me." Quenthel walks outside to the impatient Malus. The drow has not forgotten her mission; something has disturbed magic in the Underdark, and it certainly wasn't Drizzt or the queen. This is so far the only clue she has. She finds Malus and shoves the note in his face; "What do you make of this? Aside from the pedantic baiting; the part about Serpents and Voids?"

[Cracklord]

Malus looks at the letter. He can't make head nor tail of it. "I'd say you need my help." He says quietly, drawing her closer to ensure they are not overheard. "The serpent means nothing to me." He says, "but the void... Something my brother once talked about. Something to do with..."
He stops, satisfied that he's baited her enough. "I can't recall exactly, but he once mentioned the dark void as the place gods go to die, bringing all their dead worshipers with them. Something of a theological dispute was occurring at the time. Most of the city were killed, the streets were ankle deep in gore and their were hills of skulls on every corner. I couldn't listen beyond that, as I was too busy trying not to join the dead. I suspect some old enemy, thought to be long defeated, is emerging. Spite can be a powerful force."
Tz'Arken whispers again. So they are involved. Interesting. Perhaps you should be moving faster, Malus. You don't want to find yourself another piece on the gameboard.

((Malus doesn't have a clue what he is talking about, but he doesn't know how to have a relationship not based on manipulation and one individual all but enslaved.
Tz'Arken does, but doesn't feel the need to tell Malus, as it wouldn't help him in any way.))

[Draxx]

Melisandre
The red sorceress motions that it's fine if Angela follows, then continues towards the spellcasters.

Stannis
The hard man stares at the maps. "Wars are lost on hesitation. And are lost on risks." He says, grinding his teeth. "We must continue, the only question is how. And where." He stares at the map again. "Perhaps we should occupy this position with our reserves. Our supply train is stretching too far as it is."

Feanor
The elflord places a booted foot under the sword, and kicks it into his hand, and begins running his hands over it, examining the design, sensitive fingers memorizing the folds of steel and the links of the coal matrices. At last, he places the point against a stone, carefully angles it on the imperfections and flaws, and begins to exert pressure.

[darkblade]

Eddie

"Crossbowmen. Yes this can work. Let's get back to town and talk to King Parinoid." Eddie nods in agreement. He's got a plan now.

[industrious]

Imperial Border

"Very well."

((Eddie is in transit as well. Jack will come out of stasis once Malus/Quenthal depart))

Surda War Room

"It would be foolish to appoint a man in command of our forces and then not take his advice," Orinn remarks. "There is something I must show you, though. After this council is concluded."

Queen's Hall

The elven Honor Guard stand at the ready for the two to leave.

"Yes, ma'am."

Surda Corridors

Angela hurries to keep up with Melissandre.

"I told you; the rest of the magicians are at the front-lines, a good three leagues from here. But your king is going to be heading there soon in any case. Unless the serpents tell him otherwise."

Dras-Leona

Five second of pressure. The blade splinters, then cracks in three.

[darkblade]

Eddie

"One more thing. Also I'll need the four best minstrels you can find and as many contstruction workers as possible."

[The Tygre]

Quenthel huffs and goes back to the hall. If the elves don't have Drizzt out of her sight and his armor ready, she'll tan their hides. Luckily, the corpse isn't waiting for her disdain; a shaking guard is holding Drizzt's mithril shirt, other bits of armor, and his other goods at the ready. Without even acknowledging the guard, Quenthel pockets the various trinkets (i.e. the onyx panther and the hunting knife) and unfolds the shirt. With a growl, the priestess storms off to a private room. It's Hell to chip off her armor, as some of it has seen fit to bury itself in her skin along the way, but Quenthel finally gets the old material off and slips into the mithril shirt. She's annoyed to find it a little loose at the waist but fits otherwise fine. She repeats the process for her boots and leggings (but keeps her red priestess fauld) and adjusts Drizzt's old leather gear for her own frame. She'll have to wash his stench out first chance she gets... Seeing herself fit enough for travel again, Quenthel returns to Malus and says, "Very well then. I am presentable for the time being. I am unfamiliar with these lands. What would you say should be our next course of action?"

[Cracklord]

Malus
The dark elf has painfully removed his armor for the first time in months, and is dressed in a black robe, a kheitan that nobody seems to have noticed is made of human skin (admittedly dyed a rather fetching shade of red that contrasts nicely with his robe), and has his axe clipped to his belt. He has not had time to bathe, so still smells of acid, blood, rust, blood, death, blood and sweat, though not particularly strongly, and they are all covered by the cloying, acidic, dead flowers smeel of the poisonous slime he's rubbed into his skin. A red wool cape settles over his shoulders.
"I am the stranger you are.” He replies. “We have an escort, who will no doubt not hesitate to kill us. I suggest we let the winds carry us for now. They mentioned a war, did they not?”

[industrious]

Queen's Hall

The dark elf and the drow priestess begin their journey southward. The trees grow further and further apart, until they suddenly end, the land fading into desert.

Along their path comes another caravan. Among them, a white-robed human wielding a certain blessed sword.

Uru-Baen

"I rather doubt that there will be any difficulty acquiring those." The streets of the city are almost bare; the people in the streets are pressed against the sides. There is cheering and waving. Some lady wearing far too much clothing(how thickly padded a dress was that?) throws her handkerchief towards Eddie.