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  1. - Top - End - #91
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    Default Re: Eragon the Lynching II: The First Age

    Malus
    The dark elf twists aside, letting it hit the ground. Touching it might be a bad idea. "I'll listen to what you have to say." He promises, his hard eyes still focused on her. It seems too good to be true. And therefore, it is. The only people who have ever helped him are trying to manipulate him. It usually does not go well for Malus. "But nothing more."

    Shaidar Haran
    "You are wrong, or I would slumber still. My master awakes before he is due to. Time has broken, and the wheel shall be broken along with it as the pattern. If you dare to stand in my way, you will be destroyed. But you need not be. I can grant you true power. True immortality."
    Nadir We,
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  2. - Top - End - #92
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    Feanor's eyes burned with fury, his sharp, patricians features etched with both grief and rage. He wears mail, but no helmet binds the fall of his black hair. A heavy shield, painted white with the symbol of his house guards his left side, and in his right is a sword of his own work. It is light as the brush of the wind, sharp as the thickness of a shadow, and hard as the foundations of the world. It glows like starlight, and dances in his hands. He sits on a white stallion, seventeen hands tall, tinkling with bells set in it's harness and barding.
    He does not speak, this is not his time, or his place. His enemy is dead, by a hand that was not his own, his treasures taken, never to be recovered. His people are not the noble High Elves that were his people. His other pasts concur. The host of chaos is sealed away his son is dead and his wife a lying whore, the wall is built, the land secure, his people have been taught what was forgotten, the cities have been completed, the dragonlords are gone. There is nothing for him here. And now he does as he always has, and heeds times call.
    Other heroes stand around him, called by the same force to fight the same battle. He pays them scant attention. Instead he whispers in his stallions ear. It rears, and he holds the sword aloft. "To Me!" He yells. "To me, my kinsmen!" With that, he charges.

    ((Stannis?))

  3. - Top - End - #93
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    Du Weldonvarden

    "The branch that I gave you is a part of the Ellcrys, a living tree that has sustained the Forbidding for as long as our history recounts. While such a small sample would quickly crumble in your hands, T'zarken would be driven out for those few moments. And if you were to touch the tree itself, the Forbidding would end, and demons would be free to walk the earth. But there is another way. A twisted arch of stone, hidden in the dungeons under Uru-Baen. The solution to both of your problems lie through that archway."

    Helgrind

    A pause. Beneath the waters of the Hadeshorn, the other Druid spirits writhe in a fury. A moment of silence.

    The only one who can command our power is the wielder of the Black Elfstone. None other can we serve.

    Ellesmera

    "Because..." it is the young girl, Lindariel. Her hand is held before her, palm facing up. Three small blue gemstones twinkle in her loose grasp. "If you do so, I will use these." The priestess of Lolth can smell power in those stones. Old magic, wild and free.

    Uru-Baen Outskirts

    The beasts swallow the commander of the city forces, and his men cry out in protest.

    "Help! Somebody help!"

    Fourth Age

    Walking through the doorway felt no different than walking through any other. On the other side, the twisted doorway stood in the middle of a huge chamber that appeared to be star-shaped through a forest of thick columns, each deeply fluted with eight ridges, the sharp edges yellow and glowing softly for light. Glossy black except for the glowing bits, they rose from a dull white floor into murky gloom far overhead where even the yellow stripes faded away. The columns and floor almost looked to be glass, but when Stannis bent to rub a hand across the floor, it felt like stone. Stone and dust.

    The same voice, rough, like a growl came from behind him.

    "A very long time. Do you abide by the treaties and agreements? Do you carry iron, or instruments of music, or devices for making light?"
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  4. - Top - End - #94
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    Quenthel seethes with anger. Her vision is fringed with red and she has to bite her cheek to keep from screaming in frustrated rage. She's out of options; inflict wounds on the man holding her, and the woman will use the gems. Summon a demon on the woman, and the man will slit her throat. A thought pops into her head; a gigantic swarm of spiders could attack them both if she called one. But she needs information, needs to know about this world and what's happening. With utmost disgust, Quenthel begrudgingly calms her vipers and lowers her whip, absolutely hissing, "Very well." She memorizes their faces. Revenge is an offering unto the Mother of Lusts.
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  5. - Top - End - #95
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    Default Re: Eragon the Lynching II: The First Age

    Inigo and Fezzik ignore the call for help and walk off on their search for Rorran. Cause they aren't getting paid to help the soldiers.

    Inigo and Fezzik break into a run at the beats and stuff.

  6. - Top - End - #96
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    Helgrind
    "Very well. Reap what you have sown." With that, the myrrmadal steps back, the shadow enclosing around him as he slips back to the mountain. Easy as breathing, and just as hard to articulate how you do it.

    Malus stares at it. A real chance of freedom. "I'd like to believe your helping me for the simple reason you don't want a daemon loose in the world, but I'm reluctant to trust you. How do you wish to be repaid?"
    Nadir We,
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  7. - Top - End - #97
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    "I have none." He stops. "But this." With that he removes the red sword of heroes from his hip and ties a string of leather around it, tying it in its sheath. "Now, what was the bargain?"

  8. - Top - End - #98
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    Du Weldonvarden

    "No shame in being outmaneuvered, ma'am. Our only regret is that our journey has to be delayed as well." The walk back to Ellesmera is done in silence. During that time, Quenthal is able to mull her situation over. Captured though she was, she now was able to enter the highest levels of Above elvish authority. For an intelligence-gathering mission, it could have gone far, far worse. The deaths of her captors would be a great offering to Lolth.

    The hall of the Elvish Queen is curious, fascinating even. The wooden halls have periodic gouges in them; whole sections of murals and artistry destroyed. From her training, and from bitter experience, the priestess can see that those sections were those pertaining to gods. Every single one of them stripped from elven memory.

    Quenthal is permitted to enter the Queen's presence alone. There are no guards that she can see in the throne room, no lurking assassins between the columns. The woman on the throne looks young, but that is merely the product of elvish aging. Doubtless she is really centuries old.

    "My adviser tells us that you are a threat to our very way of life. That the 'drow'" she says the word carefully, as one who had never heard it before. "seek our destruction fully and absolutely. Tell me, my dear. Is this true?"

    Uru-Baen

    Apparantly, the entrance of Eddie's vehicles has caused quite a stir. A man and what appears to be a giant are charging at the bus.

    Ellesmera Outskirts

    "Because I was told by that same source that if I did not, my r...later life would be marked with disaster and peril. I do this not only to save the world, but ensure that I am not killed by an assassin. That is repayment for me."

    Helgrind

    The reluctance of the Druid shades, however misguided, would be enough to stoke the Hand's fury. But as one door closes, another opens. Or in the case of the three stasis boxes that line the walls of the next cavern, will be opened shortly.

    The Fourth Age

    The speaker steps into the light, and Stannis can fully see who he had been dealing with. Tall and sinewy, with with shoulders too wide for his narrow waist, and skin as white as the finest paper. Pale leather straps studded with silver crisscrossed his arms and bare chest, and a black kilt hung to his knees. His eyes were too big and almost colorless, set deep in a narrow jawed face. His short cut, palely reddish hair stood up like a brush, and his ears, lying flat against his head, had a hint of a point at the top.

    "Come. I will take you where you may find what you need. Come. And if you wish to leave this place, your iron must never be unsheathed."
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  9. - Top - End - #99
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    Eddie

    "Aw crap. Ain't this been a great day." Eddie jumps out of his car and stands in the way of Fezzik and Inigo with his axe drawn.

    "Do you guys got a problem with my bus? If so can we make this fast. Apparently the King wants to see me, so I should probably get to that."

    ***

    Jack

    The samurai watches the elves but doesn't say or do anything of note.
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  10. - Top - End - #100
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    Stannis is not wait patiently, but holds his frustration close, to be released later. He simply tightens his lips, annoyed at time wasting, and begins grinding his teeth. "I gave you my word didn't I?" He answers, in a tone that makes it clear that should be good enough for anyone, and is all the assurance they'll get.
    With that, he follows, focusing on his guide rather then the scenery, taking note of the way he moves and acts, drinking in every detail.
    His armor is heavy, and it's been a long time, but he wears it well. It feels right, good to be in it again, although he is far from a tournament knight, and upholds his honor through his actions rather then unhorsing other men.
    Last edited by Draxx; 2010-04-12 at 04:23 AM.

  11. - Top - End - #101
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    "A shame that." Spake the swordsman. Drawing the Zantetsuken, a blade that once sliced a hole straight to the void after its previous owner died, alowing him to take it. With it he makes a single strike at the foolish guard, most likely to slice him in two, unless others from beyond intervene.

  12. - Top - End - #102
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    Default Re: Eragon the Lynching II: The First Age

    Quenthel sizes up the queen, and her surroundings. A bilious joy stirs in her that the elf gods are all dead here. Honor and that ever present sense of drow pride demands that she declare war right now. Common sense says to live. Her vipers aren't helping;

    "Lie!"

    "Kill!"

    "Lie!

    "Kill!"

    "Kill them then lie about it!"

    "Ahhh..."

    "Of course!"

    "So simple!"


    Quenthel decides to take the less fatalistic route. Her list of people to casually torture to death grows a little longer. She can't even begin to feign innocent, or scared. Besides, the best lies are the ones that are half-true; "No... not entirely. But there are people among my race that mean you harm, here on the surface even now. They are looking for elves, and worship a vicious goddess of the hunt and the woods. I came here looking for them."
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  13. - Top - End - #103
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    Quote Originally Posted by darkblade View Post
    Eddie

    "Aw crap. Ain't this been a great day." Eddie jumps out of his car and stands in the way of Fezzik and Inigo with his axe drawn.

    "Do you guys got a problem with my bus? If so can we make this fast. Apparently the King wants to see me, so I should probably get to that."

    Inigo. What's a bus?


    I do not know Fezzik. Maybe it's a new breed of buffalo.


    Inigo and Fezzik look curiously at the bus.

    It seems to be a wagon of some kind. Made of metal.
    Last edited by XtheYeti; 2010-04-12 at 05:18 PM.

  14. - Top - End - #104
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    Eddie

    "Oh right. I keep forgetting they haven't been invented yet here. Ugh yeah a metal wagon is a good description I guess." Eddie pauses, this seems to be a simple misunderstanding. No need to kill folks over it.

    "So why are you attacking my 'metal wagon'?"
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  15. - Top - End - #105
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    Default Re: Eragon the Lynching II: The First Age

    The Princess Bride Duo of Awesome.


    What ever do you mean attack it? We simply ran over because we heard all the yelling.


    Inigo. I'm hungry.


    Very well Fezzik. Lets get moving. Have a nice day sir.

  16. - Top - End - #106
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    There are five doors along the wall, each made of cuendillar, tionium and gromril, worked with elaborate wards and sealed with the true power.
    Shaidar Haran places his hand over the smallest of the doors, and, with a flick of his mind, opens it.
    Breeding stock.
    The air within is heavy and musty, as though a hibernating mammal slumbers within. First to emerge is a pair of trollocs, taller then a man, but seeming smaller due to hunched shoulders and crooked, twisted backs. The first has a slavering, hyena like face and sharp ears, it's body coated with brown, mangy fur.
    The other is slightly taller, a tusked pigsnout and heavy brow, with thick arms and bowed legs, covered in bristling, wiry fur.
    They both lower their dark beady eyes, make snuffling, obedient noises. Behind them emerges a small, crooked figure, equally twisted, with wide, lamplike eyes and a wide mouth full of splintered sharp teeth. It breathes through two slits, and it's hands are far bigger then natural, stranglers hands.
    The goblin presses it's head to the floor, whimpering.
    Next to emerge have the vague look of the goblin on a far larger scale, the first one dark skinned, taunt across heavy muscle, with a brutal, craggy face and dangerous eyes, hair lank and greasy, fangs a healthy yellow, and straight, broad shoulders. It's ancestor was hunched and twisted, scrawny and sly, but just as dangerous in it's own way.
    The orc and Uruk-hai both kneel, trembling.
    Shaidar Haran is quiet, already calculating how many human females he will need to create an army. The number is staggering, but expected.
    Next to emerge is what appears to be a dwarf, though wider and squatter. The first one to emerge is almost obscenely muscular, clad in armor of no real craftsmanship or quality festooned with spikes. His beard is shot with animal fat, and his face is tattooed with ugly runes, swearing vengeance and death to the rest of his race. His two wives are likewise decorated, wearing heavy leather skirts and headscarfs holding slightly behind him.
    The thirdlings bow, grudgingly perhaps, but they do it. They never are satisfied with their place.
    A cloven-hooved ungor with goat horns follows, it's muzzle more akin to that of a ravening wolf. Dark, spiral tattoos etched into his thick hide roll and shift in unnerving patterns as he moves. His nostrils flare, his clawed hands flexing with the urge to destroy. An iron amulet set with a glowing green stone hangs around his neck. With it, it would make herdstones and heart-trees where heards of mutants and twisted creatures would gather to pray to the dark ones children. It bares it's neck, shivering in the Dark Ones hands eyeless gaze.
    The troll that followed was very short, muscular, and covered in shaggy gray fur. A barrel chest, disproportionately long, hunched, ape like arms, with powerful, long, thick taloned fingers. It's eyes were huge, and framed by a long, orange, shaggy beard.
    It blinked sightlessly, then shrinks back slightly.
    And behind them emerge more twisted mockeries, shapes inhuman and sinister, each one enough to strike a primal, terrified cord in human memory. Preserved outside time for an event such as this.
    Shaidar Haran smiles then, but leaves them, moving to the next seal.
    The air seems to get colder. then it does, frost blowing out from within, rime coating the floor and walls, as a being emerges. It is enough to make even Shaidar Haran shiver.
    An Other glides out, incredibly gaunt skin and ice pale flesh all but glowing in the murk. It's armor changes color with every step, reflecting each of the shades of frost.
    With incredible grace, it kneels. Behind it come two lesser Myrmadals, averting their features, and an Olog-hai, it's brutish features set in fury, as always. Almost five meters tall, with massive limbs, it looks capable of demolishing a castle wall.
    A bull-like humanoids twice the height and girth of a man, obscenely over muscled with the maw and mane of a lion emerges behind it, it's feral eyes narrowed with bloodlust.
    Behind, their is a cacophany of roars and howls, as heathounds, darkhounds and dire wolves snap and howl, chained in place behind bars, awaiting freedom. A Draghkar emerges, cringing at it's stronger kin, it's wings folded like some leathery cape, and a Jumara is chained in place, thrashing blindly. A crate full of eggs, most dark and hard, waiting to be incubated, or, in a few cases, fertilized.
    Last to emerge is a snake like figure, his shifting cloak blending him into the background, all but rendering him invisible to most eyes, except for the telltale flashes of movement. Shaidar Haran could smell the magic on him, and didn't need eyes to know it was there.
    These would be useful too, though he would need more.
    The final door he left closed. He doubted he was ready to control what was inside, and at the present though it was best to leave well enough alone.
    He stares at the mismatched creatures he would make into an army, and at last straightened his shoulders. He would need human women by the thousands, and human soldiers to fight while he begun it. The rate of conception and survival would be low. They would need to be rapidly replaced. But in the end... So be it.
    He would create a cult to the dark one, as he had so many times, and give them power. In time, he would use them to recruit what he needed, until his army was strong enough to begin the war.
    There was no dragon reborn this time. No legendary hero of light. All those who could challenge the dark one were dead, their courage taken with them to the grave. No ancient order of mystics held vigil. No comet blazed through the sky, proclaiming the birth of a savior. Nothing left to stop his masters triumph.
    With that pleasant thought, Shaidar Haran stepped into the shadows and vanished, the two fades following him.
    Last edited by Cracklord; 2010-04-12 at 08:25 PM.
    Nadir We,
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    Victors Still.

  17. - Top - End - #107
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    The Hall of the Queen

    The queen raises a single perfect eyebrow. "There are no gods. We've outgrown such silly superstitions."

    Behind the priestess comes the slow clap of mocking applause, and the large wooden door creaks as it is ponderously closed shut.

    "Oh, well said, Quenthal. Did the She-bitch Queen tell you to recite that, or did you have to grovel for seven hours and flagellate yourself with your vipers to find those words?" That voice...that mocking tone...no. It can't be. But it is. Turning around, Quenthal Banrae sees none other than Drizzt Do'Urden, leaning against the doorframe, an insolent smile on his face, and twin scimitars sheathed at his side.

    "Hello, Quenthal. Drizzt's here!"

    Helgrind

    A sudden shift in the Pattern shifts the Fade and his companions out from the shadows, and back into the room. A Horn, blown to defend a realm against a strange foe. Shaidar can remember its last sounding at Taimon Gaiden, can remember the Gambler summon the Light's greatest heroes. And now, it was in the world once more.

    Uru-Baen Cafe

    The others at the tavern stare at Fezzik for a brief moment before returning to their own drinks. The bartender is currently occupied, serving a hot frothing mug of...something to another patron. As Inigo catches the man's attention, he waves you towards an empty table.

    "Can...I...here you are sir...get you gentlemen anything?"

    Castle Galbatorix

    The room Eddie is eventually escorted into is paneled with fine dark wood. Spartan in design, the only decorations are a fireplace, logs cheerfully burning, and a framed map of what appears to be the continent Eddie is currently on. At a short table built for two, a man, apparently in his late fifties, dressed in a severe gray robe gestures towards the other empty chair.

    "Please, sit." The request carries no implication of threat or violence; it is merely a polite request.

    Teirm

    The guard narrowly dodges the blade's edge. "Barbarian. I know not from whence you came, but for the good of the Empire, you will be destroyed!"

    The Fourth Age

    The large five-sided doorway looked more like a tunnel mouth, for the corridor beyond was exactly the same size and shape, with those softly glowing yellow strips running along the bends, edging floor and ceiling. It seemed to stretch ahead forever, fading into a murky distance, broken at intervals by more of the great five-sided doorways. The kilted man did not turn to lead until they were both in the hallway, and even then he kept glancing over a wide shoulder as if to make certain Stannis was still there. The air was no longer musty; instead it held a faint hint of something unpleasant, something tickling familiarity but not strong enough to recognize.

    At the first of the doorways, Stannis glanced through in passing, and sighed. Beyond star-shaped black columns, a twisted red stone doorway stood on a dull glassy white floor where dust showed the marks of oneset of boots coming from the doorway, led toward the corridor by the prints of narrow bare feet. He looked over his shoulder. Instead of ending fifty paces back in another chamber like this, the hallway ran back as far as he could see, a mirror image of what lay ahead. never changed, with its bent walls and its glowing yellow strips. Every doorway showed the identical chamber: doorway, footprints and all. The sameness made time slip into formlessness. But he walked, staring at his guide’s back, and walked.

    Suddenly the corridor ended ahead in another doorway. Looking back, the corridor ran back until the glowing yellow strips seemed to come together in a point. And there was not an opening to be seen anywhere along it. The guide is nowhere to be found.
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    From the other hand, he produces the replica buster sword, and begins to use the two in a unison dance of death against the fool guard. Enkidu barks and harrasses the guard as well, but does not directly attack.

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    Fezzik's stomach growls loudly enough for the whole tavern to be quieted by it.

    Enough food to make that stop please good sir. And I'll take a light meal, and we'll both take a mug of whatever you suggest. But keep a barrel on hand for the big guy's refills.


    Inigo. Is there going to be a fight later?


    There always is Fezzik. There always is.

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    (warning, another block of text.)

    Malus Darkblade
    He is cold, thirsty, hungry and he can't remember a time he felt better. Hope, at last. While part of his soul cries out at dealing with his cousins, those he spent most of his life swearing vengeance against, his pragmatism triumphs at long last "So be it. May I make my way to your city? I find myself short on provisions, and it seems there is a journey ahead of me, if a welcome one." He sweeps his hand at what's left of the elves. "If it's any consolation, they started the fight. I didn't want to kill them." It's true, though he would have said exactly the same thing if it hadn't been

    Assuming they say yes and give him directions, Malus mounts spite and rides off, leaving the fallen leader he threatened to torture lying where he is. He's been riding nearly ten minutes when he feels a terrible, ice feeling settle in his gut, and lurches from the saddle with a bestial groan.
    If not, this happens at his first moment when the daemon is sure they are alone.

    And then he hears the voice, hissing in his ear like a serpent. You disappoint me, little Druchi, the daemon whispered hatefully, and the vipers coiled around his heart suddenly contracted.
    The pain was intense, beyond anything he had felt since Ghrond. He hit the ground in a clatter of steel and then onto his side, clawing futilely at his armored chest, trying to get his heart to resume beating, but the daemon was relentless.
    What foolishness is this, bending knee to that travesty of a queen, and playing at war when you and I have unfinished business. He continued. Have you grown so accustomed to my presence in the last few months that you have forgotten the bargain you and I made? Because I assure you I have not.
    There was a roaring in his ears, and his vision was turning red, like a rising tide of blood. Malus would not have been surprised to learn that blood it was blood, and furthermore his own. With a faint groan he squeezed his eyes shut.
    "No... please... haven't" He choked out, unable to make his clumsy lips form words.
    The grip on his heart grew slightly tighter, for a second Malus was sure it would burst. Then the daemon let him go, the cold touch of the daemon's anger settling in his bones. And then T'zarken drew him to his feet like some marionette.
    Spite started, and drew back with a warning growl. Malus dimly saw Spite slinking slowly away from him, and his experienced eye immediately recognized he was in dire trouble.
    Such a... inspired thing you threatened your kinsmen with. What a good idea. Perhaps I'll let you go, after I have this beast of yours bite off your sword arm. I can make you stick your hand in its mouth if I wish. Would you like to see?
    A violent tremor wracked the highborn's body, and he began, haltingly, to lift his right arm.
    Spite let out an angry bellow, shaking the air with a thunderous cry.
    Such crude, weak flesh you have, Darkblade. The daemon said, forcing him to take a step forward. In fact, I'm entirely happy to let the beast bite of both your arms, if that's what it takes to keep you from Ellcrys. And if you go near that archway, I'll show you just how terrible I can be. We are going to the Helgrind. That is final.
    A thin, despairing wail rose from his lips as he jerked like a childrens doll, lurching towards the nauglir.
    Spite's head was lowered, his powerful tail lashing. The cold one was about to strike.
    Understand?
    The daemon released him. Malus threw himself at the ground as the cold one lunged, it's blocky jaws slamming shut a hairs breadth above him, scattering sprays of venomous drool where the highborn had been.
    "Back you damn lump of scales." Malus shrieked, his hands pushing against the beast with all his strength. The Cold one sniffed him, drew back, sniffing him, then, seeming contented, turned around, lowering itself onto it's haunches for him to mount.
    "Stupid beast." Malus said affectionately, pulling himself clumsily to his feet.
    Have I made my point Malus?
    "You have." Malus replied softly, as he spurred the cold one towards the city. "You have."
    Last edited by Cracklord; 2010-04-12 at 10:30 PM.
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  21. - Top - End - #111
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    Stannis followed, already angry that the man had not answered him. Stannis was not a man who had ever taken rejection well, and that had only compounded by becoming a king. Eyes narrowed, he adds the slight to
    The only thing Stannis was more renowned for then his obsession with duty and justice, was his ability to remember slights.
    Stannis stares around the area he has been left, and grits is teeth. In the stillness of the maze, the sound can be heard, a low grinding.
    For a moment he considers sitting down and waiting, they brought him in, after all, surely not to puzzle at their odd home, but he dismisses it.
    He will come to them.
    Picking a corridor at random (third one along), he steps towards it, after notching the edge with a steel knife. That done, he steps through.


    Feanor, a song on his lips as the joy and clarity of battle comes upon him, leaps his white horse over the bridge in a single bound, his blade weaving a pattern of death. Like a thunderbolt he descends, a host of elven heroes at his back, his sons among them, Glorfingel, Gil-Galad, Tyrion the defender, Elrond Half-elven, Tanis Half-elven, more then could named. But he outpaces them all. He has experience from countless lives, and in each he was a champion of champions.
    "Face me." He says, landing in front of the guard, his sword raised.
    Last edited by Draxx; 2010-04-12 at 11:50 PM.

  22. - Top - End - #112
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    Eddie

    Eddie sits down as instructed, although far less formally than one meeting royally usually is. His back reclined and his legs proped up showing the utmost disrespect or complete and utter stupidity. It is impossible to tell really.

    "So why did you summon me?"

    ***

    Samurai Jack

    Confused and rather annoyed by the incident with Malus Jack sets about wandering the forest on his own.
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    The Ellcrys

    Eventually, the Samurai finds himself in a strange part of the forest. The trees grow cracked and bare; as he further progresses into the wood, the blackened wood fades to half-crumbled stumps amidst tall grass. In the center lies a great tree, its bark white, with leaves as red as blood. A pair of young maidens tend to it lovingly, carefully searching for rot, or dead leaves, or any deformities.

    Castle Galbatorix

    The man looks thoughtful. A quick flash of irritation at Eddie's casual posture, but his expression is still carefully controlled. He did make the offer, after all. To not accept its consequences would only reflect poorly on him.

    "I was curious, young man. What would possess someone like you to set off against the Varden, wielding one of the strangest armies I have ever seen, and refusing Imperial support?" He sounds like a grandfatherly uncle; almost, but not quite old enough to be automatically considered "wise."

    Ellesmera

    The city is made entirely of the trees; every building carved from the living wood by loving hands. There is happiness here, contentment and joy. Pleasures that Malus has long since forgotten. Here and there lie preperations for war; long wooden shafts to be made into spears, blacksmiths forging swords not for beauty but utility. Some turn to stare at the strange elf, ugly and dark-skinned, face warped by experiences they cannot imagine.

    Cafe

    The tavern is soon crowded, and the duo can see why. The food is superb; the ale passable. But around luncheon, most are not indulging themselves in any case. As the tables are filled with people, strangers find themselves in impromptu groups. A young man wearing mail and carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle is seated at Inigo and Fezzik's.

    "Sorry, guys. Name's Rary. Yours?"
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  24. - Top - End - #114
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    Malus stares around, drinking in the details. They weren't high elves, whatever they believed. That was for certain. Now that he had a better look, he could see they weren't so tall or so graceful, though they still maintained both traits. Nor were they Druchii, that much he was certain of. No marble, gold, shining towers and ornate decorations. The beauty, if you called it that, was a natural sort, rather then workmanship. Gardeners, more then artists.
    They were Asrai, he realized belatedly. Sylvans. His eyes narrowed. When the elves had come over the sea, they had built themselves an Empire, after an alliance with the dwarves, and the men. When that had broken, there had been a great war, with the forces of darkness and later with those who had been their allies. The survivors had begun to retreat over the sea, returning to Ulthuan, or Valinor. Those that had remained had remained had degenerated, until they became what he saw here, or had been killed. They had abandoned their cities and homes, and fled to the forest, which they never left.
    Clearly they did not remember the old war, or they would scream at the sight of him. Primitives. He wondered if they even understood their obsession with the sea, or hatred of the dwarves. He wondered if they even understood why they lived in a forest.
    Part of him wanted to spit, the other half wanted to laugh. He did neither, instead dismounting, holding Spite's bridle to restrain him as the Nauglir caught the smell of horseflesh, his favorite food, and stopped an elf. Trying to appear polite, and even mustering the effort to force a smile, (it is chilling), he clears his throat. "My name is Malus. I come from across the sea, and the land has changed. I was wondering if you could direct me to a loremaster, or library."
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    Samurai Jack

    Jack approaches the women. "Excuse me. I am looking for the nearest settlement. Can you give me directions?"

    ***

    Eddie

    "I'm not refusing Imperial Aid, I'm just not accepting it." Eddie straightens slightly.

    "Don't take this the wrong way but I'm still new here and well I don't know anything about you or your army. I'm not going to go into battle with people I can't guarantee got my back."
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    There have several hundred variations of this scenario in Quenthel's head, including being stuck in the hall of an ambiguous force of wood elves without divine powers. At some point, Quenthel had planned to demean Driz'zt, to lay him low, to watch him utterly and completely humiliated. She wanted him tortured and broken, and it would be done by the betrayal and death of his friends, the destruction of his home, and the corruption of everything he held dear and holy.

    It was a magnificent plan, spanning years, decades maybe, with Quenthel only appearing to watch his staggering defeat. It would be waged with cloak and dagger in the shadows, plot and poison. All culminating in Quenthel killing Driz'zt with his own two swords.

    That plan was dead now. It had violently been shanked and was now lying in a pool of its own blood at the back of Quenthel's mind.

    Quenthel's face contorted in anger. It was a snarl of rage and hate, an animalistic feral mask. It bore no semblance to any expression a drow or any humanoid had ever made. The priestess let out a scream, a vicious howl more comparable to a harpy or a banshee than anything civilized. Quenthel's anger reached a white-hot boiling pitch as she ran toward Driz'zt, her vipers and cloak trailing behind her. She channeled the rage into the palm of her hand, determined to make Driz'zt Do Urden hurt.
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  27. - Top - End - #117
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    Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. This is Fezzik. I do not want to sound rude, but would would not happen to have six fingers on your right hand?

    I'm Fezzik. If you call me Shade I'll have to jog your memory.
    Last edited by XtheYeti; 2010-04-13 at 04:29 PM.

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    Ellesmera

    The bystander takes a moment to stare at the dark elf.

    "...Certainly. The library is located inside the third oak on the left."

    The Hall of the Queen

    Drizzt's smile doesn't fade at all. While his hands drift to lightly rest on his scimitars, he continues to casually lounge against the wooden doorframe.

    "Now, now, Quenthal. For shame; giving into your emotions so easily. Didn't you have some long epic plan to defeat me? Some overly complex scheme to ensnare and trap me? And here you go blowing it all away at the first sign of a struggle. They really will let anyone become high priestess now, won't they?" The renegade chuckles to himself as the priestess approaches, seemingly unconcerned with the deranged look on Quenthal's face.

    The Ellcrys

    "You are in the grove of the Ellcrys, stranger. This is sacred ground; there are no settlements for leagues around."

    Castle Galbatorix

    "I am not offended. So many people walk on eggshells around me; it is refreshing to have one speak their mind to my face. I understand your reasoning, but please, allow me to clarify: why do you seek Eragon's instruction?"

    The Cafe

    The young man holds up his right hand. Five digits wiggle.

    "So, what brings you two to the tavern? I haven't seen you here before."
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  29. - Top - End - #119
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    We are searching for a group of people. We stopped here because Fezzik was hungry. And I am not a fool, therefore our quest can wait until his stomach is full.

    Fezzik nods and eats more food.

  30. - Top - End - #120
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    Samurai Jack

    "Who are the Ellcrys?" Jack asks. He knows nothing of this time but as he picked up in the future it is always a good idea to ask about anything remotely out of the ordinary. They almost always either can help or are in league with evil and should be stopped. Surely this time can't be much different.

    ***

    Eddie

    "Some Varden attacked us in the desert on our way here. They took some of our supplies and killed five men." Eddie blatantly lies but his non-chalant manner makes it seem as natural as everything true he has told the king so far.

    "It's just a matter of vengence.
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