Eragon the Lynching II: The First Age

[industrious]

Queen's Hall

The dying queen staggers to one side, narrowly avoiding the blows. The wand spews silver fire at Quenthal, but her hand convulses as the poison wracks her body. The wound the priestess receives is painful, but not grievous, closer to a minor cut than a death-blow.

Hidden behind the pillars, a lone elf stares at the fight taking place, eyes aglitter with arrogance.

Dras-Leona

Another man, built like a bear, with a full black beard is seen talking to the wolf. In what appears to be Enkidu's actual tongue. A moon-shaped axe and hammer are strapped to the man's back. Standing up, the man stares Gilgamesh straight in the eye, revealing yellow irises.

"Sorry about that. Your friend is quite the storyteller."

The Heroes of the Horn progress several more miles before reaching a lone hut, built out of what appears to be sand and thatch. A fire blazes in a pit outside the hut, but there is nobody tending it, nor any meat roasting on it. The place seems abandoned.

Surda War Room

The war council has five members to it. The first, a short, squat little man with a beard reaching nearly to the floor glares at Stannis, fingers tapping against the hilt of an axe. There is no subtlety in the man: suspicious to outsiders, loyal to his friends, and on the battlefield, extremely conservative in his tactics. The second, dressed in the robes of a scholar, and covered in burns and singes gives a cheerful wave. While he appears at first glance to be a madman, or at least loose in the head, Stannis can detect that the persona is merely a guise for a more cunning, sly individual.

The third and fourth are opposites once more; from their pose and posture, the king can instantly identify them. One is a veteran soldier, who had worked his way up the ranks. Numerous scars criss-cross what little skin the king can see, and the leather hilt of the sword in the man's scabbard is worn thin in several places. By choice, not by lack of supply. The second is a veteran as well, but a common soldier the man never was. Hair kept neat and short, the man was a scholar of war. A historian, more suited to the classroom than the battlefield. Overall strategy, not individual tactics. And if some died reaching their objective...the objective was still reached.

But it is the fifth, the leader, that Stannis pays attention to. Tall and whipcord-thin, the woman's dark skin glistens in the firelight. Scars, from the looks of them self-inflicted line her forearms, some freshly healed by the looks of them. But her gaze is firm, and piercing; just as Stannis takes her measure, so to is his taken. And in her, he finds an equal, driven towards justice, firm in purpose, and utterly committed to her principles. An odd expression, from one so young.

"I am Nasuada. Angela informed me of your arrival."

Castle Galbatorix

The king snorts. "All well and good in theory. But there are words and structures that magic is limited by. I doubt that this "Pattern" of yours can be bored through and rewoven by a single man."

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. Including, it appears, knowledge of the Wheel itself.

The Great Plain of Gil'ead

Some of the terms do not register on the young commander's face, but he apparently understands enough.

"I see. Sir, if we are to trust each other, then there is something I must tell you."

[Cracklord]

Castle Galbatorix
Shaidar Haran shakes his head. "The pattern is creation itself, the threads the lives of all of the individuals criss-crossed against the world. Seers have the ability to see the pattern, but you do not need such power to do what I will teach you. Think of a place, one you remember and know well, take hold of your magic but do not use it, then force the location over where you currently are."
He reaches into his robes again. "My next few gifts are rather small compared to those two, but they will help you." He removes a sa'angreal, and an oathrod. "One will allow you to double your magical might. The other will force anyone who swears an oath on it to uphold their oath. You already have one, but another will be useful."
With that he sits down. "Now, strategy. You need more men." It was a statement of fact. "More grown, ready men. Now, not in a decade. I can help you with that too." A terrible plan was forming in his head. And he could already feel his masters approval.

Malus Darkblade
The elf swears, but finally makes up his mind.
With a regretful sigh he begins to edge around the room, making his way towards the arrogant elf.
With his artifacts he could perhaps hold his own, but he needs information, not a pointless fight.
"Follow me." He tells the ranger. "I have an idea."

[Draxx]

Dras-Leona
Feanor slides easily off the horse, patting it's neck and speaking softly in elvish, the removing the saddle and bridle. The house isn't much, but the dead don't look for much beyond function.

Stannis
Picking a chair at random, Stannis sits down, blinking for the first time since he entered the room. He rubs his chin with a faint rasping noise, then places his hands on the table.
You'd never guess it from looking at him, but he is very unsettled, and a little lost. Finally he nods, coming to an agreement with himself. "Give me a command. I'll fight your battles, and win them, if that's what you need. I can fight, I can command men, and I can win this war for you." It's almost terrifying how open he is, how straight forward. He has nothing to hide. At all.

[darkblade]

Eddie Riggs

"Well I'm glad you're up front about it. What is it?" Eddie asks.

***

Samurai Jack

"Then we must do it." Jack says far more sternly than he has any right to considering what he just did to the tree.

"What do I have to do?"

[The Tygre]

Half-blinded, Quenthel doesn't even notice the two elves off to the side. She needs to turn the terrain to her advantage. Quenthel concentrates on the web of spiders living where her scalp used to be. With a flow of divine energy, she pulls a swarm of poisonous spiders from the Demonweb Pits, ordering them to blanket the ground and attack the queen.

[industrious]

Castle Galbatorix

The king accepts the objects without further questions. At Haram's last comment, he raises an eyebrow.

"And how do you intend to do that?"

Outside Queen's Hall

Drizzt nods, and creeps along with Malus.

Queen's Hall

The spiders come in wave after wave. Blasts of silver-white fire envelope the summoned creatures, turning Lolth's creations into ash, but the queen is getting tired, and the poison is continuing its irresistable flow through her veins. Eventually, the Ellcrys wand clatters to the floor, and she drops to one knee, struggling to pick it back up.

Dras-Leona

As it turns out, the hut is hardly abandoned. Sheaves of papers and books line the cramped dwelling's walls, and a writing desk somehow manages to fit in. The place is a terrible, crowded mess; underneath a fallen mound of scholarly writings, a pair of old, wrinkled feet sticks out.

"A bit of help? I haven't got all day, you know."

Surda War Room

Nasuada nods. "At the moment, the war is at an impasse. Our initial thrusts into the Empire need to wait for the supply trains, and out support from the elves has been withdrawn due to internal politics. The Empire is still scrambling to fully mobilize its army as well..."

A harsh bleating sound echoes throughout the room.

"Forget what I just said. A large mass of troops is headed towards us at high speed. Stannis, I think your command awaits."

Surda Border

"Sir, I am not merely your retainer. I am also Galbatorix's spymaster. I tell you this up front to show that I do not intend to betray you in any way, though I will inform the king of your prowess in battle." He might as well be talking about the weather.

Samurai Jack

"Wonderful suggestion. Thank you, white-robe." A new arrival; tall and muscular. Completely unlike the elves the Samurai has seen before. With him, another white robed Chosen, this one a female. Rolling across her fingers is a pale silver-white stone. The Ellcrys Seed.

[XtheYeti]

Fezzik, who is used to fighting men with weapons, takes the blow and tries to wrap one arm around the hammer, and Roran's hand and the other around Roran's body. Crushing hug go!

Inigo tries to dash up and skewer Roran's throat, with the six fingered sword.

So...this happened...and...um....?

[industrious]

Surda Corridor

Roran twists to one side, causing Inigo's blade to stab Fezzic instead.

[XtheYeti]

Inigo and Fezzik have fought side by side for years. And since Inigo is the greatest swordsman that Man has ever produced...

Inigio shortens the blow, and it barley pricks Fezzik, who launches a thunderous left at Roran. Inigo slashes at Roran's leg to force him to accept one blow or the other.

[industrious]

Roran twists away from Inigo's slash, taking Fezzik's punch to his side. However, because the giant needed to reduce the pressure of the man's hold to punch him, Roran is then able to roll away from the duo once more, and run away once more, this time with a noticeable limp.

[XtheYeti]

Inigo and Fezzik give chase, Fezzik in the lead. His giant steps eating up the distance, taking one step for three that a normal man would have to take.

Inigo. Why is he running?

Cause he's a coward Fezzik. Catch him and hold him still so he can die like a man.

[darkblade]

Eddie Riggs

"Thats not exactly surprising." Eddie says almost as deadpan. It really isn't, If a King who you found selling out his Kingdom to some shadow monster apoints you to be a Count and gives you a retainer it's pretty damn obvious that the retainer is going to be reporting back to the King.

"Why is the King so interested in me? I thought it was pretty damn clear that I have no intention of staying here once I deal with Eragon."

***

Samurai Jack

Jack bows before the new elf but doesn't say anything. He's only barely aware of what exactly is going on but he knows these are good people. Perhaps if he joins them he'll be here to deal with Aku when he breaks free from whatever it is that binds him.

[Cracklord]

Shaidar Haran
Shaidar Haran smiles at that. "Tap resources you didn't know you had. Every man you can spare without disrupting the Empire to the point of collapse is already under arms. So create more. You have shown yourself proficient with the theory yourself with your heirs dragon, haven't you."

Malus Darkblade
The dark elf oves beside the other elf he saw at the edge of the hall. "What is going on?"

[industrious]

Queen's Hall

The elf in question, thin-lipped and teeming with arrogance, smiles.

"The ascension of the elves, and the restoration of our glory."

As the Ellcrys wand falls from Islanzadi's hand, Malus can feel T'Zarken's presence once more, his temporary banishment now ended.

Castle Galbatorix

"The only reason why my Heir's dragon has grown so large is that I have given him some of what powers myself. I cannot simply create life on demand."

Surda Battlefield

"Because," Benton says, choosing his words carefully. "the king has been betrayed before. He lives alone in his apartments; no wife or mistress or any other company. His servants are laid upon with so many enchantments that they barely qualify as human, and he dresses in the most severe clothing he can find. There is not a soul in Alagaesia that he trusts; not even himself."

"So he sent me to keep an eye on you so that when you betray him(and he does not doubt that he will), he will know. He is a good king, but he has been burned far too many times. And personally, I do believe that you remind him of a younger version of himself. Legend has it that he was once a hot-headed, impetuous youth with little desire for political correctness or much respect for authority."

The Ellcrys

The Chosen by the large elf's side approaches the Samurai.

"You are confused. Please, allow me to explain. The Ellcrys, which keeps the barrier separating this world from a world of demons, is dying. To restore her, we must take her seed" she raises the white stone "immerse it in the fountain of Bloodfire, and then return it to her grove. In doing so, the tree will become whole once more, and the demons, some of whom might escape as she weakens, will be sealed again."

Castle Surda

Roran turns a corner, and as the duo follow him around it, they are met with a squad of men in robes, strange energy flickering betwixt their fingers. Stronghammer, reaching the line of magicians, turns back around.

"Surrender, gentlemen, or be destroyed."

[Draxx]

The red King
Stannis nods, sitting down, far more comfortable dealing with problems he understands. "We have two options. One, we pick favorable terrain and fortify it, then wait for them to come to us. The second is to march out and meet them. Both have their advantages. The former means conceding ground for our enemy to retake, while the latter will allow him to choose the battlefield." It is obvious, and all the generals know it, but it is an important decision.
It is this point when Melisandre arrives, to find him leaning over the table, discussing strategy in a low, forceful voice.

The Shining One
Feanor steps lightly over to the figure, his eyes narrowed. Something is not right. At last, he dismisses his vague premonitions and pulls the man out, though he keeps his hand on his blade.
He does not speak. Sometimes it's better to let the others fill the silence.

[nanobot_swarm]

Gilgamesh enters the hut, curious about all this paper nonsense. He was never much into books, after all, they proved pretty encumbering when traveling light, and most bored him with their fancy words, metaphors, and ideas. To him, a book was the same as the role of a bard, only without the fun flavor. Of course, he always loved a book of war and/or combat, and inquired,"Hello owner of this collection of scrolls in a hut, would you happen to have any stories of battle, or scrolls of technicks?"

[The Tygre]

Quenthel bends the spider legs until she is only a little above the elf queen. (Hell is she'll stoop to her level...) With a look of chained hate, the high priestess lets out a soft order; "This is your last chance. I give you one more chance of redemption. Do you accept Lolth into your heart, body and soul?"

[industrious]

Dras-Leona

The man in question turns out to be an old, shriveled man dressed in rags. Or what seem to be rags at first glance. Upon closer examination, the garments appear to be made of the finest material...and heavily worn and ill cared for. Given the sheet number of scholarly works in the cramped dwelling, it would be safe to assume that the reason for their ill state was his studies.

"No, young man, I do not. War is a problem for which the only solution is peace. It holds none of my interest at all. My real passion, though, is...The Question." The last two words are spoken in a reverent, almost ecstatic tone.

Queen's Hall

Islanzadi reaches for the Ellcrys wand once more...and fails, her convulsing hand unable to reach it. Eyes aflame with fever and anger stare back at Quenthal. Her voice is cracked, and broken, but there is still dignity and defiance in it. Almost enough to make once admire her. Almost.

"I...would rather...die on my own...terms...than live...on hers. Lolth...can...have...nothing. I defy you. I curse you. And your Bitch God."

((waiting on Eddie to post for Stannis. Battle coming up.))

[Cracklord]

Shaidar Haran
The fade shakes his head. "You missed the connection. The dragon is too young to bear a Rider, yet it has been aged by application of your power, to grow it. There are many people in your kingdom to young to bear arms." He lets the thought hang, allowing the King to consider it.

Malus
Malus stares at the fight, then turns to Drizzt. "What are you waiting for? Help her!" He yells, his own hand flying to the hilt of his sword as he tries to decide his own loyalties. And then he realizes, in a way that is almost liberating, that he has none. He can walk away at any point, no worse then when he began. Somewhat happier to learn this, he stares again. What would he prefer, a companion, or the possible assistance of an entire people.
Surprisingly, he decides to be contrary. Mostly because he hates his primitive cousins.
He waits until Drizzt moves away, then his eyes narrow.
With a single blur of movement, he withdraws the dagger of Toxcus and grabs the arrogant elf he was just talking to's arm, twisting it behind her/his/its back.
"In the land of chill, killing is an art. As such I want you to appreciate the following masterpiece." He whispers in her/his/its ear tenderly, placing the dagger in her other ear. "If I push this half an inch, it will slide through the skin, into your brain. You will be dead before you have time to realize it. More importantly, it will stop your heart. This is no where near your arteries, and the dagger is thin, so their won't be much blood, and the cut is easily covered by a smudge of dirt."
He smiles, licking her/his/its ear, then continues. "Of course, the dagger has terrible powers, consuming your soul in the process. You will spend the rest of eternity within, or, where I to choose so, as a wight, serving my every whim. So, you see, it's in your interest to be more useful when you answer my questions. Now, what is going on here?"

[The Tygre]

A sneer runs across Quenthel's face as she sternly says, "Very well. If you will not have her, then she will have you." Holding the queen's head in her hands, Quenthel uses the razor point of one of her legs to cut the she-elf's throat, screaming, "Lolth! Spider Mother! Take this sacrifice in your name! Take this wretchling's soul unto your web, and feast for a thousand years! Lolth, look favorably on this sacrifice!" As the mad priestess howls, she directs her divine energy through the elf queen and to the Abyss; this is the way of things, the secret spell that all senior priestesses are taught, taking vague placations to an unloving goddess and turning them into divine nourishment.

[Cracklord]

Malus shakes his head at the panorama before him. Now he understands.
So primitive. The executioners of Khaine prided themselves on never needing more then a split second and a single blow, and the priests were even faster. Bloodsports were for pleasure, and should not disrupt the sanctity of a temple or religious ceremony.

[industrious]

Queen's Hall

The instant that Islanzadi dies, three other things happen. The first is that S'Tarken, now more than a little angry about the loss of his foothold in the world, comes surging back into Malus's body. The wand willingly given by the living tree Ellcrys, its wielder deceased, fades into dust, and the strengthened Forbidding that kept S'Tarken cut off collapses.

The second is that one of Quenthal's legs gives out from under her, its end neatly slashed off. Frost coats the stump; it is obvious which renegade drow is behind the action. Unfortunately for the priestess, said former member of the Do'Urden family is nowhere to be seen. She can smell his presence though. Somewhere...

The third is rather mundane compared to the others. The elf, from the looks of him a male, stands deathly still, and answers Malus's questions.

"The queen is dead. Arya is now queen. Unless she is deposed."

Castle Galbatorix

The king nods his head in approval.

"An interesting idea. The street urchins and the like only, though. I have no desire to separate a child from their parents. But if you will excuse me, shadow. While some among us do not require sleep, others find that the twilight hours are best spent elsewhere."

[Cracklord]

Shaidar Haran
The Shade nods. "I shall return tomorrow night. Sleep well, my king. Sleep... deeply."

[The Tygre]

Quenthel lets out a violent hiss at the loss of one of her legs. That traitorous dretch spawn! She had become distracted in her current duties. But where was he now. Quenthel held her vipers close; they were replacable, true, but it was still a bother to get a new one. And idea occurred to Quenthel; the priestess still had on her Cloak of Arachnadia. Using her remaining seven legs, she used all her newfound strength to jump to the room's ceiling. Activating the cloak's magic power, she steadied her hands on the new ground and then rested her legs for extra support. From her new vantage point on the ceiling, Quenthel cravenly inspected the room.

[industrious]

Castle Galbatorix

The king waves you off, slipping back into bed.

Queen's Hall

Much to Quenthal's surprise, there is no need to search the floor. In fact, Drizzt is casually standing on the ceiling before her, one hand absently twirling a blood-stained scimitar. The other, oddly enough, isn't holding the weapon's pair. He waves with his empty hand, as if he had just seen her. His tone is light, and mocking, and far too self-satisfied.

"Hull-o Quenthal. This is a distraction."

Out of the corner of one of her eyes, the priestess can see something bright and directed towards her back.

[The Tygre]

Quenthel thinks fast. She uses two of her back legs to catch and clamp down on (as best one can with spear-like points) the speeding object, keeping her eyes focused on Driz'zt.

[industrious]

Driz'zt, as well as everything else in Quenthal's vision turns to white. The ball, one of the tricks employed by Driz'zt's father, contained light equal to that of normal sunlight. When the priestess caught it, the light was released, and she was momentarily dazzled by the light.

After living on the surface for most of his life, though, Driz'zt is unaffected by the light. Taking full advantage, he rushes around the priestess, and makes his own way to her back, on which he clings onto via his legs, and an arm wrapped around Quenthal's throat. His voice whispers in the Lolth's favorite ear a mocking reminder of the last time the two had met.

"If at first you don't succeed..."

His scimitar gleams with frost as the drow take the opportunity to take off another pair of Quenthal's spider legs.

[Cracklord]

Malus Darkblade
"You really are quite lucky." Malus tells him pointedly. "If I take my time with you, it will ruin my new disguise." With that, it all goes black as the elf learns how much he means his threats.
Malus turns on his heel, surveying the hall, his other hand on his sword, ready to draw it out at the first moment.
Seeing the fight, Malus toys with the idea of leaving them to kill each other, but at last changes his mind. The thought of leaving here without gaining anything galls him.
"Alright daemon."
Tz'Arken stirs, wracking Malus's limbs to vent his displeasure for no real reason beyond asserting his authority. So good of you to ask Malus. I should really make you beg. but then, there is only a slither of you left anyway, so it seems quite pointless. I am the kindest of tyrants, far preferable to leaving you at the sword or daggers tender mercies. Which one do you want to kill?
"I don't know yet."
I like the female. She's like you. Simple, direct, treacherous, and so caught up in her perceived cleverness she doesn't see that she's a piece on a board that everyone takes turns in moving.
Malus kept his eyes on the ceiling. "Are you going to do anything?"
No.
The reply took Malus off guard, but the daemon wasted no time elaborating. It's in your interest not to. Whoever wins will prove the stronger slave. Whats it to me? If you really want to kill someone, you should have saved the elf. Not that he isn't suffering more then anything you could do.
Malus blinks, then yells "Try to force them down here!" Hoping they both thin it's directed at them. With that, he removes the warpsword, grimacing as his limbs begin to burn with something that could only be described as a cross between molten brass and bloodlust.

[The Tygre]

In a cry of pain and anger, Quenthel has her vipers wrap around Driz'zt, securing him to her grip and trying to work their fangs through his armor.. And then, judging on feeling along, Quenthel releases the enchantment from the Cloak of Arachnadia, and falls toward the floor, hopefully back-first.

[industrious]

Queen's Hall

One of the serpents finds a weak spot in Driz'zt's armor, and his cry of pain is as music(actually, the Drow have no music. A prayer to Lolth, then) to Quenthal's ears.

Returning to the ground, the renegade is stunned, pinned under the other drow's weight. Icingdeath clatters to the floor of the hall, too far for Driz'zt to reach. Likewise, Driz'zt's position is such that he cannot reach his other scimitar either.

Near the top of one of Driz'zt's legs. Quenthal can feel a bulge. The thought disgusts her, especially as she can feel one of his hands reaching towards it, eventually touching the thing.

A blur of motion, and Quenthal is sent sprawling as an enormous black cat slams into her. Frankly, the knowledge that he was reaching for the cat's totem was a relief to her.