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    Default [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    One Hundred years ago
    The figure had collapsed, the faint panting of his breath the only sign that he was alive. He looked gaunt and emancipated; the meat and muscle on his bones faded away, his once impressive build now scrawny and malnourished. His hair haloed his head in a black tangle, and his skin was tanned and burned from exposure to the elements. His clothes were rags, and his back was scarred horribly from the lash of a whip. It seemed impossible that he was alive, and yet he was so, some terrible force pushing him onwards, until at last it had abandoned him, left him to die far in the north, where even the wolves could not survive.
    Above him the branches of tree’s reached to scratch at the sky, thin and skeletal in winter, coated with frost and rime. Around them lay snow, thick and undisturbed. No one ever came this far North. There was nothing to disturb him as he died. Nothing to see it happen.
    The figure’s back was decorated with what looked like tribal markings, fantastic whorls, swirls and curlicues, some done in blue ink, others more cruelly scarred on with a flat edged blade. The tattoos seem to writhe and twist, as though they had a life of their own. What rags were left on his body were stained and worn, frayed around the edges and barely held together. He looked more animal then human, and he stank of filth, and death. Those animals who saw him shied of him, afraid of the figure beyond reason, even in the starving depths of winter.
    The figure lay motionless for what may have been a moment and what may have been an eternity. Then there was a faint hiss of indrawn breath, and he spoke, his voice soft shaking with inhuman intensity as he stirred. "I am the mountains, I am the winter. I am the land, and the bones of the hills. I am destruction, and vengeance. I am a ghost, a shadow that walks." His words blazed in the night, seeming to give him strength, as he slowly pulled himself up. Staggering forward clumsily he took one shaky step forward, then another, then a third.
    "I am a warrior betrayed, a friend cheated, a pawn cast aside." He said, his words growing in strength and power, his back slowly straightening. "They broke me, humiliate me, and tried to kill me. They forced me on all fours like an animal, left me crawling on my belly in the wilds. They cursed me and threw me aside, and drove me away and left me to die. But I did not. I will see their towers in ruins, their power broke and leave them broken to writhe in bloody dust." By this point his voice was a roar, a deep, primal, fiery sound that rang with conviction, not belief, just raw certainty. "I am not finished. I will never stop. I will never give in." He growled, his limbs trembling with the effort of keeping moving as his mind hardened into a single point of unbreakable will. The wind roared its approval as he did so, whirling and dancing, as thunder rumbled above. The clouds above hung heavy with rain, but the figure didn't even seem to notice, staggering on, his eyes alight with a burning intensity, a terrible passion that would one day burn up and leave him empty.
    "I'm tired of running." He growled, so quietly even he barely heard it. "Let them run from me."

    Present


    Druss The Legend
    Most of The Empire's settlements had been created by the same natural forces that had created its forests, mountains and rivers. Dras-Leona, for example, had been forged by the stone of the great peaks of the Helgrind. It had been a small town until deposits of iron were found under the mountains, at which point it been swelled by miners and craftsmen until it became the industrial capital of The Empire, and what had been simple veneration for the source of their livelihoods had become a fanatic religion.
    Terim, on the other hand, had been formed by the flow of the river and the gentle lapping of the ocean. It's calm waters and hidden bay had drawn the first settlements of smugglers and pirates, and then their comrades, who opened bars and brothels, and then the merchants and artisans the burgeoning community had needed, until the criminals had become merchants themselves.
    Even Urű'baen was built on the ruins of an Elven city, and it's sheer cliffs had made it a natural fortress for the first ragged hunters who stumbled across it, and their ancestors had dwelled their ever since, using the nearby river to conduct trade, and the valuable farmland around it to become rich.
    Beletona was the only city in The Empire shaped by pure, unadulterated politics. It guarded no mountain pass, no rich farmland, no religion found relevance in it and only one, almost irrelevant trade route passed through it.
    The city had been built when Surda had been declared part of the Broddring kingdom, as a place on fairly neutral ground where the lords and king of the time could meet. It was out of the way, and sparsely populated, but this was good, as none of them trusted the others not to bring an army. Eventually, when this was no longer a necessary precaution, the city sat empty, relatively purposeless until it had been rebuilt as a vast prison to store undesirables a century before the fall of the Riders. Now? It was the keep where Galbatorix kept the majority of his Southern garrison, and the watch-post for Surda.
    It was built atop a flat-topped hill, surrounded by nothing but blasted stone and wasted soil, so thin that the bedrock could be felt beneath it. From the city you could see for miles around, a tactic of the old empire: never let anyone sneak up on you. It watched the skies above as well as the ground below.
    You're here as a favor to an old friend, Sieben the poet. You don't have many left, but the wall of the city of Kausta that the Varden are in the process of besieging.
    And you made your friend a promise.
    You will not let this city fall.

    Matt, Gengiz Cohen
    The two of you are dicing together, in a tavern near the waterfront as Matt waits for his contact. Being a Ta'vern, huh?
    The Band are still in their ships, and The Seachan, or at least the dockmaster, has decreed that no more then two score may leave at a time, which means a lot of them are building up leave at a shocking rate.
    You are the only foriegners many of the Seachan had ever seen, and they are giving you odd looks. Just as well you have your glaive covered, the ast thing you need is them to be even more nervous.

    Kitiara uth Matar
    Your army is in the Hadrac dessert, camped and entrenched, and unknown but you are in Feinstar, here to meet a man who says he can get you to Nuasada.
    The city teemed with life, from rodents and insects that lurked around the houses, to larger pets, and the humans themselves. Most of the inhabitants were subdued, their spirits crushed. It was all around you. Shops were closed, market squares were empty, both of merchants and customers, and the streets were all but empty, the few people on them keeping their heads down and hurrying from place to place. Occupation had accelerated the process of decay, and everywhere paintwork seemed chipped and vines created cracks within the stonework.
    Occasionally youwould see patrolling Varden troops. Keeping up what little military discipline they had, they seemed far more like conquerors then liberators.
    A few hollow eyed children stared at her from the corner of a street. They were gaunt and wasted from starvation, and dressed in rags. Following the street down into an alley that was a shortcut to the main road, he noted how choked it seemed, the very air full to bursting with oppression.
    Here it is. Zasamael should be here shortly.

    Tasselhoff, Tanis
    The greatest torture you can perform on any kender is to lock him up;
    The greatest torture you can perform on any other race is to lock him up with a kender.
    You are imprisoned, within a small cell of dark grey stone. There is fresh straw on the ground, a wooden bench, a few hunks of bread, a jug of water, and no windows. The door is a fearsome thing of fossilized oak bound in steel designed to sneer at a battering ram, despite it being impossible to get one around the corner, and the only light comes grimy and second hand from a small, opening barred with bars the size of your wrist.
    You've been in here nearly a month, and Kitiara has shown no signs of letting you go yet, questioning you or even talking to you. She simply holds you here indefinately.

    Gimli, Legolas
    You do not think this is Valinor. The shores are not white, the city in nowhere to be seen, and the beach is smooth pebbles leading to the foothills of the mountains. The mountains of the Spine loomed above them, rough and craggy. While the mountains of Middle Earth that GImli had loved were noble giants, even the Misty Mountains infested by Goblins, the Spine was like exagerated foothills and sharp, black volcanic rock. Everywhere you looked there was something hard, something sharp, something that could kill you.
    There were no passes or way through, no roads or any other sign of civilization in sight.
    So why did you get the feeling you were not alone?

    Morianne, al'Lan Mandragoran
    The Earthking should awaken in the Midlands. Unfortunately, the Midlands is massive, and you are limited. You are in the capital, Ayndyril, hoping to find word of his wereabouts, and being entertained in Wizards Keep by an elderly wizard, skinny and rawboned with long white hair and plain brown robes who has not stopped eating, and is explaining at great legnth his own belief that the Earth king is nothing but a myth.
    He is also one of the most powerful channelers you have ever encountered.

    Tavi
    You pass Vroengard, the ruins of Valyria, said to be the first cradle of civilization where man began. The island came closer, until it was within sight. A massive castle on a huge spear of rock. It was a forbidding place. No vegetation could be seen, and waves crashed against it with incredible force. A grim fortress of crudely cut stone rose above it, far beyond the reach of the ocean spray. It spoke of a squat, primitive power. Designed to be defended. But it was hard to like the look.
    One day, when you have time, you'll go there and see what is within. But the seas around are to dangerous, if you dared to come any closer the ship would be destroyed. The oceans were not safe, and ran with liquid fire and other, stranger things. Monserous serpants curled beneath the waves, and there was said to still be the magic of the first men and the grey folk locked within.
    The ships were coming to the coast, and the ocean loomed behind, vast and eternal. Ahead was the port of Terim, where Murtagh agreed to meet you.

    Lord Angmar
    You awake from the darkness in a new age. The golden ring on your finger croons to you, and you sniff men on the air But what's more, you sense your master awaking, and no the time has come once more. Once again, you ride out in search of his ring.

    Zasamael
    You are to meet a warrior woman, a mercenary who will lend her considerable assets to your cause. You get a sense that she will be important, perhaps even central to your plan.

    Grimgor Ironhide The Undefeated, Borgut Facebeater
    The 'Ard Boyz all are exhausted, after maintaining the mach North. There is nothing to fight in the dessert afterall, none of them black ladz in armor or the other Northeners. Just sand, and more sand, stretching on forever, no sign of the chaos wastes.
    Your ladz are growing restless, Borgut is knocking heads together to stop 'em fighting, and the goblins have all been killed. But that's not enough, you are getting very bored.
    What's more, you can see something on the horizon, a dark green blur that looks like forest. Your one eye squints, ignoring the blowing sand and grit that gets caught in it. It had taken everything the world could throw at it, a bit of sand wouldn't stop it. Yep, definately forest.
    Beastmen lived in forest. Elves lived in forest. Beastmen were tough and stringy, and made good killing, although elves jut danced around instead of standing still and being cut to bitz like propper warriors.
    The forrest seems the way to go. If you don't find water soon warriors will start dying of thirst.

    Holo and Lawarance
    You are on a road, carrying a supply of iron ore freshly mined. You have nearly a tonne of it, and if you sell it to the D'Haran Empire should almost make almost a five times profit. The road is desserted, nothing in sight but the horizon.

    Smaug
    You slumber atop your hoarde, noticing not the passing of the ages as you continue your rest within the spine, atop plundered riches beyond imagining, unaware that soon the world would force you awake.

    Gaborn Val Orden
    On a table stone, hands clasped around the sword he bore in life sleeps Gaborn Van Orden, in all the majesty and power of his life. His beard has grown, a wild, tangled thing of spun gold, and his hair has grown with it, and has been bleached white. Yet beneath it his face is strong and wise, and strangely peaceful. Despite his vectors having died many years ago, his endowments remain, their sacrifice filtering through the ages to empower the Earth's chosen king.
    Abruptly, he awakes, a bright figure standing before him.
    He is on a hill. The ruins of a tower surround him, and and rugged foothills and lesser hills, trees and scrub surround. He has no idea where he is. And the figure is a man of clay and soild and dirt, of stone and plant, the figure of the Earth itself, a beam of sunlight making it glow like gold. At times it speaks to him like this, and he has learned to listen to it.
    "Time grows short." It says. "You must choose." Then it is gone. Beside the table, Borenson, Mystara and Iome sleep still, promised to awaken alongside him.

    Mumm-Ra The Ever Living, Rataro
    A delegation from The New World Order arrive. A tall, brutal looking, grimy man, with a cape of human scalps and an iron ring on every finger. He dresses in leathers and seems to sneer at everything. His face is grey and palorless, and he is not intimidated by the cyclopean majesty of the ruins of your city. He requests and audiance with you.
    Last edited by Cracklord; 2010-11-08 at 09:57 PM.
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    Default Re: [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    Kitiara
    She settled in as she waited, her sword visible and her armor and helm more than establishing that she was not someone to be trifled with, and most definitely not someone who's time should be wasted. She had rather enjoyed her walk into the city-the Varden seemed far more like the armies of the Highlords than any 'liberators' she had ever heard of. Except lacking in the discipline that had been practiced throughout, particularly withen her army. She had little question that if she was to....ally with them, then there would need to be a severe look into organization, lest her men die because the Varden's rabble could not follow simple procedure. Nor did they look like soldiers far too many resembled well armed brigands, not a unifying armor piece among them. She could have seized this town with little trouble, and considering their apparent occupational rules, likely hold it far longer than they would. Not that she would ever say her men didn't enjoy the many varied pleasures of controlling a city, but they at least ensured they didn't burn it down while doing so. Unless she wanted it burnt, anyway. Then she let them run wild, but even then, organized enough that they avoided more than a few causalities among their number from the general drunkenness that resulted. She looked to her ally and companion, Lord Soth- a Death Knight, cursed by the Gods to forever blight the world, more powerful in death than more than a handful would ever be in life. She enjoyed his use as a body guard, a general beneath her, and of course a one man platoon, frequently capable of forcing an oncoming group into flight both from the fear that radiated off him and from his power on the battlefield. She had watched him burn down camps and towers like a monster. And he served her unwaiveringly. She had never figured out why, attributed it to Thaksis, boredom, and the payments she offered him. If this turned out to be a trap, not even their famed 'Rider' who had rediscovered the talents of Huma, far more competent than even her own riders, could hold her. And so she smiled, knowing she would soon be securing her position on the winning side. At least when she was done with it.

    Tasslehoff
    He sang yet another Kender traveling song. He'd memorized all of them, invented twenty more, counted everything and then recounted it twice, and played a thousand games of twenty questions with Tanis. "So, new game, why do you think she captured us Tanis? Maybe she wants to talk about old times! Oh, or maybe she needs our help? Think she forget we were in here? Or do you think she's still upset about that time she accidentally walked into that trap?" He still remembered that incident-she'd screamed something about 'absent minded Kender', which he didn't understand. Was there a new kender? He'd been about to get to that trap after he finished checking that tree he saw an important looking bird fly into. He tried remembering it's color. Gold? Red, maybe?
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    Default Re: [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    Tywin Lannister
    The golden autumn sunlight poured through into the great hall, rich and vibrant against the red stones of the Red Keep. The room was filled to the brim, Lords and Ladies and Knights all on bended knee. Their heads bowed in deference and awe.
    Cersei Lannister, the First of Her Name, Queen Regent, and Lady of Casterly Rock held her husbands hand as she walked with head held high to the Iron Throne. A smile showed her lioness' fangs, sharp and deadly as her piercing green eyes.
    All around her, below her, they waited. Her own banner men Marbrand, Crakehall and Swyft over there. Westerling, Kenning, Brax, and Lydden too. There were others to be sure, scattered amongst the sea of crimson and gold banners of the lion of Lannister, amongst the D'Harans.
    She did not love Richard, and he did not love her. But she loved what he could do for her, she loved hi power, and she loved that she had ensnared him and her children would inherit his empire.
    The Kingsguard stood salute, her own brother Jaime leading the white cloaks with sword arm held high. Blades as wicked edged as the ones her son now sat upon. With those blades no harm can come to him, she thought, and if that is not enough- mine own will suffice. For nothing came between a lioness and her cub.
    And she sat beside the throne of D'Hara, soon to be the throne of the known world, as a mighty cheer went up. A cheer so loud as to be heard in every sept and inn and farmer's hovel. Under hedges and far up in watchtowers. To every corner of the Seven Kingdoms and beyond, all would know.
    A viscous thrill raced through her. Hear Me Roar.
    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Your daughter is radiant, your son tall, noble and proud, and your grandchildren are all lined up and ready. Everything is in place. Richard is useful, but it is the Lannisters who will sit on the throne, not him, in the end. It is your children who will rule, and the house of Rahl will be forgotten.
    You played servant to his maniac father, ran the realm while he played games of magic, and you will do the same while his son plays at war. But not for much longer.
    One of the bards is playing your favorite song. You make a mental note to see he leaves with his pockets full of gold.

    "And who are you, the proud lord said,
    that I must bow so low?
    Only a cat of a different coat,
    that's all the truth I know.
    In a coat of gold or a coat of red,
    a lion still has claws,
    And mine are long and sharp, my lord,
    as long and sharp as yours.
    And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
    that lord of Castamere,
    But now the rains weep o'er his hall,
    with no one there to hear.
    Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,
    and not a soul to hear"

    You had it written after one of your bannermen betrayed you. Now, if you catch even a hint of another lord thinking about it, you send a bard with instructions to play that song. It seems to work wonders.
    Maybe you should send one to Richard's chamber shortly.

    Link
    The Hero of time was a very very small boy. Really he was. Even if he was sixteen already, he looked a few years over ten. But there was no mistaking what he was. His eyes were cold and hard. Bombadiers eyes. His tunic, green, rough and homespun was not the garments of a warrior, but it was comfortable and practical for the outside. And while the sword was much too big for him, he wore it with a surety that made a thing that should seem comical instead seems dangerous.
    All around, the great trees brooded, ominous presences who's branches met over the trail, intertwined like a giant at prayer, filtering all but a few solitary shafts of light grudgingly illuminated the way forward. Moss covered the branches and the scaly bark of the trunks resembled nothing so much as the scaly hide of dead serpents, with hints of gnarled faces in the twisting bark. A stillness as old as the vast primeval forest, broken only by occasional stirrings in the undergrowth. Here, no birds dared sing.
    This was no enchanted forest, magical place of wonder. This was an ancient, primal place beyond the realm of the elves, beyond the seasons, forgotten by all but the oldest beings, a place where even the passings of the ages did not touch.
    Ahead of him bobs a faerie, barely more then a mote of glowing light with the merest suggestion of fluttering wings. "Hey! Listen!" Navi exclaims. "Something is coming!"

    Rand Al'Thor
    Terim. A port city, contained behind a white wall, a hundred feet tall and thirty feet thick, more then enough fortifications to deal with even the Seachan, assuming cometent enough warriors. In the northeast sector of the city was a towering citadel, which housed the lighthouse. The docks stretched along most of the ocean, where hundreds of ships made port including your own. The city's buildings grew progressively taller from the outside in; the tallest buildings were near the citadel.
    Min walks beside you, slender with short hair, and large, dark eyes that she is trying not to stare with too much. She has her hood up, and with her shirt and breeches she could pass as a boy at a glance. Not that it matters, nobody seems to have recognized or be looking for you here.

    Auron
    You are making your way down the road when you see an approaching wagon, ridden by a young man and a younger woman, barely more then a girl really. You wonder if they'll give you a lift, if only to rest your aching legs. You have been walking such a long time, it seems almost forever.

    Lazlo
    You bob on the ocean in an open coffin, at the mercy of the ocean currents, burning up with a fever and sunstroke, your lips dry and chapped with the begining of dehydration. You have no energy, the world is little more then a blur. But you still let out a gasp of shock as you bang into a triemme.

    Nekron
    In the North, behind the woods of Du Weldenvarden, a glacier advanced like a frozen wall, a keep that was known and feared as the castle of Nekron the wizard of ice and shadow.
    The cold was coming, and would never recede. And you would rule over a land of always winter.

    Wander
    You are tracking an army. Of course, you hardly need to track them, they leave a trail any blind man can see, of wreackage, scraps, corpses and stragglers, as well as victims left to die slowly in the hot wind. They do this so civilized oponents, the weakest of the weak as far as they were concerned, would have to stop and and expend valuable resources to help them. Fortunately they are all dead before you reach them, so you are spared having to make a difficult decision whether to kill them or leave them. After the orcs had finished with them, not enough remained to save.
    But the orcs were not your enemies. Your enemy was somethingthat traveled with the orcs, though they did not know it. When Grimgor began his oath, he carved a massive monument, an idol to the Orc god Gork (Orcs were not terribly imaginative, particularly when it came to religon. Gork was essentially an Orc, only bigger). That statue was the fourth Collossi, the fifth being in the peaks of the Helgrind. And if you do not hurry, you fear it may slip beyond your reach forever.
    You cannot allow that.
    So you ride, adn feel the army getting closer every moment.You can almost seem them in the distance now.

    Red Sonja
    You are in your kingdom, and apon your throne in Aquilona. The Imperial Order has several propisitions for you. One of them is a request by Emperor Jagang for you to marry him.

    Tavi
    In the ocean below is a man lying face up in a coffin. You can't tell if he's alive or not, but you fear the worst.
    Last edited by Cracklord; 2010-11-08 at 11:04 PM.
    Nadir We,
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    Blood Letters,
    Axe Weilders,
    Victors Still.

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    Default Re: [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    Craft and Holo

    "Awhoooo!" Holo the Wise Wolf howls to the sky as their humble wagon pulls it's way into D'Haran territory. For the first time in months she has thrown off the hood that conceals her cainine ears and walks with her tail displayed proudly as it was meant to be. If Lawarance would have let her she'd have discarded the clothes in entierity to be free of the second skin humans so stubornly wear, it wasn't cold enough here to even bother with it as far as she was concerned.

    "Just because the Church isn't active here is no reason to be reckless. Imagine what these people would do if they knew the true extent of your powers." Lawarance warns his companion.

    The wolf simply smiles at him not saying a word.

    "Just remember to put those back on when we get to the Marketplace. We don't want another traveling merchant to see you and think they can hand you over to the church." Lawarance continues his warning as it falls upon uninterested ears.

    "Stop treating me like a child. I am Holo the Wise Wolf. I have forgotten far more than you can ever hope to know in your entire life." Holo replies dismisively.

    "I should have left you out North." Lawarance shakes his head in frustration.

    "You never would have done that. You are far too kind hearted." With that the two rode onwards towards their destination.

    ***

    Zasamal

    The Large Dark Skinned man made no attempts at subtly. Here it was not needed. Cloaked in white and earing a large gold necklace he was the polar opposite of Death itself both in his appearance and unfortunately in his soul.

    Anyone else would have been robbed blind for wearing such jewels in public in a place like this but when you are twice the size of most men and carrying a scythe tipped on the otherwise blunt end with a spear point it sends a message. He approaches Kitiara without displaying any emotion in his deep voice. "You are the former Dragon Highlord? Maiden of Lord Soth?"
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    Kitaria
    "That was my rank before the armies fell apart. Mine being the exception, obviously. I don't know where you heard the second title-he serves me. Not the other way around." Soth stands beside her, his armor radiating a deathly cold, that would have made lesser men run in fear for daring come this far, "I serve her." "Now, how may I get in contact with the Varden's illustrious leader?" A hint of sarcasm in those words. This rag tag occupation hadn't filled Kitaria with respect for the Varden.
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    Quote Originally Posted by Cracklord View Post
    Forgive me, Mr Tolkien. You do not deserve what I now do to you.

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    Craft and Holo, Auron
    As you come towards the next village on your way to the People's pallace, you meet an old, sage looking man walking along the road ahead of you.
    Nadir We,
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    Victors Still.

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    Allecia Ehothorn

    The day began as it always did. With a nightmare. It was not a new nightmare, but it did not lack power merely because it was familiar. Rather, its very substance demanded that she weep in fear of it every time it came before her. It was not a nightmare of what had been, of the person she had been, of the Infernal Realm she had escaped, or the things she had done before.

    No, this was a nightmare of what was. Of her love, of the Champion descending into hell. This was a nightmare of that man, that self-hating noble man, who after months of research into magicks long forgotten, had gone into Hell to retrieve the one whose soul she had ripped out, whose body now held the Champion. She remembered their last words, their final parting. And the nightmare was simple: that those were their last words, that their final parting was their final parting. That he would descend and never return, or sacrifice himself on a fools errand so that that tortured soul would live.

    She wakes from the nightmare, shaking in their shared bed in Verona House. And as the first rays of dawn reach the window, she does what she has done for the past month, since the Champion's descent. She prays. Not to the gods, the Aedra, for while she feels that they exist and guide all things she cannot help but feel unworthy of praying to them, that she does not deserve to ask them for aid. She prays to the Daedra, and hopes for the best.

    "Azura. Lord of Dusk and Dawn, and Queen of the Night Sky. Hear me, for I ask for your aid. Not for myself, but for the man I love. Keep him safe and protect him on his quest for redemption. Please.”

    And then there was morning.

    Rand Al'Thor

    Around the Dragon, the world seemed a brighter place. Food seemed more succulent, air more wholesome, and life itself far more enjoyable and bountiful than ever before. The calm before the storm. And the storm's eye.

    "It is strange," he remarks, walking through the street. "The city is untouched by war, and it cares little for what it sees as foreign disruptions. It trades with what is outside our continent, and as such, views itself as different than all others. But its walls will fade and crumble soon, for the Last Battle is near. And then there will be no safe place. None at all in the world..."

    He trails off, his gaze thoughtful and pensive for a moment. And then he smiles, and the world is bright once more.

    "But for now there are children playing in the streets and a carefree current in the air. We can never forget why we fight for the Light, Min. We cannot forget what we are fighting for."
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    Auron

    He walks up beside the cart looking at the two drivers, "Excuse me, my name is Auron. I saw that you have a cart and wanted to ask if I could ride to rest my legs, I've been walking for a long time. I would not ask this favor for free of course. I would gladly exchange my services as a bodyguard for a ride."

    Link

    He narrows his eyes and slowly removes the mastersword from its sheath and waits patiently for whatever is ahead to show itself.

    Lazlo

    He looks up to see what he hit and sees the broadside of a ship. He sees someone looking over the bow and waves up at them to signal that he is alive and needs help.

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    Tavi

    Tavi leaned over the side of the ship, looking out at the sea, the wind blowing through his black flowing hair.

    Then he vomited right over the side, as the ship rocket back and forth.

    The problem with a voyage as short-paced as this was the seasickness: not enough time to get his sea legs.

    "Furies take me to a merciful death." he moaned. After the first few trips overseas, his family had decided to stop coddling him every time his stomach acted up. Even his wife, Kitai, who had gone below a few moments ago with a curse of "Alerans."

    Then Tavi's eyes saw something in the waves. A piece of wood...a coffin... with a man desperately waving for help.

    "Man overb-b-baaaaaaggggllllllhhhh!" Tavi said, as the Septimus pitched and heaved back and forth. Wiping at his mouth, he tried again.

    "Man overboard! Sailors to attention! Alert the witchmen!"

    A sailor ran up in a wet tunic and trousers. "Gaius Octavian sir!"

    "Get the witchmen now...agh no time, no time. Listen, Citizen! I want you to hold this end of this rope!"

    The young and wet in more ways then one sailor took a hold of the rope: he must have had some Woodcrafting, because the rope automatically twisted itself around his wrists. "Yes, First Lord! Is there anything else!"

    Tavi grinned in a way that somehow made the First Seaman feel nervous, and tied the rope to his waste. "Don't let go, son!"

    And with that, the First Lord of Alera, leader of the Kingdom of Alera and the Realm Alliance, leapt off the side and into the water.
    Last edited by Colesign; 2010-11-08 at 11:51 PM.

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    Legolas and Gimli
    "I don't think this is Valinor, Gimli. Did we take a wrong turn?"
    The elder of the two ancients steps off of the boat onto the shore, his dwarven companion following shortly thereafter.
    -translated from scottish dwarven accent into understandable English- "I've heard rumors that Valinor was only reachable to select few. But perhaps we've a purpose landing here instead."
    "I find your judgement to be precise. However, how should we go about crossing those mountains? The jaggedness makes me wary if we should cross or merely find a way around them."
    "Those be not mountains, those are knives pointed towards the sky itself. Real mountains are homely and oftentimes snowcapped. Real mountains are the mouth into the Earth's loving embrace. I've seen anthills more homely than these beasts."
    "Truly you are the wordy one of us. Let us look and see if there is a way around. If that fails, we'll just have to brave our way through this mess."

    And with that the two companions set off, heading to the left side of the mountains, attempting to find non-lethal passage.

    Tanis
    "No, Tass. I think she's forgotten about us and gone to do her politics with other people. I believe she's content just knowing she has me and there's nothing I can do about it. Now please, tell me a story. You always were good at relating these things."
    Keep the Kender busy. Make him talk more. You can easily ignore his babble when he drags on into something less involving. Maybe you'd get a good hour or two of sleep if he talked. Maybe. Kender tend to like boring and yet exciting people all the time.
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    Lazlo

    He sees someone trying to swim to save him. He shakes his head coming slowly back to full conciousness. If they were sending someone out to get him he would need to be as lucid as possible.

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    Tass
    "Ooh, I have a good one. I was traveling one day, wandering through the woods when I came across this lovely feather. It was red and gold-or was it blue and silver? Oh, maybe steel colored! I never can remember, anyway, the I followed the feather, trying to catch it when I came across this wandering man screaming 'Demons begone!' and I asked him what kind of demons where bothering him and why he wanted them gone, when he-" At this point the story descends further and further into ludicrousness, Tass seemingly forgetting where they are in favor of continuing his story. It's kind of endearing the way their entrappment hadn't truly affected his spirit. On the other hand, you couldn't get a few Kender traveling songs out of your head with anything short of an arrow, now.
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    Holo and Lawarance

    Those robes almost monk like but no monk would carry a sword like that or so calmly approach a cart with Holo's canine features so out in the open.

    Lawarance looks over and Holo who gives him a quick nod before turning to Auron. "I think we'll take you up on that offer. I'm Lawarance and this is uh..."

    There usual cover story was that Holo was his badly burned wife but that story doesn't hold water when you can clearly see her wolf parts and face, to say she was his wife when the lie was so obviously not needed would cost a fortunate in apples just to get her to speak to him again. "My companion Holo. Where are you heading?"

    ***

    Zasamal

    "Of course you do, Lord Soth." Zasamal smirks slightly.

    "Tell me then Kitiara. Why do you seek out the Varden? Your servant here alone could dispatch most of their number. What value are to you?"
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    Kitaria
    "I like playing the long shot." It's a simple answer. Therefore, it's almost certainly a lie. Or at least, not completely the truth. "Besides, The Empire would never consider hiring me, and Rahl....rubs me the wrong way. He seems the type to turn on me in the middle of a fight and ruin both our chances of winning for no other reason than he's insane. So, why not work with the group who'll hire me and pay well for my services?" They need her. They need a well trained army. They need the air support. They need a skilled general. Kitaria could turn rag tag freedom fighters into a real army and give them the core army they needed. They are....the most suitable for our needs.
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    Auron

    "No where in particular. I'm kind of a wanderer, so how did you two end up traveling together. It doesn't take much to see that you two are as different as night and day." he says while climbing onto the back of the cart.

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    Tavi

    Lazio's lucidity is greatly aided by the sudden appearance of Tavi plunging out of the water and onto the Coffin.

    "Hail!" Tavi says with a ****-eating grin as the waves buffet the two. "How attached are you to this coffin?"

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    Lazlo

    "None" is the single word response that he gives. His voice is rough, like that of a commander. He grabs onto the Tavi's hand and swims with him back to the boat.

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    [Wander]

    The sound of hooves galloping in the sand fills Wander's ears as he heads towards the Fourth Colossus. The rush of air hits his face, occasionally carrying specks of sand in a vain attempt to bite, as his faithful steed Agro plows towards their goal. They've only stopped to catch their breath, and even then only for but a moment. Now was such a time.

    Wander sat down in the saddle, the que for Agro to slow down. He walks off for a bit, breathing heavily from the run, as Wander scans the faint flickers of the army before him.

    Deep inside, Wander feels fear. Fear of having to possibly face the army as well. A single Colossus is a bit of a handful on its own, but coupled with an army!

    However, his thoughts then reach to a memory. The memory of setting Mono's lifeless body on that altar in some corner of the world. The memory of having a voice speak to him of resurrecting her. The memory of him agreeing to slay these beings to free her from death, no matter what the cost. And soon, any fear, any sick feeling he had in his stomach is wiped away, as though it never existed.

    With this, Wander sits up in the saddle and taps Agro on the behind. "Hyaa!" he says with force, commanding the steed to push onward towards their goal.
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    Tavi

    "Righty-ho." Tavi replies, clutching at Lazio's arm. "You might want to hold on."

    Clenching his free fist, the First Lord calls out to the Water Furies that swarm through the water, invisible to the naked eye. They come under his command, and all of sudden a thick cord of water curls around Lazio and the Aleran, lifting them out of the water like the tentacle of a Kraken, and depositing them on the deck of the Septimus.

    As two two survivors splutter on the deck, and the sailor with the rope drops the implement and races to find help, Tavi picks himself, leaning on one arm and turning to regard the castaway.

    "The name's Tavi." He says, extending a hand.
    Last edited by Colesign; 2010-11-09 at 01:52 AM.

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    Lazlo

    "Lazlo" he says shaking Tavi's hand. He looks around for a sec and looks at Tavi again and says, "Food?"

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    Tywin Lannister
    Tywin drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair impatiently, trying to keep the boredom off his features. A tall, spare man, still hard and lean after fifty years, he had a face as cold and proud as any duke of hell, and eyes so bleak and pitiless the excesses of the most deranged psychopath seemed positively warm in comparison. When his hair has begun to recede, he had ordered it shaved off. He was not a man who believed in half measures. He had kept his side whiskers, however, a silver and gold thicket that framed the hard planes and contours of his face.
    He was frowning, even on this day. It was said he never smiled.
    His mind, however, was elsewhere. His final triumph over the house of Rahl, something that his family had been working towards for nearly the entire history of D'Hara, was of almost no interest to him by this point. Once, it would have been everything to him. But he had been closer to the House of Rahl then most people, all of who were raised to worship them and venerate them, and had seen beyond the screen to what they really ere. They were unstable, and, while retaining great personal power, relied on men like him to actually run their country.
    He'd been ruling D'Hara in all but name since before this new Lord was sucking on his mothers tit. What did it matter that it was official now? There were more important things to consider.
    When at last the service was done and the reception began, he got to his feet and made his way through them like a lion padding through a pack of jackles. They were lesser beasts, scavengers, parasites and prey. But he was the hunter, the king of the jungle, and they all knew it.
    He found himself enjoying things afterall.

    Gaborn Van Orden
    He relaxed his muscles and stretched them, finding them sore and unresponsive after so long still. And yet the Earth had preserved him perfectly, they had not weakened or atrophied from lack of use.
    He looked around, pondering the Earths words, and gaining a feel for the world around him the forest here. At last he stepped down and examined his closest friends, those he loved with all his heart. He gently awoke them, as he had been awoken, sharing a kiss with Iome.

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    Mat looks at the man on the other side of the table, as he throws the dice once more.

    ...all sixes. Yep. Just his luck. Blood and bloody ashes, he's trying to avoid an accusation of cheating and this was the third all sixes. His luck could be bloody inconvenient sometimes.


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    Nekron
    The ice wizard sits upon his frozen throne, resting, preparing for what is to come this day. His subjects, the sub-humans, dare not to disturb him, for his wrath is terrible and great, just like the glacier he resides within. Suddenly his pupil-less eyes open, and the glacier begins to tremble as if it were falling apart. Outside of it pillars of ice expand out and shatter, paving the way for the rest of the glacier to move forward, which advances like a marching army ten-thousand strong. Nekron is shouting and yelling with pain the entire time, as if someone had lodged a knife into his stomach, his muscles clench as he grips his throne, going to a point where it would almost shatter.
    Eventually after ten minutes of this undertaking, he stops exerting himself, and the glacier ceases to move, and goes completely still. His breath becomes heavy as he reclines back into his throne and closes his eyes to rest again. The glacier had advanced about ten miles, and had probably annihilated a village in the process, but the lives lost would bother the ice lord in the slightest. Sub-humans emerge from the Glacier and descend upon the lands, to raid and pillage small settlements for supplies.

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    Moraine & Lan
    Moraine sat and listened to the old wizard with a polite smile. She looked over at Lan who just sat that, waiting for her orders like always. She then turned bak to the wizard and spoke up.
    "Are you sure he is nothing but a myth? I am under the impression that it is otherwise. Don't you think so?"

    Mumm-Ra, The Ever Living
    The ambassador is greeted by one of the mutants, an apeman by the looks of it. He quickly rushes inside the Black Pyramid to tell his masterabout the arrival, making monkey sounds along the way. A few minutes after the apeman disappears into the pyramid, a voice can be heard.
    "Enter the Black Pyramid then," the voice is dry and crackly. It sounds like the voice of someone who doesn't have a throat. It then adds, "If you dare..." The voice began to cackle, a horrible laugh to say the least. It almost made a person went to claw their ears off.
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    Druss
    The moon hung like a sickle blade over the city, and a massive warrior prowled the wall, his mere presence lifting hearts and bringing hope. Druss watched the camps below in the lunar light.

    Thousands of warriors were gathered there, and tomorrow they would come charging over the blood-stained ground, hauling their ladders, carrying their grappling irons, and the battle to the death would begin again.

    A huge figure brooded on the walls, and all the soldiers near by felt their hearts beat faster in his presence, as the world was sharper, and they themselves felt stronger.

    Druss. Druss the Legend, the savior of Skeln pass, who had battled his way across the world to rescue his wife. Druss the Axeman, the Silver Slayer. He was known by many names, his face recognized almost everywhere. His presence here inspired hope, that rarest of emotions.

    People who didn't have a patriotic bone in their bodies and had been forced to fight for the Empire found themselves lining up, determined to fight to the last to defend themselves against the rebels. Men who would have fought and died now welcomed the chance, and the threat of death no longer seemed so fearsome. They felt themselves to be heroes, in the midst of a legend being written. It was a heady feeling.

    He was clad in black leather over chainmail, a helmet decorated with silver skulls, and carried his monstrous butterfly axe, Snagga the Sender. The rain left tiny gleaming diamonds on the leather, that cracked in protest whenever he moved. His thick dark beard, shot with silver was wet, yet still stuck out stiffly as though defying the rain. He refused a cloak, disdaining the elements as he disdained his enemies, daring them to slay him. So far none had even gotten close.

    It struck them that Druss was the human embodiment of this ancient fortress, unbeaten and yet eroded by time and wear, less then he was, yet magnificent for that.

    Myth stalked along the walls in the hero, as he stopped along the sentries, raising spirits with a few words of encouragement, or just offering company for a while. Most of them felt awkward, what was there to say to him? Yet somehow they found themselves opening up to him, and he made their fears and worries melt away, inspiring them to valor with little more then a few exchanged words. It seemed almost impossible, and indeed he left many of the soldiers convinced he did have supernatural powers.

    Gengiz Cohen
    Cohen knows enough about cheating to write several books. At least, if he could write, and could afford the criminal waste of paper. On the cold steppe, many a life had been saved with a flint, steel, and a dry book, and if you needed to go to the lavatory and were short on soft paper a book was you're man every time.

    When people tried to cheat him, he tended to nail their hands to the table in a bluff, easy going way, and leave them to learn their lesson. But by the same token, he had all the ability to control his considerable fortune as a man would have trying to herd cats. He had lost more money gambling in his lifetime then the contents of any major strongbox.

    Conan was tall, and very old, of the skinny variety that often get's called spry, with matchstick limbs and considerable sinews which varicose veins had traced, branched and forked like rivers.

    He was totally bald, with a thin beard that stretched almost down to his knees, and an eyepatch beneath his bushy brows. His other eye, however, gleamed with a fierce, hard cunning, the sort of eye Matt saw on experienced generals and leaders. A fine latticework of scars traced aroung his face, and his teeth gleamed.

    He wore nothing but pants, boots big enough to hold an additional pair of feet, and a massive sword belted to his hip that looked much too big for him to use. And yet, somehow, you have no doubt at all he can.

    Cohen waits until he has your full attention, then smiles. It was a slow, lazy smile, unveiling about a thousand carats of mouth jewelry, and seems to light up the room. He holds it for a moment, then picks up the dice rattles them, and slides a pair of gold coins into the table as a wager. They're so pure he leaves fingerprints on it.

    "One more, eh?" He asks, and rattles the coins. "What do you call?"
    'C'est la vie' - Such is life.

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    Mat shrugs. "I'll call it."

    He slides three coins over, to match the purity of Cohen's gold coins.


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    Holo and Lawarance

    "It's sort of a long story..." Lawarance says akwardly as he adjusts the cargo so that there is room for Auron in the back of the wagon.

    "Are not opposites just two parts of the same whole? Why should it come as a surprise to an ancient guardian such as yourself that a wolf girl would attach herself to a simple mortal merchant." Holo muses.

    "Did you just call me simple?" Lawarance asks angerly throwing his head up to defend himself without looking and hitting his head off a crate of ore and falling back to the ground.

    "Ha Ha Ha Ha! AWOOOOLLAA!" Holo howls in amusement. "You can see why I keep him. He is quite amusing isn't he?"

    ***

    Zasamal

    "Under usual circumstances the Varden only employ those that can find them on their own but these are special circumstances." Zasamal ponders as he eyes up Kitara.

    "So naturally the question comes to what would I recieve for directing you to the Varden. I have little need for them to be organized into a proper army."
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    Kitaria
    "Now the important details then. How much steel would it take for you to send me along?" She leaned back in her chair, expecting a rather large sum to start with that she'd have to barter down from. Or maybe information-always a rather obvious market. Soth stayed quiet, feeling a threat wasn't the best way to handle this. Yet.
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    Tavi

    "Right! Food! We've got tons of food! Most of it is salted, but we've got some fresh food in coldstone storage! This–"

    Suddenly, a swarm of guards in Lorica Segmenta swarm up from below the deck, led by a man in a threadbare Tunic with huge brand on his face. With the smooth movements of drill, the Soldiers surround Lazlo. The scarred man rests a hand on the hilt of his short sword, and...

    "Araris!" Tavi barks. "Stand. Down. Lazlo is our guest, and we can't very well evict him into the ocean, can we?"

    Araris, after a moment, relaxes. "Stand down." The men stand down. "Sire. What do you wish me to do with this 'guest'?"

    Tavi, who's apparently a Lord of some kind, shrugs. "This is hardly the time to be paranoid, Araris: we're on a diplomatic mission. Which involves being peaceful. So let's put a good foot forward, and give him a nice meal. Invite my family too: uh, Kitai, Isana, you, and Max. And Ambassoder Varg. How's that?"

    Araris nods. "Of course, my Lord." As he and his men form up behind the two, Tavi walks toward the deck underneath, and suddenly staggers.

    "Urggh...you know what, Lazlo? You can have my portions just this once."

    Tavi looks fairly green at the gills.
    Last edited by Colesign; 2010-11-09 at 11:04 AM.

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    Default Re: [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    Zasamal

    "I have no interest in currency or any information you would posses. What I want is a favor. Among the ranks of the Varden there is a child prodigy in the arts of war by the name of Eragon Brassoom. Earn his trust and teach him everything you can beyond what you do for the rank and file. Is this acceptable?"
    Rural Reign An Original Superhero Webcomic Written by Me and AteMozzarlla

    Darkblade Avatar by Necropaladin

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