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

[Cracklord]

Tavi
"No power is total. All in this world exists in balance, from the elemental furies to the domains that govern the minds of man. If it were so simple that all I had to do was will him to die, then the world would be in my hand, and the Dark One would never break free."
"He has some means of blocking me out, from him and all his followers." He gave a sort of cynical, tragic smile. "After all, only individuals dream."

Lord Angmar
In that moment, her delicate water-crafting to suppress her emotions to the point she could continue to function in the pressence of so much overwhelming evil promptly collapses, exposing her to the true horror of what you all represent. In a small, choked voice, she says a single word.
"Sauron."

Thrall
A pair of massive orcs begin quarreling over a jug of wine, then actually come to blows, doing their utmost best to kill each other over it. As they draw weapons, and even bigger orc, head and shoulders over the other pair, grabs them both by the back of their heads and slams the two of their skulls together with an explosive crack, as he roars at the others and restores discipline.

Lazlo
You hum with nascent power, as you form the rune of punishment, stretching beyond self and all distractions. A series of fiery lines trace in familiar and precise patterns in your head. 'DawnThief'.
It's ready to be used.

Tanis, Tass
"Kitiara says different, and she has given me an army. Self-interest would seem to dictate that, whatever the heart of the matter, I agree with her, and hand you over."
Orin draws his sword, but makes no move to call the guards. They are both genuinely interested in your response.

[darkblade]

Zasamal

Zasamal goes out into the battlefield and retrieves Druss's corpse. The body of such a capable warrior would be most useful.

Finding an out of the way alley Zasamal begins to weave the necessary magics to prevent the Barbarian from passing on but to limit his control over the body. Turning him into an undead slave.

***

Holo and Lawrence

Holo dons the cltohes from one of the dead guards and they travel back towards D'hara in silence. Neither one wanting to speak to the other yet.

[nanobot_swarm]

The Beast
The deep, cruel voice of the Beast echos, "And who is this new order which you represent? Why is their opinion any of my concern?"

Nekron
A deep laugh rumbles out and echos throughout the icy throne room. He then licks his lips and smiles at the hero of time. "Well what do we have here? A youth in green questions me? I am the one who should be asking questions boy, considering you enter my domain uninvited, and armed quit heavily."

[industrious]

Edward Pellew

"Protecting someone. She's with some lord minister something or other. Guy who loves politics."

He never learned to play the Great Game; had little interest in it. Beyond his membership in the Order of the Dragon, which was largely a ceremonial honor, he had held no actual political office.

Allecia Ehothorn

"And a good day to you, Sir Lannister."

Two years ago, and she would have played him for a fool, forced a coup, then swiftly replaced him with her own carefully crafted puppet. Now...things were much different; she had to consider things other than her own power. Morality was such a hard concept for a demon to wrap one's head around, and she was trying, she truly was. She'd probably ask Pellew for advice, as much as it galled her. The man's Celestial heritage must have given him some insight, or at the very least a new perspective.

In the meantime, she takes a closer look at the Gardens, paying particular attention to the arcane designs.

"Now," she mutters. "What are you hear for?"

Cleon

"That's...not good."

In Tamriel, even the most ancient and powerful weapons were merely more powerful versions of more mundane armaments. Goldenbrand had a legacy and reputation for great deeds, and it was forged using a drop of a Daedra's blood, but it held no special destiny; its legacy was a property of its power, nothing more than the sum of its parts.

Even from a distance he can see that the artifacts contained within that vault are not of that caliber. This was very much a problem.

This, the general thinks to himself. is not the wisest thing you've ever done. And I am going to examine why I did it after this is over. If I'm alive when it's over.

He makes his way off the wall, and along with Sonja, faces Gilgamesh. While he is wearing his mithril armor, he had no shield, only a shortsword he took off the body of a dead soldier and Mehrune's Razor.

[doliest]

Kitaria
Kitaria raises a finger, silently telling the noble 'give us a moment,' and turns to Eragon, bending down to murmur to him, "We can burn this city to the ground, yes, but that would put us back months. It would forstall our campaign significantly. Now, if you don't have a tactical reason why we can't take this offer, we're taking it."

Soth
Soth turns, feeling several of the wounds inflicted on him by Druss begin to ache. But that doesn't matter. He was not the type to turn, to run. He had his orders. "Come then. Embrace death." He lifts his hand, hurling his own fireball at the man.

Tasslehoff
"But she'll still burn your cities." Tass finally opens his mouth-even he knew this point, "We know alot about her. How she fights, what she has. And turning us over won't stop her from coming for you-she's crazy. She wants everything." He begins miming a meeting with his hands, " 'Here's those two you wanted,' 'Thanks, 'stab''. "

[Colesign]

Tavi

"Every single one of his followers?" Tavi says with curiosity.

"That would require some old magic. Old primal magic, the sort of thing that is bound up in tradition."

He sighs. "Still, most people aren't cut off from dreaming. Why haven't you contacted more authority figures like me, or Rand, or Galbatorix, or Eragon? If you can go anywhere in this World of Dreams, you could show the more skeptical leaders where the armies of the Dark One are massing, and how they are making ready to tear the world down."

[AnimeKid]

Lazlo

It was time. With a mighty roar he threw his left hand into the air and the symbol for the rune of punishment appeared in the air. Then a red aura rushes out through the air as a ghostly, haunting wail pierces the air. The red curtain of death rushes out past his allies and into the enemies ranks turning them to ash. Lazlo won'tbe able to use the ruen on a scale like this for a while now.

Link

"Multilple beasts attacked us that came out of your lair. I think this warrents my present artillery. Now will you please answer my question" , he says with an edge to his voice.

Auron

He takes a deep breath to center himself and walks slowly after his traveling companions.

[Corvond]

Angmar
As if gaining power by the very mention of his name, Sauron swelled, the blackness parting for a terrible instant, allowing her a glimpse of what lay within, then closed, leaving her whimpering at the instant of terrible revelation.

The lord of the Nine gripped her chin again, forcing her to look at him once more. "The world will fall to darkness. All shall either kneel or be destroyed. Nothing can prevent this, the wheel shall broke, and the pattern shall be given to my lord to weave as he will. Now run back to your kin and tell them all." Then he breathed, and all was darkness.

Tywin
Tywin brushed the sand off the letter he had been writing, paused to consider a moment, crossed out a few clumsy words, then continued writing. He didn't bother with a code, that was for amateurs. Besides, who wanted to live in a world where you could not control what your enemies thought of you.

He'd have to kill Richard in a few days. He had to make sure everything was in place.

Borenson
Borenson was a warrior. He was not a man of wisdom, or a teacher, or even a lord. He was a soldier, and a fighter. Perhaps the premier warrior of his generation, he knew more of warfare then almost anyone else. He also knew a little about fighting wizards. Don't do it on their terms. That said, he clasped his hammer, then charged the ice wizard at a speed only possible to those who have taken a forcible of metabolism, so that he was barely more then a blur.

Myrrima takes his lead, threading an arrow and getting her back to the wall, then looks to the exit, waiting to see if anymore wretched creatures appear

Thrall
He approaches the big orc, his lips tight, his face expressing the emotion orc faces were designed for, raw and savage fury. Thrall was a teacher, a schollar and a strategist, familiar with the classics and the trappings of civilization, but he was still an orc.

He sees no signs of recognition in the warboss's eyes. The orc has never heard of him. It's just a brute. He frowned.

"I am Thrall." He says simply. "And you are?"

[Cracklord]

Tavi
"Doubtless. He has considerable resources, and his ancestors were men much the same as he is, thinking they were answerable to neither man or god. And they have ruled that land since the age of legends." Jagang replies, ignoring your other question. He feels he has spent enough time explaining himself to you. He is an emperor, and has more to do then spend time asuaging your curiosity.
"But enough. You had best wake. For war has come to you."

Holo and Lawrence
You cross the border uncontested, the soldiers having better things to do then question a merchant, his girfriend and a sick man. Auron continues to fade, you desperately need to find a healer who can remove the pieces before the blade consumes him, and he is gone.
You are unlikely to find anyone like that in the mountain communities and fringe settlements on the border.

Wander
You have no luck searching for a facilitator. D'Hara has few gifted, as the Rahls do not like even potential rivals. When at last you do find one, he's dissapointing. Wizards are not supposed to look like someone's pudgy, timid uncle, balting, squinting and short-sighted. If there was anybody else you could turn to, you'd do so in an instant, but he is your only hope.

Cleon, Sonja
He laughs at you. He's not even trying to mock you, he simply finds the idea that you think you can stop him amusing. It was, however, completely indifferent to the suffering of others.
The runeblade in his right hand demands blood, but cannot gain any purchase on his mind yet, he's too single-minded to be easily controlled, and the sword is yet to have any inclination for the brute force approach. At least until it has fed, and your souls look delicious.
"You as well? I will not have my sport interupted. You will die alongside her." He twirls the black blade over his head, and slowly, making their way out of the gate, weapons emerge, swords and axes, spears, hammers of bronze and iron, ice and starmetal, gold and shadow and everything else imaginable, a multitude of tools of death, everyone of dark renown. Each had a long and bloody history as great as any king, all carved deep into legend. A few you even recognize. Every single one is an artifact, immesurably valuable. And with no more regard then that which you gave the arrows your men spent holding the outer walls, he hurls them all at you, all at once as though carried on some loathsome breeze, spinning through the air like deadly rain as they came.

Allecia Ehothorn
The runes drawn in the sand around the circles that put one in mind of celestial patterns spell out one word in a variety of languages, in every script imaginable. Necormancy.

Edward Pellew
"Ah." Richard has no patience for politics himself. His general response was to simply watch politicians until they did something he didn't approve of, then have them executed.
When that wasn't feasible, Tywin Lannister mannaged it for him.

Kitaria
"We should not leave an enemy at our backs, as it will intefere with our supply line and possibly leave us surrounded, cut off and beyond support." He replies promptly. He may be a love-struck idiot, but he's spent enough time around soldiers and military 'geniuses' to have a basic grasp of strategy.
"Furthermore, if they are offering tribute they are obviously threatened by us, and don't believe they can protect themselves. And furthermore, they'll offer whatever they can, but it won't be as much as we can take." He was also enough of a bully to smell weakness a mile away.

Soth
Logain tears it apart with tendrils of the power, and encases you in molten stone, then impales you with ice, sacrificing elegence for raw power. Which he has no shortage of, he may defer to Rand but in different ages he would be able to step up and have a swathe of the world for himself with little trouble. In a duel of power he has you outmatched, and whil he can't destroy you he can overwhelm you.
"The Aiel do that. I prefer to kill other people." He replies, turning up the pressure.

Tasslehoff
"So do a lot of my allies, that doesn't make them unpleasent company. And she won't get in any more then they will. I know how to mannage her type."
She still hasn't called the guards, which means she still wants to be convinced, or she wants something out of the two of you.
"She gives me an army of over ten thousand men. What are you offering? What's your counter bid?"

Angmar
Isanna runs. She gets maybe ten feet before she slips and falls, face down in the mud, sliding al little down the hill. With a small whimper, she scrambles desperately to her feet, and mannages to stagger a few more steps before she falls again. She's not daring to look back.

Lazlo
You leave a field of broken bodies around you as you release the rune of punnishment. Dawnthief. It was said it could be used to steal the sun from the sky by a sufficiently determined wielder. You have not the power to test that, but it leaves almost a mile of ground before the city devestated in a single cataclysmic burst.
However, the casualties are not entirely on the opponents side. Nearly a thousand of your own men were caught along with them, now little more then chared remains and ash blowing on the wind. Even the ground below was fused into something like glass.

Cohen
Tuon, although you would never guess it observing her, was on the brink of despair. She had seen Mat, and knew he would look for her. She felt safe around him, and they were bonded beyond that. Mat was a romantic, and despite his ways was as chivilous as they come.
But that did not reassure her. Not one bit.
Valyria. Nobody would be mad enough to come here, so Mat would never think to search here.
There was one last avenue open to her, and it was a mark of her desperation that she was even considering it, given the stigma of it. Her tallent, never before utalized, a constant temptation that had never swayed her.

Tywin
Sandor Clegane, Gregor's younger brother, is standing within, dressed in his quilted surcoat and leather breaches, stained redish with rust, that he wore beneath his armor. His sword was belted to his hip. He never went anywhere without it. The burned half of his facewas hidden in shadow, but he was frowning.
"Took you long enough." He growled, like the dogs that decorated his surcoat. He was never respectful to his liege, thought he was loyal as only a dog could be.

Gaborn
The earth warns you. Link is in trouble.

[Draxx]

Druss
As the dark man lets out his call, something responds, taking form slowly. A hulking red shape emerges, with a crash of stone and metal as it rises.
It was a warrior, but unlike any other.

A full head and shoulders above his tallest rival, the thing that had been Druss was clad in brazen plates so stained with blood their original color was impossible to guess. A great skull rune was stamped or branded into his chest. Great horns of bone extended from the monstrous warriors helm, and his face was a skeletal horror of yellowed bone and leathery scraps of flesh. A hideous emerald glow burned fiercely in his empty eye-sockets, and its canines were pronounced like fangs.

He turned his glare on Zsalamal, and it was devoid of reason or anything human, but hate. Snagga rests lightly in his hand, still crusted with gore from all the fighting at the siege.

Sonja
In the moment she has to react, she dives out of the way, throwing herself to the ground in the hope to avoid the unusual, though exceptionally lethal projectiles.

[Colesign]

Tavi

"I concur." Tavi replies, and turns to go. "Until we meet again..."

Tavi wakes up with a start and rushes outside the tent to see what has happened.

[doliest]

Kitaria
Thank god. As useful as Eragon being an idiot would have been when it came to manipulating him, the fact that he stood on equal footing with her would make it a....stressful situation at best. "We ensure they agree to a disarment first and leave an occupationary force-and what we gain from razing the city will NOT be worth what we lose-namely, time, men, and morale. And what if we don't roll over them as you assume? What if we get bogged down in a siege? It'll forstall the advance months." 'And if I don't deliver on my promise of a fast move on both fronts, I'm out.' Goes unsaid. Soth was hopefully breaking through on his side. She just needed to move her's forward.

Soth
D***. Soth let's out a roar as he feels pain he hasn't felt since he recieved his curse. He needed to pull back. Get his bearings, heal his wounds. He sends forth his power, trying to create a wall of flame, not to protect him from the mage's physical form, but trying to buy a few seconds free of spells so he could break through the current attacks and pull back to a safe distance to figure out a way to move forward.

Tasslehoff
Tass wasn't the best for an arguement, more skilled at angering someone than having a diplomatic discussion. He didn't want to anger anyone, so he grasped at what little he had, "We can get you her flying castle. She's not there, so most of her men must not be. We can get it, if you just give us a little time-and if you had that, maybe your life might be a bit easier."

[industrious]

Rand

He casually waves his hand, and a small bar of balefire burns through Soth's defenses before dissipating.

"I suggest you leave. Or your path ends here."

If it had been just Al'Thor and Soth, with all of Soth's undead legions of troops...Soth would have still lost. Rand had not raised much of a hand in this battle, but only to see what his lieutenants were capable of.

Cleon

He's older, and not nearly as spry as the young empress. He dives to the ground as well, but one of the weapons still catches him in the left shoulder.

Edward Pellew and Allecia Ehothorn

Pellew continues to eat in silence, then. There isn't much more to be said.

A few bites later, Allecia rushes into the kitchens.

"Pellew! We need to talk. Now."

In her haste, she's rather neglected Lord Rahl. It's a sign of how frazzled she is.

[doliest]

Soth
Soth raises his helmed head, "My path cannot end. I was cursed to live by every god, and none but they can strip my curse away." He begins moving back, "And I will not stop. I was tasked with this city's fall, and so I shall return. But for now, my forces shall leave."

[darkblade]

Zasamal

A lesser man would cackle manically in the face of the abomination he had brought into this world but all the Immortal does is allow a slight simle to cross his lips. "Revenant, bring me the the head of The Dragon Reborn."

***

Holo and Lawrence

That is exactly what they do. Seek out a healer who can help Auron before it's too late.

[Draxx]

Druss
It didn't react. Not at first.

Druss was a fighter. He had defeated champions, blademasters and other legends, and fought in countless wars. He'd fought in arena's, in duels, and in the iron dice of battle. He was a fighter, and his only real talent was taking the lives of others.

But he had chosen to be more then a fighter. He'd killed, but never murdered. He'd fought, but only for causes he believed in and agreed with. He was unable to give up warfare, to become a farmer and settle down. But he had died with few regrets, and a clear conscience. He'd never done anything he couldn't justify. And that was what made him a hero.

But Druss was dead. Something continued, but it was no more Druss then Rand was Lews Therin.

Everything that had made Druss the legend, his iron code, his love for Rowena, his rough philosophy and musings on the nature of man and his quiet, brooding nature was gone. All that was left was memories of war, but he had no memory of why he fought.

Druss, despite seeming indomitable, had always lived with fear of becoming his grandfather, a darkfriend who lashed together an army of men with his black will and burned nations to the ground, a monster who had killed children and on death had shed his mortality and become a demon. What Druss had become was worse.

Without a word, he turned to carry out Zsalamal's orders, striding amongst the soldiers fleeing Soth that blocked his way. Snagga swept out and a dozen men died, their bodies hurtling through the air like cornstalks and threshing time. The red armored warrior bludgeoned his way through, hacking them down with insane ferocity and without mercy. In seconds, every one of them was dead, chopped into ragged hunks of gory meat. It was impossible to tell one warriors remains from another, such was the scale of the butchery. Hundreds of men dead in less time then it would take to count them, and Druss was barely slowed, wading through and striding on towards the male channelers who held back Soth's dead.

[Cracklord]

Tavi
You step through the devastated landscape that cleared the front of the city where DawnThief went off, destroying the Varden army. Such a senseless waste of human life, and such an incredible display of power.
Your legion is assembling on the field, in full kit, doing their best not to pay attention to the total destruction that surrounds them.
Miles has taken charge, and is ensuring everyone does their jobs as best he can, turning the area around the portal into a kind of ordered chaos. The fighting continues inside the city, but for now you have other problems advancing towards you, fuming. Kitai slaps you. Hard.
"Foolish Aleran." She growls. "You could have died."

Sonja, Cleon
The old general was lucky. The weapon that struck him in the shoulder did not kill him outright, steal his soul, or burn him to a cinder, as many of the blades where prone to. Some of the weapons in there were so powerful even the hero king didn't dare lay a hand on them for fear of the toll they may exact apon him, some were even worse then Stormbringer, at least for their wielder.
The sword that did hit him slid through both his armor and flesh as though it were made of wet paper, leaving him with a gapind wound and neatly parted muscle, already bleeding heavily enough for you to feel light headed.
It was strange, but being cut with such a potent blade actually hurt less then that of many of the other wounds he'd received, because the weapon was so sharp it did less damage, though perhaps that was shock.
Gilgamesh kept on walking, laughing to himself. The pikemen and baricades that had been holding the line were demolished, with almost no sign of them remaining beyond a cloud of splinters, a few smoldering fires and a red smear.
"Tut tut, children. I will destroy any who stands in my way, and you shall be no different."

Edward Pellew and Allecia Ehothorn
Rahl steps back politely, giving the two privacy. He seems strangely likable and unassuming, particularly given his reputation. "Don't mind me." He says, seeming unduly interested in the table.

Holo and Lawrence
A village wisdom recommends boiling kingsfoil and bathing the wounds in it. They also tell of a small, pretty woman in blue, some sort of noble most likely, who had come this way and healed a few wounds for those who would allow themselves to be touched with magic. Perhaps she can help you.
She did not say where she was going, but the D'harans believe she was moving towards Aydindril, capital of the midlands.

Kitiara
The noble in charge of negotiating, steps forward. "It's for the best." he says, spreading his arms. "What is a greater good then peace? We can see that you are powerful, and that your desire to rule is also powerful. And we only hope our offer will appease that desire."

Cohen
A green fog begins to filter into the air around you, more like a mist then anything, as while it feels clammy and vaugely unclean, it has no smell, no taste or texture sepperate from the air. As it rolls, it thickens, until you are surrounded by it.

Thrall
It’s not often that Grimgor Ironhide is impressed by another warrior’s prowess. It is even more unusual when he doesn’t just perish such an individual on the spot ‘to keep his ’and in’. Borgut Facebeater is one of those rare exceptions.
Borgut was the biggest orc that Thrall had ever seen. Its skin was coal dark, and its armor was composed of heavy plates of iron hammered into its flesh with spikes. Tusks as large as out-stretched hands jutted from its jaw, and it's red eyes were feral with brutal cunning.
Green fire rippled around his axe, a weapon of immense power and evil. The blade was as smooth as obsidian, and no orc craft had fashioned so deadly a weapon. In his other hand was an immense, crude blade, little more then a wedge of iron sharpened to paper thinness, well notched and speckled with rust. In a strange but very definite way it seemed infinitely more dangerous then it would be if it was of the same workmanship as the axe.
"Bugger that, yer git. Who're ya?"

Soth
Logain weaves air around you, but it is little boundry to you, only the greatest of magics can force you to stay your hand. You pull back, Binky bearing you away, already recovered from the deathblow the warrir struck it. Your dead continue to fight, and will keep it up until dusk, when they shall be summoned to your side once more.

Tasslehoff, Tanis
"Alright. I am going to turn my back. When I turn around, you will both be gone, and I will never have seen you. Understand?"
"Nuasada..."
"No, this is for the best. If she's afraid of them, perhaps they will bring her down. And I for one could use a few less enemies. Just don't let me see you again, or I'll turn you over to the Thorn Knights.

Rand
You feel a tugging, and turn in time to see the warrior that had been Druss batter his way towards you, killing the few ciity defenders left standing ten at a time. They hadn't run because there was nowhere to run, and those that had tried to had been killed along with the rest.

[industrious]

Cleon

Cleon stifles a curse(a rather obscure Ayleid one he had learned from a mage), but doesn't attempt to pull the sword free; doing so would only make him bleed out that much faster.

Thankfully, Gilgamesh isn't paying much attention to him now. And with that barrage of weapons, there has to be one within reach.

If he was quite honest with himself, Cleon was more than a bit giddy about possibly wielding one of the ancient weapons of power.

Edward Pellew and Allecia Ehothorn
Rahl steps back politely, giving the two privacy. He seems strangely likable and unassuming, particularly given his reputation. "Don't mind me." He says, seeming unduly interested in the table.

Allecia moves in close, and whispers a single word in Pellew's ear.

Necromancy.

Pellew recoils as if struck, and places a hand on his shortsword...before remembering that the Sword of the Celestial was still in their room. Wonderful.

"Here? Present?"

"No. A design."

"Ah."

Allecia turns to Rahl, and smiles to hide the panic inside her. She still hasn't recognized him.

"Pardon me, but we need to get to our room. If you'll excuse us..."

They were getting out of here. This place could just fall and topple under its own corruption and filth and evil and...

Wait. Allecia's thoughts of flight are halted for a moment, as another enters her mind. What would the Champion do?

Doing the sane thing and running was out, then. Gathering weapons, denouncing the design, and fighting to save the kingdom was to be their lot. Some days, it just wasn't worth it to stay on the side of Angels.

Rand

"Oh, Druss," he says, mournful at the abomination before him. "What has the Shadow wrought?"

He then begins to weave Spirit, seeking to banish the dark magic that animated the warrior.

[Draxx]

Druss
Druss's soul was gone from the body. The warrior was of such principle that trying to turn him in this way was not possible, even the tightest weaves of compulsion would not be enough. The only way to create this was to banish Druss's soul to the netherworld before giving a parody of life to the grisly puppet.

But Zsalamal had needed someone to swing the axe, a mind behind the automon. And so another soul had siezed the chance to live again, and was instead animating the body. The soul was Bardan the Slayer, Druss's grandfather. Druss was impriosned within, in a cage built from his own mind, watching impotently as he was forced against his will to become the monster he had always feared he would turn into.

The weaves had no effect on the monster, because Druss shielded him himself, taking the magical blows as the massive warrior strode on, uneffected. He brandishes his axe in mocking challenge to all life, and then advanced swung Snagga overhead in a massive blow, finishing the last of the men as Druss howled silently in impotent fury.

With that, the path to the dragon reborn was clear, and he had an axe to grind.

Cohen
"What's this then?"

"Dunno. Nothing good." Cohen sounds serious for a change. Something terrible was about to happen, and he was caught up in it.

Sonja
She ignores the legendary weapons, leaping to her feet in a single, fluid movement that seemed vaguely catlike, and bringing her blade down at Gilgamesh's smug face, looking forwaard to turning it into a red ruin.

Those men were hers, and he had killed them.

Which was odd, as when she had killed the lord of Nemedia and taken it for herself, she had thought only of her own self-interest. And so the chains of command ensnare even the unsuspecting...

[Cracklord]

Sonja
A blade known as Glamdring leapt up unaided, imposing itself between your sword and Gilgamesh's face with a clang of sparks, proving immovable and sending you staggering back. The King of Heroes doesn't even stir, calmly continuing forward as it catches two more blows.
"You will have to do better then that, flame-hair girl. Or have I been awoken in a time where the deeds of men are forgotten, and such is the best that can be found? How boring that would be." He sounds more worried about that then the possobility of being actually hurt.
The blade darts around, catching every blow the same way.

Cohen
"Kneel." A single word, but one delivered in such a way that it is impossible to refuse, even to think of refusing. Even Hamish stands up on shaking legs only to fall to his knees.
"Well that you do. For I have returned. I was king here once. Elric beat me and dragged me here in chains, but I triumphed and sat on his councils, taking the crown from him, though he never guessed what I was. I sunk this city beneath the waves when the doom came, and the gods punished the kingpriest for his presumption when he set sale to Valinor. I forged the rings, and smothered life, and my shadow fell across the world. Yes, it is good that you kneel, for I am free once more, and when Morgoth falls I shall stand still once again."
The voice comes from within the mist, but no lips ever spoke those words.

Cleon
((Fine. Have an upgrade))
You grab a sword made of steel that glows like flickering flame, one moment red, the next orange, the next yellow, the next deepest crimson. It is lightbringer, and has a long and glorious history that you are ignorant of, indeed the very culture and situation that led to it's creation would make no sense to you.
But you do understand the idea of the sword. For the night is dark and full of terrors, and mankind needs a hero to hold back the shadow. You have no idea where that thought came from.
But the sword feels right in your hand, the perfect balance, the perfect feel. And you feel stronger. Stronger then you ever have before.

Edward Pellew and Allecia Ehothorn
You have choices. Try and use Tywin, and send both of them crashing down together. Try and kill them both, regardless of the concequences. Or begin your own plan.
None of them look particularly inviting. No wonder the Rahls have ruled so long.

[industrious]

Rand Al'Thor

Rand seamlessly progresses into his next weaves.

"Logain. Observe."

Many of the old applications of the One Power had been lost since the Breaking. Most of the lost weaves were those of saidin, for the obvious fact that the madness that had afflicted all male channelers rendered the techniques impossible to right down or learn by copying another.

It was for this, among many other reasons, why Rand was the most skilled channeler of his Age. For in his mind, all the secrets of Aes Sedai the Age of Legends were contained. Every forbidden weave and lore that Lew Therin had learned was known to him-and Lews Therin had worn the Ring of Tamyrlin, had been the first of all the Aes Sedai in that forgotten time.

Cutting Lines of Fire, Rand reflects, was rather a poor name for the technique. While it was technically correct, it was not quite a complete description of its effects. The thin red lines were capable, as far as he could tell, of cutting through almost anything save cuendillar. Yet there was more than fire to them; as far as Rand understood it, light was somehow also involved. Ten of these filaments, then whip towards Druss's reanimated body. While Rand regretted that the resulting corpse would be recognizable, such was its fate. Such was its lot.

[Colesign]

Tavi

Tavi takes the slap with as much dignity as he can muster. "We'll tear each other to shreds later, chala, after the death and mayhem is over." He responds sheepishly

He returns the salute. "General Miles." He responds. "How has the civillian evacuation gone?"

[Draxx]

Druss
The towering champion stumbled, his blood red armor flying off him by the hurricane of fire that wove around him in strands, tearing through the blood forged plate. Bones were shattered and torn away, the horned helmet little mote then a lump of pulverized iron, and part of his head was gone, the left side of his skull a shattered ruin, blackness gaping within. But the furious light in it's right eye burned all the brighter.

Still it stood. The champion continued to advance, unbowed despite the ferocity of the attack, axe still held ready as it did. And as Druss beat and lashed at the walls of his prison, his grandfather laughed. He'd walked the path of the warrior, the conqueror, then the path of the heavens, his evil becoming too great for his humanity to contain, and after the sacrifice of many he'd transcended to Daemonhood, becoming a true creature of the Realm of Chaos.

His lord demanded blood, and would have it. With a roar he charged, crossing the distance and bringing down his axe in a terrible blow.

Cohen
"All that?" He replies, looking at him with one shrewd eye. "And now you're back for more, are you? Good luck with that, it's a big world, you have your half and I'll keep mine." He's a pragmatic bastard, if he can't kill or fight it, then he'll negotiate with it until he's out of the killzone.

[Cracklord]

Rand, Druss
"Bloody Ashes." Logain says, seeming awed more then anything at the skeleton. The very fact that anything could have survived that, and keep moving is itself startling.
Crossing air with tiny threads of earth for density, something few channelers could understand despite your demonstration, he creates a hammer of it which he slams into the skeleton, again and again, trying to pound it to dust.

Cohen
"You are dismissive, groveler." The voice replies, a dangerous note creeping into the smooth sound of it's words. "Do not be so again, or I shall tear the souls from your companions and make them my own. You have something I want, groveler. Give it to me."

Tavi
"Taken care of, first Lord. All but a few stragglers are out, and our men have dealt with all the wounds we can.A few pockets of resistance remain, but we are confident they will cave in soon."

[industrious]

Cleon
((He's an early middle-aged brilliant general, whose motto before being sent to the Abyss of the Faithless was "Having no morals makes one stronger." He'd totally try to get a sword.))

A hero. He wasn't one, or at least, didn't consider himself one. A man seeking redemption for past atrocities. Whose name was a curse in his homeland.

But who better to stand as a beacon than one once lost to darkness?

He does not know if that thought comes from nobility or lust for power. He dares not trust himself to judge. But he knows that a city is about to be sacked, and that he must prevent that from occurring.

"No. There are better men in this world; men whose deeds have shaken Empires. Men who have defied the Daedra themselves. I am not that man."

Then, with strength the likes of which he has never seen before, he rises to his feet, ignoring the blood slowly dripping from his wound, and begins his own advance.

"But I suppose killing you will be all the sweeter for that fact."

The Purgatorians

Playing the two against each other wasn't the problem. The problem was afterwords. There had to be someone to guide the realm afterwords.

...

It wasn't the best plan, but Allecia, after looking it over, figured it would have to suffice.

"Right," she says, as Pellew straps the Sword of the Celestial in place of his shortsword. "It's a large circle. Several varieties of runes. It isn't active yet, but it is definitely intentional. You can't make something that intricate by accident, or that accurate in the name of aesthetics. I'm going to need to talk to Lord Rahl..."

"...We just left him, Lady Ehothorn."

"...Oh."

Rand Al'Thor

He shifts his weave to Air, holding the weapon fast, at least for a time. Whatever the creature Druss had become was, it appeared to have some resistance to the One Power. Possibly some sort of gholam variant.

Rand then, out of nostalgia, weaves an intricate pattern of Fire, Air, Earth, and Spirit. A flaming sword appears in his good hand, and his stance is that of a blademaster.

He could wipe the creature out totally, and with no small amount of ease; Deathgates, balefire, Arrows of Fire or Blossoms of Fire. He could call the lightning, summon the storm.

But he chooses, at least for now, to fight with the flaming sword that had slew Ishmael.

[Cracklord]

The Purgatorians
Richard has moved on, and is nowhere to be seen. You spend fruitless hours looking for him, but don't come anywhere near him. It's like he vanished off the face of the earth. You search all the corridors and passages that aren't off-limits, then at last find your way to the throneroom.

Cleon
"You're not ready to wield that sword, you have to sacrifice that which you love most with it first." Gilgamesh injects, boredly. "Until then, it's just pretty. Not even very powerful, but it's pleasant to look at, don't you think?"
Then, before you can reply, he's apon you, sword weaving out like a needle, passing under your guard and through your armor, then stopping just before it drew blood. He withdraws it and steps around your counterthrust, then does it again.
It's about humiliating you, showing how much he outclasses you that he doesn't even need to go for the kill.

[Draxx]

Druss
Even with twenty of you facing him, the sheer power only seemed to drive him to greater heights of frenzied delight. Snagga smashed down, but instead of cleaving through flesh and steel as it had done in the slaughter of his own men, it met instead the power of magic and the stregnth of the dragon reborn.

But the thing was far too powerful for any human to match, it's limbs propelled by all it's unholy might, and the force of the blow almost made Rand buckle, the power of the blow reverbrating throughout his body and the sword almost bending. Cracks spread out beneath his feet on the stone road. Ghostly whisps of howling shade swirled around the champion, he seemed to gather his might in a single instant, and he struck again.

Years ago, when hunting a man who had kidnapped his wife in a long story of bitter betrayal and heroism that was immortalized in his legend, Druss had trained warders at the White Tower for a short time, and none had come close to beating him, despite everything. Druss was one of the greatest warriors in his generation, not just in skill and dedication, but for a number of other reasons, one of which was the blood that sung in his veins.

But Bardan The Slayer was less hard to define. He was such a warrior because he loved slaughter and war, and threw himself into it as others did lovemaking or artistry, with a dedication and obsession that made him more then a warrior. To him, this violence was all there was. And that was a greater advantage then even his experience, stregnth or the blessings of Khorne.

He swung again, in another furious arc. The art of the blademaster was deflecting the others blade in a series of immortalized moves that Druss had refused to teach for a good reason. They didn't work so well if your oponent was a master of improvisation and fighting with something other then a sword. You could be a blademaster, or you could be a warrior who didn't mess about, but not both, as far as Druss was concerned, and nobody had been able to prove him wrong.

He smashed passed Rand's guard in two more whacks, sending him staggering back, then sent him flying with another blow that opened up the barely healed wound on his side. It felt like being plunged into an icy lake, and Rand felt the seething touch of the other side creeping into him as it happened, a frozen feeling of utter lifelessness and doom. He felt the corruption of it oozing into him, and sapping the stregnth from him as it did.

But Bardan had made a mistake, so focused was he on the fight, and had forgetton the man he kept caged in the back of his mind, whose body he had stollen. With a primal roar, Druss broke the bars, and smashed into his grandfather, wrestling a moment with a great red thing like a bull, man and bat somehow crossed into one, forcibly making it withdraw for a moment and taking his body back. Slowly, carefully, he lowered the axe, fighting every inch of the way. For a moment, the green flames burned blue, and Druss spoke in a ghastly dry voice, like the rustling of sere leaves that nonetheless was unmistakably familiar. "Kill me laddie. Quick now."

Then they burned green again, and Bardan lifted the axe to strike.

Sonja
The queen got to her feet, somewhat dazed, and turned to glare at Gilgamesh. Then she began to slip behind him, boping to take him while his back was turned.

Honor would be wasted on him anyway.

[industrious]

Rand Al'Thor

"Burn me, Druss," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

Rand weaves Earth and Fire. There is a flicker of light near the Dragon's finger. And Druss's body vaporizes.

Arrows of Fire. Each fingertip creates ten of them, very rapidly. Each Arrow is enough to vaporize three Trollocs. Rand had used four fingers' worth.

[Draxx]

Druss The Legend
The warrior was armored in blood-red plate, his helmet carved in the shape of a snarling, horned demon. The other was dressed in black and silver. Both held the same axe, in the same stance. Druss had beaten back his grandfather, but the thing had dragged him back when he'd died again, to this, the darkest levels of the netherhells.

"The lad did it." Druss said, sounding faintly ammused, as only the defiant can be when facing something they've denied all their life. "He'll win yet. Makes my heart proud to be."
"He might." The other conceded grudgingly. "But you'll be de
ad."

"So will you. But this time, you'll stay that way, if I have to watch you til eternity. Your done." With that, he threw himself at the spectre of his grandfather with a roar, their axes clashed, and the battle for a single soul was finally decided.

Cohen
"You can't have it." He replies automatically, without even thinking.

[InyutheBeatIs]

Wander

The young man breathed deeply. This rather unassuming man was the only person Wander could find under the circumstances, and he had to at least try and get him on his side.

So, the young man decided to walk up to him, trying to act casual and hurry the forcibles out of sight. He soon finds himself in front of the pudgy man, forcing an akward smile his way. "Hello sir." Wander says, just a little bit of his foreign regional accent showing through thanks to his nervousness. He catches his mistake, and holds his fist up to his mouth, clearing his throat in an interesting attempt to correct himself. "Excuse me."