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  1. - Top - End - #61
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Cracklord's Avatar

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

    Grimgor
    The idol of Gork gets up and goes to do it's own thing. You can't begrudge it that, Gork probably wants to fight as well, and can't be looking out for you and your boys all the time.
    He'll be back when he's done, and you can get by while he's gone.

    Rand Al'Thor
    Min stares at you. She takes in your solemn expression, and your serious eyes, and she lifts a delicate hand to stifle a giggle. She can't help it, you just look so uncomfortable, so forced, as though you're terrified she might react poorly. It occurs to her that for all your power you're as human and awkward as the next man when trying to be there for someone you love, and it's good to remember that.
    Getting herself under control after only a few shakes, she takes the flowers and takes a deep sniff of them with mock gravity, inhaling their fragrance. She pauses a moment, then gives you a smile that makes you melt. Min can see you're trying and that means a lot to her. Her hand twines with your remaining one, and she leans against you, happy to share the moment.
    But as she does, you can't help but notice your surroundings. People stop moving to stare, a few run, and a few cheer. But most are quiet as a rabbit caught in the headlines. You follow their gaze to see what has their attention.

    Gerald, an ordinary human in the market at Terim
    Gerald had a splitting headache. He had staggered through the morning, forcing himself to complete his chores and wincing every time there was a noise, no matter how slight. All he wanted was to crawl into his covers and be left alone until the world stopped spinning, the inside of his head stopped pounding like a drum and the back of his throat stopped tickling, or until he died, he didn't really care which.
    He'd been up the entire night drinking, celebrating his brothers engagement to the crofters daughter, and he was sure they'd been plenty more done as well, except it vanished whenever he tried to examine it, like punching smoke. He wasn't sure he wanted to remember either.
    Making his way over to the well, grumbling the entire time, he took a pail and begun to feel it, before he noticed how the town appeared empty.
    "Gerald!" He winced at the noise, but turned to see Sam the Thatcher running towards him. "Haven't you seen?"
    "Seen what?"
    In answer, Sam pointed at the sky. Gerald followed his gesture to stare at the sky above the East. At first, when he saw it in the distance, he took it to be a particularly large bird. But it flew oddly for a bird, and as it came closer he began to get some sense of the scale of the thing compared to its surroundings. It was far to big to be any bird he'd ever heard of, even the giant owls the elves ride in all his Nan's stories, big enough to carry a full grown warrior. As it came closer he began to see that the shape was wrong too, it was too long, and the wings were like those of a bat, rather then a bird.
    As it came closer still, he noticed the long, lizard like-body, the enormous snake like-tail, the serpentine neck supporting the massive head, and the glorious gold color that no bird had ever flown. He saw the massive shield of bone, the double row of sharp spines that ran down it's long neck, the great jaws, the scales so bright they shone, the yellowy ivory of it's claws and teeth, and the dark eyes like inky pools.
    It was a dragon, and not just any dragon, but quite possibly the biggest one that had ever existed, the biggest that he had ever heard of. Not that he was an expert on the subject. This was the first, and, he quite sincerely hoped, last he would ever see.
    "Gods preserve us..." He whispered.
    "I don't think they can." Sam replied, equally awed. "Not from that."
    The dragon landed, and a figure armored figure leapt nimbly from his back. He seemed puny and insignificant when compared to the creature that had carried him, he could have walked down it's throat without touching the sides, but there was no mistaking the aura of power that surrounded him. His amour was articulated plates of red and black, and a heavy helm that hid his features. The dragon itself was armored too, Gerald realized numbly, though it seemed inconceivable that anything could hurt such a majestic creature.
    The man removed his horned great helm to reveal a face that was young, no more then twenty, and almost girlishly handsome, dark hair and delicate features, yet he held himself with a springsteel readiness.
    His name was Murtagh, and he was the heir of Galbatorix himself. The heir of the Empire.

    Wander
    The arrow strikes it, and the statue awakes. It has been carved to resemble a giant orc, but beneath it you get a feeling of elemental power crackling away, of something ancient and primal. A familiar feeling by now. The massive thing lumbers towards you, every movement echoing with the crack of stone and the trickle of sand and dirt. Yet it kept it's shape, kept it's cohesive hole as it made it's way towards you.

    Allecia
    "You husband is needed elsewhere, this time. Fear not, he shall be safe." It replied gently.

    Moraine & Lan
    "Of course. Right this way." He says, getting to his feet with more energy then you'd expect in a man of his age, and making his way out of the room in loping, jerky strides.

    Mumm-Ra, The Ever Living
    "Your wisdom is equaled only by your magnificence, most perceptive of kings." He replies, falling into the traditional method of dealing with your kind.
    "The order knows of your ambitions, and Jagang has decided that supporting them could only benefit us. In exchange for your loyalty, he will give you all of the Border realms for your own, there to rule as you see fit in the name of the Order."

    Tasselhoff, Tanis
    They come off in short order. Your wrists are chafed, bruised and a little bloody, but you're free to make your way out of the fortress, provided that you are careful.
    Nadir We,
    Youth Born,
    Blood Letters,
    Axe Weilders,
    Victors Still.

  2. - Top - End - #62
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    Default Re: [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    "Blood and bloody ashes, I DIDN'T WANT A BARFIGHT!"

    Mat snatches up his spear, spinning it and knocking a man cold with the pommel. He fights, but only using it non-lethally.


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    And so it was that Zaeed, Aang, Winry, Ezio, Sadoko and Snow White all set out on their epic journey to destroy The Empire.

    God I love Exalted.


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  3. - Top - End - #63
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    Default Re: [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    Rand Al'Thor

    "Well," he remarks, keeping his composure.

    "I've never seen an actual Dragon before."

    The tattoo on his right hand is beginning to itch. The one on his left...well, without a left hand, all he really had was the long sinuous tail of a dragon, and not its head.

    "Think I should make introductions?"

    Allecia Ehothorn

    "Then I am my Lord Azura's to command."

    She thinks for a moment, then quickly qualifies her statement.

    "At least, so long as I am not forced to damn myself so."
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    Silly boy. I've played in Industrious's games. They don't murder characters. That means the torture ends.
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    It turns out that sometimes? He *does* murder characters.

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  4. - Top - End - #64
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    Default Re: [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    Matt
    You crack the man between the eyes, stunning him, and clearing a space around yourself. As you do, you survey the room, and blink, as you see what the real problem was. The man at the bar puts down his tea, and stares directly at you with cold eyes. Cold, hard eyes. You then notice the ravens tattooed on his forearms, and remember why you kept your spear covered.
    You feel like sinking back down and letting the world swallow you.

    Tavi
    Your escort welcomes you in with all the pomp and ceremony of your station, a proud procession that makes you swell. It's good to be king. You make your way down the docks and into the market, where you see Murtagh ahead. He managed to do a better job with his escort after-all. Even Varg draws back a bit at the sight of the enormous, blood red dragon.

    Rand Al'Thor
    Min is staring at him as well, her eyes glassy and distant. She sometimes gets like this. "I see a ring given, a crown, a noose and a bag of silver. I see tears and blood. And I see a face." She breaks her gaze away, stares at you and shrugs. "That's all, I'm afraid. Should we go speak to him, or should we watch a while. He might be an enemy yet."

    Allecia Ehothorn
    "Go to the other continent, and the champion will return sooner, as your struggle will strengthen him and speed his return. There, things must proceed one way or all may be lost."
    Last edited by Cracklord; 2010-11-10 at 08:28 PM.
    Nadir We,
    Youth Born,
    Blood Letters,
    Axe Weilders,
    Victors Still.

  5. - Top - End - #65
    Orc in the Playground
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    Default Re: [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    Wander

    A grim smile flashes on Wander's face as the beast awakes. By now, he'd encountered enough of these beings to not be quite in awe as he was before.

    Wander pulled Agro's head around and kicked him in the sides, beckoning him to run in a circle around the Colossus. Meanwhile, Wander repositions himself to fire at the being, trying to egg him onwards. Now came the next part, trying to find its weakpoint, and the sigil that marked it.
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  6. - Top - End - #66
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    Default Re: [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    Mumm-Ra, The Ever Living
    He cackles evilly.
    "And how do I know I can trust you? I may be immortal but my Kingdom is not. How do I know you will not turn against me when the world is yours? I assure you, I will not simply agree to whatever you offer without reassurance like any fool would. Do not take me so lightly."



    Moraine & Lan
    Moraine follows him, taking calm, smooth strides. Lan silently follows behind him.
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  7. - Top - End - #67
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    Default Re: [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    "Bloody ashes."

    In Mat's estimation, that summed up the situation quite nicely.


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    And so it was that Zaeed, Aang, Winry, Ezio, Sadoko and Snow White all set out on their epic journey to destroy The Empire.

    God I love Exalted.


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  8. - Top - End - #68
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    Default Re: [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    Zasamal

    tZasamal takes a seat in one of the seats in the merchant caravan and rides towards the imperial capital.

    ***

    Holo and Lawarance

    Holo and Lawarance take their offered seats. Holo sits uncharacteristically quietly listening not only to the General's words but his heart beat, hesitation between statements and other signs that he's lying.

    Lawarance turns to business, he knows this trick of Holo's she'll let him know if the General is trying to deceive them in any way. "A pleasure to meet you General. I trust your men reported good things about my ore."
    Last edited by darkblade; 2010-11-10 at 08:45 PM.
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  9. - Top - End - #69
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    Default Re: [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    Rand

    "I don't suppose you can interpret any of the symbols?"

    He doesn't approach Murtagh. Waits to get his measure first. And to ascertain why the man has arrived.

    Allecia

    "As you wish, Lady Azura."

    It wasn't a guarantee of safety for her love, but it was enough. She had hope. And another opportunity for redemption.

    There would need to be a few preparations made, though. Already, her sharp mind races through possibilities, resources, logistics and planning. She hadn't done this in years.
    Quote Originally Posted by DeafnotDumb View Post
    Silly boy. I've played in Industrious's games. They don't murder characters. That means the torture ends.
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    It turns out that sometimes? He *does* murder characters.

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  10. - Top - End - #70
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    Default Re: [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    Tavi

    Tavi carefully keeps any trace of fear or terror at the sight of the giant dragon off of his face.

    Then he carefully nudges Max's foot: Max flinches, then unfolds his scroll and reads:

    "crowstakeit...Quail and be humble before The First Lord of Alera, Gaius Octavian Tavarus Magnus, Ruler of the Four Corners of the World, Defeater of the Vord, Defender of the Crown, Creator of Plenty, and Sovereign of the Realm of Alera! His Excellency has voyaged over many leagues to the Land of the Empire in order to seek an Audience with his Fellow Sovereign, or the closest Representative of the Royal Line, that they might might discuss Affairs of State!"

    Max folds up the scroll, and the trumpeters, after some hesistation, sound out a royal trill. Tavi, along with Kitai, Araris, and his mother, wait for a response: Tavi, managing to look fairly regal in his breastplate and cloak, tucks his thumbs into his belt and stairs at Murtagh levelly, a faint grin on his face, as if the giant fire-breathing Dragon didn't bother him at all.
    Last edited by Colesign; 2010-11-10 at 09:16 PM.

  11. - Top - End - #71
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    BlackDragon

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

    Auron

    He stays silent but remains ready incase his client needs him.

    Lazlo

    He decides to follow Tavi's group as they make thier way to thier escort. When he sees the dragon his eyes widen for a moment before the return to thier normal state. He had seen dragon like creatures before, just not an actual dragon.

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  12. - Top - End - #72
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    The Beast
    From the inky void that is the space surronding stars, a massive meteoroid, originally hailing from a world halfway across the known universe, moves on a path to intercept a nice blue planet, an oasis in the desert of space. The rock enters orbit, but does so neither swiftly or with great fire surronding it, instead, slowly easing itself down to the surface, like a small rock sinking to the bottom of a lake. Many men will stop and watch it descend, observing with a mixture of curiosity and fear, though few will be priviliged (or cursed) to see where it comes to rest, a field near the elvish forests. For hours, it merely stands still and erect, showing no signs of its makers or purpose to curious eyes. Eventually several parts of the rock slide away, releasing some foul air from inside, a sense of dread, and the Slayers.
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    Hundreds of the monsters march out, and begin to form into bands and roam the surronding lands, killing any they come across. Inside the Black Fortress, their Wicked Master laughs to himself, for he will take much delight in the conquest and subjugation of this world.

    Nekron
    The ice lord reclines in his throne with exhaustion, snatching out offerings his servants make, and devouring them while planning his next move. He and the kings to the South both know that he posses no threat to them at the moment, he could only move his Glacier so fast and far, and they were a safe distance away for months, if not years. Of course, the kings to the north were a different story, they fell within his sphere of influence, and his mighty glacier and sub-human armies possed a very real threat to them. Therefore he called several of his sub-human minions who served as his ambassadors/messengers, and told them this:
    "Go to the Kings in these northern lands, and make it very clear to them that they have two options in their near futures. Either they will submit to me and serve me till their dying breaths, or I will make those dying breaths come very soon, and wipe their kingdoms off the map, one-by-one. Now go, get out of my sight."
    His servants immediately flee from his presence, and go to deliver the message to the northern kings. To add extra weight to his demands, he will move the Glacier another ten miles, towards the boarders to the nearest kingdom.

  13. - Top - End - #73
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    Default Re: [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    Tavi
    Murtagh walks forward, tossing his cloak over one shoulder, his armored gauntlet resting on his sword. You recognize it as the nonthreatening move that it is. He's a warrior, and he's more comfortable with a weapon close at hand. And such a weapon it was, longer and straighter then a leaf bladed gladius, designed to be wielded in either one or two hands with equal proficiency. It is made of a curious metal, like the bloodsteel of the Canin yet with a brighter finish.
    He waits patiently for you to finish, then gives you a nod that forstalls the awkward moment when men of roughly equal rank meet in public. He's slightly younger then you, but he doesn't look it, lean as a blade and hard as a poker.
    "I don't have such a list of titles, I'm afraid." He notes softly, and you think you can hear a glimmer of amusement in his voice, though it might be something else. His emotions are steady and sedate, calm and clear as a lake.
    "Maybe Galbatorix will lend me a few of his, then we could meet on equal footing. I am Murtagh, prince of the Empire. This is Thorn, my dragon." The dragon lets out a soft grunt and inclines it's head, in a bizarrely human gesture.
    "The king regrets he could not come himself, but pressing matters have come to his attention. I understand you seek to open channels between our nations and create a presence here?"

    Rand Al'Thor
    Min nods, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I've seen crowns before. I don't think that one is for him. He's going to give it away, or refuse it when it's offered. Tears and blood mean he's going to die in battle, but not when or on which side. And I don't see much in the face."
    She looks at you, as if to apologize for the unsatisfactory nature of her vision, then sighs and looks at them again. For now it's best you remain quiet.
    The other two have put on a much better show, Rand might be able to pass for a young rake out prowling the taverns and Min could be the girl of a wealthy merchant out to play a bit before she tries to ensnare a husband, but in the current climate any reveal would be a poor first impression. And impressions are important, if you want to win them to your side.
    The dragon Reborn has to feel like the Dragon reborn.
    She then looks at Tavi. "A garden of swords. That's a hard one. An open book... knowledge of some sort, I think he's going to learn something, or maybe teach something. And hands overflowing in gold. Riches..." She blinks. "You want to get him on your side if you can, Rand. It will make things easier."

    Holo and Lawarance
    The general nods at the two of you politely, and offers you wine. As he does he gives you both a long, measured look, particularly at Holo's ears, then takes a sip of his own glass.
    "Of course. All of good quality." He says in reponse to you asking after your resources somewhat dismisively, as though the opposite was unthinkable.
    "You know of course that the Imperial Order would have paid twice as much for it."

    Allecia
    She departs, and the light recedes, leaving you alone in your pallace.

    Wander
    The arrows richchette of it's stony hide, dulling from the impact and setting off showers of sparks, but not actually hurting the thing.
    Bending down, it lifts an enormous tree, a giant in the forrest, and with a convulsive wrench uprooted it, then threw the entire thing towards you.

    Mumm-Ra, The Ever Living
    He smiles. "There are more important things then conquest. Order, is what we desire. We have little need to take your empire as long as you work alongside us."

    Morianne, Lan
    The Wizard's Keep is a huge fortress that overlooks the city of Aydindril. The Wizard's Keep is carved into a mountain and there are literally thousands of rooms. Magic radiates from the Keep and the web's that protect it are equal to even the White Tower. It's a tremendous bastion of power, and yet no more then six or seven people seem to live here. You have suspicions about that.
    Zeddicus moves as though propelled with strings. He'd start of moving jast, then would slow down until it was a gradual movement ant the end. There was no rythum to the man. At last he takes you to his enclave, where books line the walls. There are perhaps a hundred.

    Matt, Cohen
    The Deathwatch Guards are perhaps the most honored and valued of the Imperial servants. They are charged with the protection of the Imperial family. They are recognized by their green tassled spears, and the sigul of a raven.
    Amongst them are the Seekers for Truth, who search for treason and other wrong-doing. Property of the Empress, they act as spies amongst Seanchan and its enemies alike. Anyone must obey one, even one of the Blood.
    Impersonating one is a grave crime indeed. One that can have you dragged before the empress herself, and killed by inches. And the odds of one being here, drinking in a disreputable pub like this...
    Sometimes you hate your life.
    He walks over to you, sensible enough to keep out of reach of your weapon. There is a heron engraved on his sword, which is equally not good, and everyone does a little bow to him and lines up behind him. The Seachan have obedience drilled into them before they learn to talk, they could do nothing else.
    "Hand over your weapons. You are under arrest."

    Zasamal
    The merchant takes you into the desert, where you will recieve your next shipment of Lace. As one of the wandering tribesmen, you are at home in the desert, even if it has changed and grown since you were born. Once it was fields of grassland.
    In summer, the grasslands flashed young and green, Autumn they flashed yellow, and in Spring they were purple with Saxifrage and Vetch. It was a hundred times the size of the Empire, a thousand. You could ride all day and all night and not see the end of it, with not a fence or plot of land that is owned. Nothing to stop you galloping all day and all night, as far as you want, as if you and your horse were flying...
    There, there is freedom that you once had. The grasslands are gone now, the world has moved on. And now all you can long for is an ending.

    Nekron
    No response yet. As the communication is basically send a messenger and wait for him to walk or ride the distance, it will be a while.

    Tywin Lannister
    Jaime nods. As an afterthought, he gives you Nekron's letter, which the Kingsguard intercepted. It was best to keep a wide circle around Richard for that reason, they took any threat, no matter how inconcequential it may seem, very seriously.
    "Some Wizard sent it." He says by way of explanation, then steps away.
    Last edited by Cracklord; 2010-11-11 at 02:28 AM.
    Nadir We,
    Youth Born,
    Blood Letters,
    Axe Weilders,
    Victors Still.

  14. - Top - End - #74
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    Default Re: [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    Verona House

    She moves from the master suite to the guest rooms, where the other non-servant inhabitant of the house dwells. Unlike her, he feels no sense that he is somehow unworthy of the God's attention. To the contrary; his flaw had been that he viewed himself as superior to the gods. Had been, but for the Champion.

    "...Et in Arkay Ego. Praise to Arkay, God of Life And Death. May he return safely from hell, and be successful in his aims. Amen."

    Cleon kneels in his room, finishing his own daily invocation as Allecia waits. He takes time to acknowledge her presence, both out of his own focus, and his own hesitation in seeing her. The two had quite a history, after all.

    "Hello, Cleon."

    "Lady Ehothorn."

    He never called her anything but that, anymore. They had known each other for quite sometime; she had used a different name, then. She had seduced him, ensnared him in her web of subtle manipulations, created the Butcher of Armindale. They had been married, once. He knew, or thought he knew her intimately. But he didn't. Sometimes he would instinctively know what she was going to say, a consequence of his years spent with her. Other times, he would be completely surprised by actions that his wife would have never done. How much was mask, and how much the face behind it?

    At least, she thinks. He isn't trying to kill me anymore. Thank the Champion for that.

    "I've been approached by Azura." She speaks brusquely, without any pleasantries. "We have a chance to aid our Champion by aiding her."

    His gaze immediately shifts to his wardrobe. Where, she knows, he still stores his armor. His weapons were below, in the armory.

    "Then what are we waiting for?"

    She stares at the old general, who had escaped the afterlife for his second chance. To atone not only himself, but the Champion as well.

    From behind her back, she brings out a bundle of clothes, heavily wrapped together despite their wide and varied nature. Silk coats and rough blacksmith garb, all tied together to protect what was inside.

    "You'll need to carry the Sword," she remarks. "It still burns me if I touch it."

    He nods once.

    "I can do you one better."

    Sir Edward Pellew, Applewatch

    The old Paladin sighs as he sits on his porch and watches the sunset. He was old now, older than any man should be. His Celestial blood, a gift from some distant ancestor, had aided him in that. His wife and children lay buried in a distant place, so consumed had he been by his obsession. And the Fiend that he had hunted for nearly a century had turned out to be a phantasm; at least, that was the best word he could use to describe him. He had slain the Fiend fifty years ago, and his time hunting the Fiend's reincarnation was for nothing. The Champion had rejected his Dark Legacy, and sought to redeem those he had corrupted. Pellew wished him luck in that endeavor. For him, the quiet life was enough. A nice, quiet death at the end of a life ill-spent. Fondly reminiscing of past glories long faded. No one would know he had passed on; the only remnants of his deeds were those that lived in children's tales.

    So it was with no small amount of surprise that Pellew noticed a pair of horses approaching the small farm. More than that, two black horses.

    "So," he mutters. "One last blaze of glory, is it?"

    He reaches under his chair to pull free a steel shortsword, its edge chipped but serviceable. He would not go down without a fight. He would not go down as easy prey for some young acolyte of the Dark Brotherhood, or the Shadow Knights. He would not…

    “Hello, Edward Pellew.”

    The voice is as familiar to him as his own. He had spent centuries hunting that voice. The other Fiend. The she-demon herself.

    “Quorell.”

    She flinches from that name. He still has that power. Can still banish Fiends and other dark creatures.

    “Allecia. Please.”

    He doesn’t lower the sword.

    “What do you want?”

    The other rider dismounts, and slowly, carefully walks forward. His face is unknown to Pellew, but it is not the Champion’s.

    “It’s the Champion, Sir Pellew. He has descended into hell on a quest to retrieve a soul. And Azura will bless his journey only if we bring aid to another continent. You owe him, Edward Pellew, for he did what you could not. He slew the Fiend Within, destroyed and banished him forever. He gave you this life of peace and comfort.”

    A sharp man. And given his company, and familiarity with the Champion, there was only one man who fit the criteria.

    “General Cleon Strategos. Your reputation precedes you.” The shock and look of shame on the man’s face is enough for Pellew to judge him. That they are both, indeed seeking redemption. That they haven’t slipped back into their old habits. “What would you have me do?”

    “Bear this once more, and help us.”

    The Sword of Celestial is freed from its wrappings, and it shines brightly in the night sky. It sings of hope and justice, peace and virtue. It is like no sword that had ever been made, or ever would; carved as it was from a single shard of green glass. It was an impossibility made incarnate, kept together only by divine will. The weapon of a Hero, not that Pellew felt he deserved the title anymore. But he would do it. Because it was the right thing to do. Because he could not live the quiet life anymore. Because he didn’t trust the two of them on their own to continue on the path towards redemption.

    The Sword doesn’t make him feel ten years younger when he holds it. That sort of thing was for poets and storytellers to speak of. But it was comfortable, and he knew its balance intimately. It would suffice. It always would.

    “What are we waiting for?”

    Anvil Harbor

    The Harbor at Anvil was the finest in all of Cyrodiil. Its ships brought in fresh goods and passengers from across the Empire, and in some cases, beyond. Finding a ship was easy. And being married to the most famous (and one of the wealthiest) man in all the Empire did have its benefits. The fastest ship at port, and three bunks in a separate room for all of them. They were on their way to the other continent. On their way, for the Champion. For themselves. For redemption. For excitement. And for Edward Pellew, for a death worth dying for.
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    Rand Al'Thor

    "Interesting."

    He slips backwards into the crowd then, then through it. Into a clear and deserted area.

    "Do you trust me, Min?"

    "What sort of question is that, you wool-head?"

    He laughs. "Good Point. Here's what I need you to do..."

    A minute later, and Rand is dressed in a fine black coat, embroidered with subtle dragon patterns. Lace adorns the sleeves-not too much, but enough for dignity. At his side, he bears the Power-forged Sword he had found; plain and unadorned, but finer work and of sturdier construction than any heron-marked blade. In short, he looks like the Dragon Reborn once more.

    "Thank you, Min."

    And then he channels the One Power once more, closing the gateway, and weaves strands of Air and Spirit around both himself and Min both, cloaking them from sight, and then tying off the weaves so that they themselves were invisible. Rand drew upon the nearly five centuries of combined experience of both himself, and his prior incarnation; aside from the Forsaken themselves(and even among them, only Moridin would be able to, such was Rand's ability with the Power) that he was effectively nonexistent to any sense or means of detection.

    Of course, there were drawbacks to this sort of weave. He couldn't channel save to untie it while it was upon him, nor could he move at great speed. But it would more than suffice. He had learned it, in fact, from Ishmael, who had used it to assassinate his second in command during the Siege of Punis. Those had been quite interesting days...

    "I think," he mutters. "a suitable entrance in the middle of their meeting will suffice. Until then, shall we continue to follow them discretely."
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    Default Re: [FL] Fantasy Lynching: Blood alone turns the Wheels of History

    The days blur, as you cross the ocean. You are not bothered by storms or leviathans, making it across safely towards the far off continent.
    You pass Vroengard, the ruins of Valyria, said to be the first cradle of civilization where man began.
    Valyria is a long-dead city of wonderment, and was once the capital of a great empire that stretched across the known world, but has since fallen to ruin. At its prime, the Valyrian Freehold was an advanced civilization and the dominant military and cultural power of the known world. It is said at the top of the citadel still sits the Runestaff, the axis for the turing of the world.
    The Ship is skirting the edges of the smoking sea, demon-haunted waters that are still ruled by the Doom that struck Valyria.
    You shiver, and are very grateful when you pass that sad stone remnant. It's impossible not to believe the stories as you see it.
    Then the coast is within sight, and you know you've crossed the ocean. Ahead is the coast of the Empire, and The Spine of The World.
    Last edited by Cracklord; 2010-11-11 at 03:58 AM.
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    Mat

    ...oh, great. No, Mat didn't expect to be executed- that bloody Prince of the Ravens business- but Tuon (no, sorry, Fortuona) would be angry at him.

    Still, better than being stuck like a pig. Mat shifted the spear so the pommel was towards the Truthseeker. "All right, I'll come quietly, since that'd probably be better for my health than being stuck like a bloody pig."

    He puts the spear on the ground, and sighs.


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    Cohen
    And the reason was thrown out the window.

    It was to be expected, Gengiz had never backed away from a fight in his life, and while he'd been in the empire long enough to pick up the language and a few other things he had no idea of the significance of what just occurred. So there was a fight. Well he could oblige.

    "Come and take them!" Yells out Gengiz Cohen, tossing his cape over his shoulder, then bending over and lifting the bar room table. It wasn't bolted to the floor, perhaps foolishly, but it was still an impressive feat of strength, especially considering his frame. For a moment he holds it over his head, the his back arcs and sends it hurling at the crowd, and more particularly at the guard who had taken control of the situation, sending him sprawling as it crashes into him.

    He'd be lucky to escape with broken bones.

    The world's oldest hero got to his feet and went for his sword, scuttling crabwise around as he found it jammed and tried to get it out, then at last pulling it free and flourishing it, mortally wounding a man who was in the process of sneaking up on him. Everyone was still too shocked by his reaction to get together enough to swarm him, and he was playing it to his advantage.

    He swung his sword a few times in a bright arc, forcing people back and giving him some breathing space, then stood up on the overturned table for the high ground advantage and took his sword calmly in two hands, brandishing it over his head. "This is getting fiddly. Why don't you rush me?"

    Sonja
    The Imperial Order gets their diplomat back. In six boxes. Sonja had no love for any of the sides, but now she was their enemy.
    Last edited by Draxx; 2010-11-11 at 07:25 AM.
    'C'est la vie' - Such is life.

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    Mat scrambles away from the lunatic who apparently wants to take on the entire Seanchan. "You bloody... I'm not associated with him, I was just bloody gambling with him!"


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    Cohen
    He lets Mat go unopposed, still gazing around the room in a business-like manner. "Come on, there's a lot of you lads and I'm not getting any younger. I know it's unfair, but I can't wait around all day. Mumble, oo me old leg, ekcetera"

    To their credit, they hesitated. Not because the Seachan have a certain reverence for their ancestors and Cohen was clearly ancient, or because that the idea of a frail old man being eaten to death by a mob of big men is reprehensible, but because something in his diamond grin and the ease he handled the sword made them wonder what he was so confident about, and not like the conclusions they drew.

    Afterall, by all rights Cohen should be the one hesitating and backing away, and the fact that he wasn't made them wonder what he knew and they didn't. So they were edging closer, making sure one of the others made the first move. If people were going to die, they weren't volunteering to go first.

    Cohen shook his head and waved his arms wearily. "This makes me ashamed, honestly it does. Could you get on with it?"
    Last edited by Draxx; 2010-11-11 at 07:37 AM.
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    Holo and Lawarance

    Holo's ears stop twitching as the General looks at them. They continue to listen but it won't be as percise.

    Lawarance fakes a slight merchant smile. For all his flaws Lawarance was a master salesman even without Holo's supernatural aid. "My companion has certain problems with the Church. Something you have wisely liberated yourselves from here."

    ***

    Zasamal

    That end would come soon enough, all he has to do is push Eragon far enough to open the vault of the dead and then enter it himself. Which is why he had come to Urbruauen.

    He would not be welcome here, he is obviously not of the Empire but that didn't matter much. A simple invisiblity spell to render him unseen by the guards and he should slip in with ease.
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    Tavi

    Tavi decides to speak up. "You have it in a nutshell, Prince Murtagh. The Realm of Alera seeks to establish relationships with the nations of this Land: Alliances, trading opportunities, exchanges of knowledge, and so on."

    Tavi gestures grandly toward the harbor. "On that note, would you give permission for the rest of my fleet to dock within the harbor and open some trading stalls? We've many goods and useful objects, brought as a gesture of good will to the people of this city."

    "Then perhaps, we could continue this discussion in private."

    "You really think they'll allow 50 ships in port?" Max whispered.

    "Forgiveness, Permission, and all that." Tavi replied.
    Last edited by Colesign; 2010-11-11 at 11:00 AM.

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    Wander

    Both Wander's and Agro's eyes widen at the fact that there's a tree being lobbed at them right now. Hastily, Wander pulls Agro's head around, causing him to lay down on his side with a bit of a thud just as the tree gets close to them. Wander kicked his feet out of the stirrups just before landing, however, and tries to remain on the ground to avoid being hit by the gigantic tree trunk.
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    Mumm-Ra, The Ever Living
    He thinks it over for a second.
    "I suppose it could work out. Mumm-Ra, Ever Living Source of Evil accepts your offer."



    Moraine & Lan
    Moraine raises an eyebrow as they follow him, and Lan frowns. He certainly was not normal.
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    Allecia

    She remains in the cabin, sitting in one of the chairs. Her eyes are closed, and she concentrates on the future.

    One of the greatest treasures in all of Tamriel was that of the Elder Scrolls. Given the proper rituals, the scrolls would reveal the future, in full, if unclear, detail. As such, they were heavily guarded, property of the Empire, and used to help ensure the betterment of its citizens. In all of the Empire's history, only one had been stolen. And that particular scroll had been since returned-for some reason, the Champion coughed every time that story came up. It was probably just a coincidence. Everybody knew the Gray Fox had done it. Everybody.

    Her own readings and prognostication was even more vague about detail, but any sort of hint was better than nothing. She had foretold the death of the Fiend, and that knowledge had led to the preparations necessary to reincarnate him in a new body. In a way, her vision saved Cyrodiil, for by doing so, she had brought about the Champion's existence.

    But that was long ago, and she hadn't prognosticated for some time now. But she could try.

    Cleon and Pellew

    The man leans over the railing, and stares at the horizon. At the mountains ahead.

    "It's truly something isn't it?"

    The old Paladin approaches from behind, eventually leaning his own limbs on the wooden beam.

    "The new coast?"

    "A second chance. Do you know how great the gift you have been given is?"

    Cleon briefly closes his eyes, and remembers the fate that awaited him. Remembers the timeless centuries spent in the Abyss of the Faithless.

    "I do. And I will not waste it."

    Pellew nods.

    "A second chance is not merely about avoiding past mistakes, Butcher of Armindale."

    Cleon nearly flinches at the term, but visibly controls himself.

    "It's also about forging new pathways. New experiences. Of being not only better, but different than what you once were."

    There is nothing more to be said after that. The ship approaches the continent, and the two old men, one in the body of one approaching middle age, the other in one more befitting his experiences, look over the bow in silence.
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    Mumm-Ra, The Ever Living
    "A wise decision, but only to be expected. We will send our troops to secure your borders and prepare to invade. And Jagang himself will arrive with them." He says, bowing again.
    "Does that meet your approval?"

    Druss The Legend
    The mists blanket the rebels camp, hiding it from view, and promising rain to come. Slowly, forms appear, indistinct shapes emerging from the fog. Horrifying ones.
    For it was not the numbers of the rebels that posed a threat or chilled the blood, but what they had brought with them.
    Against any expectation, half-veiled in the thick mist, stood a row of huge wooden siege towers, large enough to take one over even Kausta's walls on great solid wheels, four mighty torsin spring onagers, their basins already loaded with boulders, and an enormous bronze headed battering ram, expertly protected under a steep sided tortise of wooden planks and iron plates.
    They'd been busy in Feinstars workshops, it seemed.

    Morianne, Lan
    "No problem at all, I am always at the disposal of such a pretty lady." He says, giving you a smile. "I have yet to organize the books, you understand, but they are in order of subject. So if you are right, you will want these books." He hands you six of them, then turns and walks out. "I will check on you come mel times."

    Zasamal
    You slip through the gates, the guards none the wiser, and look upon the greatest city of man.
    The citadel towered above Urû'baen, like a great lance thrust up to scrape against the sky by a titan in the world's creation. Made of black stone in ages past before the time of men, or even elves, it dominated the landscape for miles around, atop the cities great cliffs so that it could be seen on the Horizon from as far as The Spine.
    It had been the seat of the kings of humanity since they first settled in Alagaësia. It had always been dark, made of dark granite, but once the kings had tried to disguise this fact, hanging colorful pendants and banners, and growing flower gardens around the walls. Once. But Galbatorix didn't see the need. Power wasn't something you had to flaunt, honor and justice weren't won with pretty flags, and beauty was relative. To him, the austere walls and spartan, functionality of the place was far more beautiful then what the other kings had done. And who would argue with him?
    If the structures rulers occupy reflect their regard for the ruled, then the fortress spoke volumes. It's entryways were heavily guarded, and it's gates were locked with heavy iron portcullises. Lookouts were stationed on it's towers, and it was garrisoned extensively, by the Domiavard as well as conventional soldiers. It appeared a dark, grim place, every inch harder then the cliffs it was built on.
    Beneath the citadel was a maze of passageways and tunnels, underground caverns and rooms that had never seen the sun, the work of thousands of years of excavating the stone bedrock. They stretched beneath the entire city, and perhaps one could walk among them forever, never again finding the way to the surface.

    Holo, Lawarance
    He nods. "Ah." He says, and finishes his wine.
    "Tell me, would you be interested in further work? Of the records, of course. I'll pay you whatever you think is fair."

    Barfight
    The Seeker for Truth pulls himself up, wavering and slightly unsteady, his forehead bleeding. He was lucky. The men staring immediately closer were not, they were brought down and are not getting back up.
    He takes Matt into custody, more roughly then seems strictly necessary, and drags him to the door, appropriating a Bull S'redit, extremely large and gray, long snout and large tusks capped with silver decorations. Hauling you into the cupola, he places your spear beside you and folds his arms.
    He doesn't say a word, but he gives you a look, and you feel yourself desperate to fill the silence.

    The men finally muster their courage and rush Cohen in a wave.

    Tavi, Rand Al'Thor
    Murtagh inclines his head, and turns sharply. As he does, people move aside creating a clear path. "You may dock your ships here, however in the interests of commerce I must insist you first reach an understanding with the guild of commerce, and submit to government examination and a tariff on your products. We do like to ensure control of what goes into the country, as I am sure you can understand."
    He's fast. And more then that, competent, clearly understanding quite a lot about the country's infrastructure."

    Wander
    You dodge successfully. Unfortunately, this robs you f most of your speed and momentum, and the collosus is almost upon you. The thing swings it's enormous arms down like a hammer, the entire ground seeming to tremble as it does, throwing up clouds of dirt and rocks that fill the air abd to a degree block your sight.

    Achilles
    This is not Troy.for days, starving ans the water supply dwindled dangerously. Your men are hard, fearless and unbeatable, but with no wind to lift your sails you are helpless to nature.
    You fear no enemy you can take your sword to, but you can't fight the world itself. The sky has been overcast for four days, as you drift on the ocean currents, the stars hidden and no navigation possible beyond using the sun to tell directions.
    You were lost, your men, too tired, parched and dehydrated to row, and just when all hope seemed lost and you consigned yourself to be lost at sea, the first raindrop fell.
    A storm began as clouds hung low in the sky, black and heavy with the problem of destruction to come. Lightning flickered in the clouds, and thunder rolled.
    The sea stirred and thrashed, rising and falling as though Posidan had given his servants the task of building mountains out of salt water, so that one moment you were cresting a wave so high you surely could reach out and touch the sky, the next falling deed, deep down beneath the waves until you fancied you could see Taraturs.
    As your men rowed desperately, desperation giving them strength even as the trireme began to spin and boards began to creak menacingly and splinter, Achiles looked to the skies, and he saw a face amongst the clouds, with a beard of the purest white, and a hard, youthful face, who seemed to be directing the storm. He saw what could only be Zeus himself, his eyes narrowed, and knew he had done something to anger the Lord of Storms and King of the Gods. There was a crash of thunder, final as a funeral bell, and Achilies saw no more.
    He awoke drifting, not far from a shore, clinging to a piece of the mast of his ship, the weight of his armor making his arms burn with the effort. His myrmidons are scattered around him, likewise kept afloat bu the remains of the ship.
    To the right is a shore, bleak and inhospitable as can be imagined, with a mountain range hiding what was beyond.

    Allecia, Cleon and Pellew
    The ship comes to a foreign shore, and the largest city in the world, Altur'Rang, home place of the Imperial Order. Literally translated, Altur'Rang means the Creator's chosen, and people are brought up to revere the teachings of the Order, and hold the teachings close to heart.
    Given it's size, the place is strange. People live in squalor, but s a matter of policy rather then choice. Their are no monuments, palaces or mansions,the place is simply building after building, all bare and undecorated.
    The network of roads is advanced, so it is clear that, once again, this is a matter of choice and design rather then poverty or lack of ability.
    Last edited by Cracklord; 2010-11-11 at 10:53 PM.
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    Tasslehoff
    Tass heads out of the cell, gesturing for Tanis to follow him to freedom and safety. Hopefully before Kitaria found out they were gone. "Hurry hurry!"

    Kitaria
    Kitaria patiently waited for her men to prep the camp for movement, so they could begin their treck to Surda. She stopped and considered they would need a forward messenger. Her eyes turn to Soth, "Soth. Go prep the Varden for our arrival."

    He nods, not caring that he had just been given an order. She had earned the right. He summoned Blinky, his Nightmare, to him and began riding forward. What would take an army(and some Dragons slowing themselves down) a week would take far less time for his infernal horse.
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    Tanis
    He follows after the kender, leaving his captivity behind as he made a break for it. He wasn't going to be held captive by Kitiara any longer! He had to get back to Laurana and soon. She had to be worried about him after a month of leave without notice.
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    Zasamal

    Normally Zasamal wouldn't lower himself to this and would hire a common assasin to do this dirty work but this had to be execute perfectly. He stands in wait invisible and silent a good distance from the guardhouse, aproximently halfway between it and the battlements. When the next shift of guards heads out to releave their fellows on the wall he strikes slashing his scythe through the neck of an unsuspecting guard, the blood splatters all over Zasamal's cloak ruining the illusion, causing him to dismiss it completely.

    ***

    Lawerence and Holo

    "What kind of work?" Lawerence asks suspiciously. D'Hara was rather infamous for their shady dealings dueing to their leader Richard Rhal's views on so called 'moral clarity' which in the end boiled down to whatever the Hell he feels like.
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    "So, taking me to the Empress, then?"

    Mat sighs.


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