Eragon, Where Dragons dare

[Cracklord]

After the success of the Anti-Twilight games, I decided to make this.
Anti-Eragon.
As the Twilight game, this will be a diplomacy-esque game of wits where you play characters form medieval-fantasy settings, and try to solve the problems of the book. Lead the revolution, Become a god, kill the entire world, whatever tickles your fancy. Make and break alliances, manipulate and perpetrate gory violence, win battles, perform acts of heroism, callous betrayal, all to pull yourself over the massive heap of bodies to get to the Mary Sue's at the top. Each kill will be a test of wits, daring, initiative and sheer dumb luck, audicity and strategy. You will be able to do feats that even game systems like Exalted struggle to emulate, of acrobatics, will, and high-octane nightmare fuel in a few cases.

Whoever has the most points at the end, wins. Points are scored by killing the enemy, with different points for different occurrences. This is based on both challenge and how satisfying it will be to stomp their faces into the ground. Extra points awarded by the DM for good roleplaying or rampart sadism, brilliant strategy and magnificent bastardry, honor, courage and the like. And for gods sake be descriptive.
Acting out of character loses points.

There are two major sides, each a coalition of several smaller ones. The Empire (North-men, Southerners,the forgotten, Trolls) and the Varden (Urgals, dwarves, humans, and elves). Loyalty to sides depens on character and player.

If two players unite to overcome a challenge, the points are not divided, but rather, both get all the points. But, remember:

There can only be one king!

Turns are when I say.

In an engagement, your character must free form dictate the actions taken. The more complex and detailed, the more likely it is to succeed. Actions considered to be out of character will be ignored.

Special actions are actions using you characters abilities. Naturally, they are subjective, and the ruling of their effects is decided by the DM. They are not useable in certain conditions. For instance, a scientist may not attempt to use his abilities in the middle of a forest far from any equipment he needs.

All alliances are informal, and can be ended at any time.

No killing other members, except in certain conditions, ruled by DM.
If you have any questions, advice or proposals, post them and I'll thrash it out with you.

Each character with off-siders, sidekicks, partners or whatever get several, but not all. Raistlain gets Crysania, but not Caramon, Dalamar, or Cyan Bloodbane. Bilbo does not get Gandalf, Lu-Tze is alone, Lord Soth gets his keep and forces because I say so, Darkwolf may be accompanied if that's the way he rolls, excetera.

Here is the OOC thread.

Spoiler

Show

Here is a map

[darkblade]

Black Knight

The lands of Camelot had been assailed by unknown forces of the mainland. Merlin had provided an explanation as to why the mainland no longer contained familiar enemy lands the likes of France, Persia and the Ottoman Empire but instead this strange new land ruled by a single empire, challenged only by a group of unrepentant monsters but it went straight over the head of Sir Percy. He had little concern for the nature of the magic that threatened Arthur and his Kingdom only that the threat was ended swiftly.

As such he had traveled into this strange land off the coast of beloved Britain in search for these so called freedom fighters the Varden to see if they could be reasoned with and perhaps a temporary alliance could be forged.

***

Leonidas

The King Leonidas had been called to the center of Thermopylae. It seems the Empire that Sparta had fought so hard not to be a part of had sent a messenger.

The messenger stood proud but afraid. Afraid of the real Spartan men in his presense. He went over the offer the Empire was willing to give in exchange for Sparta's surrender. He doesn't understand. Sparta cannot surrender. From birth it's men are trained to be like their great ancestor Heracules in strength, stamina, fortitude and most of all courage. To surrender to one who does not know such training is nothing short of madness. The king tells the messenger so.

The messenger quakes with fear. He explains how if he does not return to the capitol in a week's time a hopeless war will fall upon Sparta. The King smiles and with a sudden movement of his arm his sword falls upon the messengers neck.

The weak messenger cowers and begs for mercy. Even one such as him should know that there is no such thing in Sparta. The King laughs at the messengers cries and with only the slightest movement of his wrists the head of the messenger is seperated from his body.

The King sheathes his sword and riases his spear. He proclaims that war has now come to Sparta and it shall be glorious. Awo! Awo!

[doliest]

Lord Soth
In retrospect, maybe responding to Kitiara’s soul escaping to the lower planes by kidnapping a wizard and forcing him to attempt a massive Plane shifting spell that would transport his entire keep had been a bad idea. Soth was willing to concede this. He would, however, stand by slaying the man for stating he had used all his prepared components on the spell, and had intended to collect the necessary components for the return trip in the plane they were supposed to reach. He was however, now wondering just where he was; it wasn’t Krynn. He knew Krynn in it’s entirety and this land felt subtlety different from Krynn. The land flowed with a more basic, less defined magic. Old magic; not well controlled by Wizards and Priests.

He quickly walked out of Dargaad, looking for any town in the immediate area; even if this was not Krynn and the magic was so untamed, then there was undoubtedly towns, and hopefully another magic user of less incompetence. The Banshees who followed him around and sung of his sins followed him, singing their song of death and despair, a power that could kill un-prepared mortals; so be it, all the better to ensure that the local magic users took him seriously.
Bilbo
Bilbo smirked happily as he jumped about, practicing fast, and deadly sword strikes he hadn’t been able to accomplish in years. He tossed, ‘The One Ring’ up into the air, questioning how he got it, and why it’s voice was so weak here. He had always been rather resistant to it’s siren call, but here it was so weak he could toss it into a tree. He, in fact, had done so, and then fetched it again for fun. He had taken a quick account of his items, and found the basic tools he had relied upon for his adventures with Gandalf. He had apparently been knocked off the boat sailing to the ageless lands, and into a land of unknown location, but that was most definitely far from either the Shire or Ageless Land. It also helped that people had mistaken him for a dwarf, and had clearly never seen a hobbit. Really; they mistook a hobbit for a dwarf! He knew many dwarfs that would be offended by such a mistake. He had stumbled upon a city and was wondering just where he was, where the Dark Lord of Mordor had so little power.

[Cracklord]

Lord Soth
The Keep has come to rest in the foothills of enormous mountains, crags of broken stone bare of vegetation or life. There is little soil, and the occasional dead tree. The area is not fertile, not by any means. Moving further, you come to a deep valley, and see a city.
Beletona was the only city in The Empire shaped by pure, unadulterated politics. It guarded no mountain pass, no rich farmland, no religion found relevance in it and only one, almost irrelevant trade route passed through it.
It was built atop a flat-topped hill, surrounded by nothing but blasted stone and wasted soil, so thin that the bedrock could be felt beneath it. From the city you could see for miles around, a tactic of the old empire: never let anyone sneak up on you. It watched the skies above as well as the ground below.
Belatona was only a city in terms of population and density of structures. It was more of a permanent military camp, the buildings devoted entirely to defense. The city had a Hexagonal shaped outer wall more then forty feet high, that was wide enough for a troop of soldiers to march six abreast along it’s length. Each corner of the wall was further fortified into a fortress itself, containing it’s own barracks, armory and storerooms. The cities two gates were likewise fortified with imposing gatehouses that could rain death on any attempt to break through their iron-banded doors.

Bilbo
The tree's are young and widely spaced. After Mirkwood, and hearing about Lorien and Fangorn, it is hard to even think of it as a forest, to you it seems more of a large wood, and it's so green it's almost hard to believe it's winter. The trees are almost all young, mostly Pines and spruce, with the occasional old oak towering above them, and show signs of logging and deforestation.
The lush, young evergreens of the ven press at your sides, making the path a narrow, dark, green, walled route cut through the brush and branches. To someone who has made their way through Mirkwood, it may as well be a six lane highway.
After a time, the ground starts rising and becoming rockier, and the tree's thin slightly, allowing a more open view. The trail twisted along deeply shaded cuts in the terrain and across leaf-strewn ravines. Dry leaves scatter as you pass. Pines and spruce give way to hardwood trees, mostly white birch, and as the limbs sway overhead to a silent breeze, tiny patches of sunlight dance on the forest floor.
To your left is a meadow, green and yellow with grass and Hare'stail, before it gives way to the plowed fields of the village you arrived at. Caraval, they called it.
Such villages were common. Their jewelers would be blacksmiths and their craftsmen would be peasants. There was no hall or public house, no mansion or fort. The ground around it was tilled, fresh shoots beginning to poke up through the soil as winter left.

Leonidas
Your men troop steadily behind you, chatting and talking casually, as though war was barely worth considering. Which of course it wasn't, to you anyway. They were wearing their breastplate's despite the unrelenting pounding of the sun above, and had all the provisions they'd need on their backs. There was nothing they weren't ready for.
On the Horizon behind you are mountains that scrape the sky, enormous monoliths that seem almost unnatural. To your left is a lake, and to your right is the desert. Skirting the edge of the desert, you wait for your enemy to make an appearance.

The Black Knight
Your horse carries you towards a city, an enormous sprawling mass of buildings long since grown out of any attempt to organize or control, barely enclosed by a twenty foot stone wall. It was seemed a rich shade of red, from the stone quarried nearby, no doubt. Not a thatched roof or wooden building to be seen, this is a rich country. The gatehouse, was very impressive, and would likely be far more if they'd repaired the gate and stonework from the siege. Tents had been erected in every direction, signs you recognize. An occupying army. A huge beast of a man with a bushy beard and the arms of a blacksmith (certain muscles were massive, others were tiny, a hunched build, and the poise of someone who as mastered a certain trade) hails you, wishing to know your business. Ten or so guards point weapons at you, longbows and crossbows they hold with a certain degree of familiarity and competance, as they wait for your reply.

[doliest]

Lord Soth
"A military encampment? Interesting; this place should almost certainly hold a wizard or two, not to mention information." Soth moves onto the main path leading towards the large gate before him, the elf maiden banshees following in his wake. As he reaches the gates, he cranes his head up and lets our a roar, "Lord Soth of Dargaard Keep demands to meet with your leader." Should they respond negatively, he will utter the words that brought the nigh impenetrable walls of Palanthas to the ground, and meet with their leader by force.
Bilbo
"Carnaval? Sounds like a jolly place. I could go for a good smoke; haven't had one since I left The Shire. Not to mention an Inn to rest my weary hobbit feet in." He merrily walks through the town, searching for a nice place to rest his weary limbs (which would be much more weary, were it not for the miraculous restoring of his youth) and find a smoke. He starts singing a traveling song as he walks his way around until he finds an Inn.

[Cracklord]

Lord Soth
There was a bustle of activity on the battlements, the guards obviously unsure of how to respond to the situation.
A minute stretched on to two and their was no answer. Then three, then four, then five and then ten, then twenty. Just as the immortal Death Knight was beginning to lose patience, two men appeared above the gate.
A man in silk and velvet stood slightly ahead, his long face marked with dozens of minor pockmarks, and scraggly dark hairs forming a crude approximation of a beard. He had all the military bearing of a weasel, and a petulant turn to his lips that put the Death Knight in mind of a sulking child. At his right hand stood a towering, lanky figure in chainmail, with a crest marked out over his chest, above the heart. He was far older then the other man, perhaps fifty, but not so old as to leave service in search of a quieter life. His skin was darkened by years of exposure from campaigning in the field, and his long curved sword was studded with gems. He was bald as an egg, his right ear had been torn off completely, and his left cheek was scarred and crumpled, lending his features a horrid, unbalanced cast.
"I am Brammar Kaulsson, Imperial General, Commander of Belatona, Warden of the South. I speak for the city. And you are?" He returns, his voice effortlessly carrying the distance, mighty indeed after so many years practice on the battlefield.

Bilbo
The entire town is deserted, empty. The buildings are showing signs of disrepair, and have clear signs of being searched. In the approximate center, a palisade has been constricted, a trench surrounding it. Four huge men in red tabards with pikes in their hands stood guard at the entrance. They had the look of hard campaigners, grizzled and tough, disciplined and not afraid to use their well honed weapons. Each had a broad bladed axe, a sword and a knife, and two had supplemented this considerable arsenal with a few other weapons, including a wicked looking ball and chain.

[doliest]

Lord Soth
"Lord Soth of Dargaard Keep. I have come to speak with the leader of this fort, as well as your most powerful magic user. I seek their aid." Soth gives only a cursory scan of the men before him. They look strange; he had not expected this plane to have men so similar to his own, but all the easier to negotiate with. He's mildly impressed they aren't shaking in fear of the magic aura that surrounds him.
Bilbo
Fingering the ring in his pocket should this get ugly, Bilbo walks towards the men, "Hello good sirs, Bilbo Baggins of The Shire, may I ask why you are so heavily armed? This land is rather far from Mordor, and I can't see them raiding such a small town, and if I may be so bold, may I inquire where I could obtain a good smoke?"

[Cracklord]

Lord Soth
The fop looked visibly shaken, terrified of the reverent before the gates, but the General remained calm. "I am not in the practice of allowing those I have suspicions of into the city, Soth." He replies, his voice a toneless snarl. "Particularly in times of war. You may enter, but leave your retinue at the gates."

Bilbo
The men stare at you, as though gauging an approaching enemy. They are silent as you speak, then one who may be the leader answers. "Shire? Mordor? This village has turned traitor, murdering Imperial soldiers and then seceding o the Varden." He replied politely. "As to a smoke..." He removed a pouch from his belt "Enjoy yourself. We have more then we can use at the second." Another one speaks up. "Meric, send the beggarman on his way!"
"Why, he hasn't done anything. Bit well dressed for a beggarman, anyway."
"Well, he might be one of the rebels! We should detain him."
"Really? One man with a knife? Their murdering bastards, but that don't make them stupid."
They seem to have forgotten you, caught up in their discussion, the sort where men of equal rank in a formal environment have different opinions. "Well, just the same, we should question him."

[darkblade]

Leonidas

Leonidas ordered his men to form a perimeter around the lake. A lake this close to a desert makes little sense but so does much of this strange world we inhabit.

Leonidas knew that when his enemy's army had crossed the desert their first priority would be to take claim over the water supply to rehydrate their troops. He was not about to give the Empire any quarter.

***

Black Knight

Percy steps off Thunder, his noble steed and raises his arms as a sign of non-agression. "I, the Black Knight of the Round Table wish a word with your leaders on behalf of Camelot and it's King Arthur."

[Cracklord]

Black Knight
The man raises his eyebrow. "Who?" He seems genuinely confused. It's clear he has little experience with the outside world.

Leonidas
The men do so, setting up camp as best they can. They have no tents, nothing to use to improvise palaside, and the ground is to sandy to dig trenches or erect defenses. This terrain does not favor your men. With so few, where to fight is nearly as important as the quality of your troops. With their back to the river they will be hard to overcome, and impossible to surround, but there will be no withdrawal, and the men will be forced to fight on many fronts at once.
The imperial army is nowhere to be seen, but on the horizon to the North can be seen a strange inky shape in the sky, getting closer.
At first, when you see it in the distance, you take it to be a particularly large bird. But it flies oddly for a bird, and as it comes closer you began to get some sense of the scale of the thing compared to its surroundings. It was far to big to be any bird you've ever heard of, even in the legends. Even the Pegasus would not even be visible yet, and they were big enough to carry a full grown warrior. It draws closer and you begin to see that the shape was wrong too, it was far too long, and the wings were like those of a bat, rather then a bird.
It comes closer still, and you noticed the long, lizard like-body, the enormous snake like-tail, the serpentine neck supporting the massive head, and the sinister black color that no bird had ever flown. You see the massive shield of bone, the double row of sharp spines that run down it's long neck, the great jaws, the scales so dark the world feels colder and shadows seem longer, the yellowy ivory of it's claws and teeth, and the dark eyes like bottomless pools.
Men who would defiantly face a cavalry charge with nothing but their spears and their courage begin to murmur amongst each other, looking worried. For the first time, Spartans know doubt.

[doliest]

Lord Soth
Lord Soth turns to the three banshees, gesturing for them to stay outside, "Fine. I assume that such a large military fortification has a magic user of decent power stocked somewhere inside? I would like to get back to my castle, and then Krynn soon." He moves quickly to follow the men once the gate opens, hoping to find the men he needs to meet soon.
Bilbo
"I don't know of any 'rebellion.' I was on my way to the land of the elves when my boat got knocked astray and I was washed up not far from here. Do you know where I am?" He quickly puts the tobacco in his pipe and starts smoking, happily exhaling the smoke as he waited for the men to finish their argument.

[industrious]

Raistlin

All in all, it was pride that drove him to this course of action. Pride and the desire to practice. He had his plan laid out; preparations for his Journey had already begun. He was about to receive his apprentice, the Conclave's spy. He had selected the most likely candidate to oppose him, and made ready his snares, his careful, measured caresses and momentary weaknesses. But he wanted to be certain. He was the Master of Past and Present; he could be patient.

Coming to this strange land was the result of a month's worth of study. The terrain, the politics, the local figures of authority, playing their sad games. From the depths of his Tower, peering into the scrying pool, he had learned of them. And now, he had come. Come to practice what would be his seduction of the cleric, to immerse himself in Light gain their trust, and to use that trust to drive them to oblivion. Hourglass eyes peered out from the black cowl of his robe. The wizard smiled. He had arrived, one mile out from the Varden stronghold.

Leaning on the Staff of Magius, the wizard began his walk towards the encampment. There was work to be done.

Lu-Tze

Personally, he blamed the wizards. Especially that young one with the glasses. One minute you're minding your own business, eavesdropping on the Unseen University, and the next you're in some palace. And it was dusty. Still, the Sweeper knew what he had to do. Wielding his broom against the dust as if it were a weapon, Lu-Tze began his way down the corridor. Nobody would notice him; after all, who cares about a Sweeper?

[Cracklord]

Bilbo
It is perhaps the worst pipeweed you've ever tried, and if it wasn't for the etiquette of these things...
Well, they finish, and turn to address you. "Come to think of it, he doesn't look like anything I've ever heard of, I mean, dwarves have beards, don't they?" One mutters, but the other two shush him.
"A better question would be who are you, I think... Bilbo, wasn't it? Valerian'll go get the commander, and you can talk to him."
After a minute, a large, bald man in a more intricate tabard, with the same brown leather armor that seems to be their uniform approaches you, walking out the gate. He ***** his head. "Come with me please." He says, somewhat curtly, you think, and turns, a back cape billowing behind him.

Lord Soth
A horn sounded mournfully and the massive gates swung open.
Within minutes you are striding beneath the arch of the southwest gate and into a narrow tunnel. Heavy stone blocks seemed to press in from either side, and you make out narrow arrow-slits and murder holes on each side. After ten yards the passage narrowed sharply to the right, then back to the left again. Unlike most cities, the streets were laid out in neat, orderly lines. A troop of soldiers kept watch at the end of the tunnel, their faces impassive and their wicked looking halberds held ready.
Brammar is standing at their head, his face buisnesslike. "Come with me. You'll never find it on your own."

Lu-Tze
Practicing your art with a level of skill and ability achieved through years of dedication and practice, you soon have completed the first hallway, and moved on to the next. As he followed the passages towards the keep, the hall widened, and the rooms became smaller and closer placed. Hangings and tapestries appeared on the walls, a long rug carpeted the hallway, windows became more common and the occasional statue or sculpture decorated alcoves. For the most part that was the extent of the change, Galbatorix having little interest in superficialities, and the majority of his court following his example, if reluctantly. In truth, there seemed little to differentiate this area as the realm of the privileged.
Taking a few more turns and a stairway, he came at last to the massive, oaken doors that led the way to the central keep. With a portcullis and hinges thicker then his forearm, these doors could withstand a siege from inside the castle were it necessary.
Two guards take notice of you, then resume their looking ahead. You are, after all, just a sweeper.

Raistlin
The city is in remarkably good shape considering it had just been besieged. A few hollow eyed children stared at him from the corner of a street. They were gaunt and wasted from starvation, and dressed in rags. For a moment he wondered who they’d been, how they found themselves in the situation they were in.
It was all around him. Shops were closed, market squares were empty, both of merchants and customers, and the streets were all but empty, the few people on them keeping their heads down and hurrying from place to place. Occupation had accelerated the process of decay, and everywhere paintwork seemed chipped and vines created cracks within the stonework.
At last, you come to the castle.
Six big, brutal looking men level their weapons at you.
"You have the look of a Hand." He says, his tone if not his words making it plain that this would be a mistake, probably a fatal one. "What's your business here?"

[doliest]

Lord Soth
"Fine. Just lead me to where I wish to go. If you attempt to trick me, I'll bring this fort down around you, regardless of where you attempt to trap me." Soth follows the man, keeping the same impassive, almost apathetic demeanor that sharply contrasts with the fury he was prepared to show if they had kept him waiting much longer.
Bilbo
"I'm a hobbit! Why do people keep mistaking me for a dwarf? I'd like to thank you for the smoke, and may I suggest you find a better brand, and I'm not sure going into the middle of a heavily armed camp is a good idea; can't I speak to him out here?" He keeps his hand in his pocket, fingering the ring, just in case they didn't react well to this news.

[Cracklord]

Bilbo
The man turns. He seems inpatient, then considers. At last he shrugs. "Alright." He says. "Where are you form, Bilbo?" He asks, fixing you a piercing look. "And what are you doing in the Empire?" He remains standing at the gate, giving the guards a wave. They relax, and troop into the camp, leaving the two of you alone.

Lord Soth
The man seems unmoved. You doubt he believes you. Their are no signs, no landmarks, every building is identical. Outsiders would soon find themselves helplessly lost. The streets are too narrow for more then one wagon at a time, all aspects built to favor defenders.You pass through four more walls before you come to a tower, squat and brooding, made of dark stone, unlike the granite used for the rest of the city.
"This is the fortress of the King's hand. Anyone with any talent for magic is sent there." Brammar said. With that he turned and left, all business.

[darkblade]

Black Knight

"Camelot? The island Kingdom off the coast of this continent, South of what you call Vroengard. It was sent here from another world by magics most foul that I can not begin to understand. I can explain much better if I could have an audience with your leader." Sir Percy explained.

***

Leonidas

It would take more than a foul beast to intimidate the mighty Spartans. Leonidas knew this to be true, his men just needed a reminder.

"The great ancestor of Sparta Heracules fought the Hydra, the Midean Lion and many other foul monsters that Hera had accursed him to battle. We Spartans carry his blood within us, his strength, his power, enhanced by training since the moment you are born. Raising our strength to that of Gods! Tell me Spartans! Who amongst you fears the beasts of an Empire afraid to do battle themselves like men?"

[industrious]

Raistlin

Fools. The lot of them. All brawn and no brains. Just like my brother.


The black-robed archmage sneers at the men. "I..." Raistlin breaks into a coughing fit, lungs gasping for air, the remnants from his Test haunting him even now, at the height of his power. Taking a cloth from his robes, he spits the blood into it, before putting it away. He meets the one who spoke's eyes.

"I am not a Hand of anything. I wish to speak to your commander.

Lu-Tze

Still working his way down the corridor, the Sweeper continues as if nothing is wrong.

"Pardon me, my good sirs; would you kindly open these doors? There is work to be done. And if these corridors are anything like the others, then I know I am urgently needed. Absolutely filthy, amateur work; I shall have to speak to whoever was supposed to Sweep there."

[Cracklord]

Raistlain
Eragon had cleared a space in his room in the castle, and was now using it to practice the third level of Rimgar. The contortions of his body helped him focus his mind, as well as giving him something to keep occupied with. Boredom was beginning to take a toll on him, and he felt the need to move in some way. The constant monotony of the last week and a half was beginning to crush his spirit.
Now, there was nothing expected of him, but that he remained here, demoted to symbol. The Varden needed his presence, but they didn’t need him.
A knock at his door shattered his concentration. Midway in the fourth stance, he almost lost his balance and collapsed. Righting himself he replaced his clothing and stretched, but made no further movements. If it was important, whoever it was would come the rest of the way to him.
The knocking did not relent. After a minute of the interminable pounding, Eragon gave an exasperated sigh and pushed the door open.
Looking around the hallway he didn’t see anyone, until he looked down, to see a boy of perhaps ten staring up at him with wide eyes. The boy was dressed in simple clothes, and had the look of one of the servant’s children who ran errands in the castle in exchange for coins.
"Come with me! A wizard wants to speak with you!" Sighing, Eragon followed, pausing only to buckle his sword around his waist.
* * * * *
A man in leather armor, with an expression on his face that suggests he is waiting for the next thought to arrive, approaches you.
Lu-Tze
The guards open them, letting you into the central keep. Lu-Tze had no way of knowing this, but almost no one was allowed into the King's central keep. Many wondered about what the rooms beyond the doorway held. Very few had ever been allowed in, and those that had seldom saw more then the throne room and perhaps a few others that they caught glimpses of. But it was a huge tower, and there was a lot of space unaccounted for. Rumors flew amongst both the nobility and the servants alike about the contents, ranging from a personal harem to a vast dungeon where he kept his greatest enemies, to a great school where he and other philosophers discussed great things mere mortals couldn’t comprehend without years of study. Others maintained it was a vast treasury containing room after room of gold and jewels, while others claimed it was a place to house the monsters that he had brought under his control.
As you do your work, you can't help but notice most of the rooms are empty.

Leonidas
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 black leather, well made, but scarred and pitted from use. The dragon itself was armored too, you realize numbly, though it seemed inconceivable that anything could hurt such a majestic creature.
The man removed his horned great helm to reveal a hard, craggy face, shinning with ancient eminence and authority. The angling light appeared to catch only one side of his face, leaving the other darkly ominous... except that the darker side was facing the light. The dark side was an intricate tattoo of weaving curls, waves and flourishes. His upper arms were likewise decorated with great swirls, whorls and curlicues, intricate beyond belief.
In a smooth, reasonable tone, he spread his arms. "Must it come to this? I have no desire to slaughter you, or your people. I will leave you if you wish, let you keep your independence, Even let you call yourself king. But I will not tolerate your actions. I will not allow you to act as you have. The Empire is my responsibility. I'm sure, as a king, you understand."

Black Knight
The man talks with a few others, and the gate swings open a crack to allow you in. You follow it through to the castle, where a man in black robes is talking to guards.

[industrious]

Raistlin

The archmage gazes at the youth(youth? he cannot be much younger than the wizard himself). Hourglass eyes stare at one who is in his sight already dead, already withered. Golden skin glistens beneath the wizard's cowl. He had seen this boy before; the scrying pool had shown him many times before. Raistlin sneers.

His tone is mocking and without any semblance of warmth "So, now, boy. The famous rider of Dragons. I'm unimpressed."

[Fan]

Guts, yet again being realities bitch almost as much as Ashley Williams was, stumbled through the Daemonic portal that lead to this verse, his body bruised, beaten, and bloodied.... Nothing really out of the ordinary.

He trudged forward, his mechanical hand clenching reflexively as he proceeded out of the woods, and into a over grown clearing... But in reality, this was one of the "natural" constructs of Ellesmera, and he had stumbled directly onto the entrance to the city of the elves.

[Cracklord]

Raistlain
Eragon's expression twists. "And who are you?" He replies, his voice slightly petulant. "A cripple? I killed Durza the shade, I saved my army at the burning plains, I liberated Tronjheim. I deserve to be treated with respect." He takes a deep breath. "Who are you?" He repeats, in a tone intended to belittle.

Guts
The lush, verdant trees of the grove press at your sides, offering no paths or passages.
An elf seems to materialize in front of you, emerging from the undergrowth. He is dressed in forest green, has an inhumanly attractive face and long blond hair, and a lean, almost scrawny build, that somehow suggests stregnth. He raises one hand, then says in a musical voice "You are surrounded. If you so much as breathe, you will be dead. I am Vanir, and you are trespassing. We do not suffer to allow humans in our groves." His voice is so arrogant it almost causes you physical pain. A gloved hand rests on a slightly curved saber at his hip, and is slightly to full lips are curved in the beginnings of a sneer, the sneer of someone who enjoys exercising what power he has.
Looking around, what was previously an impassable wall of foliage has somehow rearranged itself into a gate, and you can see a house built into a towering tree above.

Lu-Tze
As you come to a room on the fourth floor, you see a massive room the size of a great hall devoted to obstinately for training, but seemed to be more of a place to hold trophies. There were over two hundred swords of various sizes and designs, from claymores to great swords to rapiers, each glistening a different shade, all so oppulent they seemed to be better suited as show pieces then weapons. Dragon horns and fangs, skins of exotic, rare or dangerous creatures, articles paid by his greatest cities as tribute that had caught the king's eye, a range of artworks that predated the Riders and a series of things that Lu-Tze didn’t even know the names of were spread around in some unguessable pattern.
A lean, shadow of a man in red armor was moving through swordsmanship forms, seemingly more an elaborate form of dance then training. He as very good, so focused he doesn't even notice you until you're almost close enough to kill him.
"Who are you?" He demands, pointing his red blade at you, dark eyes narrowed intently.

[Fan]

"I did no realize the creatures of the forest had grown so ****ing arrogant in whatever place this is. If you wish to kill me. Go ahead. If you think you can."

He says, taking a step forward, his body may have been battered, but he was never one to take **** from some Pansy group of Forest spirits who decided to get uppity at him because of "The Brand."

"Well? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!"

If the elf doesn't take action, Guts will simply stand there, before raising his hand, seemingly in surrender, before the cannon flips out of the arm, and attempts to blow the "Forest Spirit" into dust.

[Cracklord]

Vanir raises one eyebrow, then draws his sword in a single, flowing movement, so fast that if you'd blinked you'd have missed it. Taking it in a two hand grip he points it at you, shifting to the balls of his feet. "It is not wise to provoke me." He says, the sneer growing. "I may take offense." With that, he crosses the distance between you in two strides and lashes out n a vertical cut, aimed at your neck.

[Fan]

Moving with surprising speed, and celerity, Guts lunges out with his readied hand, in a attempt to intercept the being in the stomach, cannon readied... and then fire into the Elf's stomach.

"What's that about it not being wise to provoke you?"

[industrious]

Raistlin

If anything, the smirk widens. "Raistlin Majere. Someone who judges a man not by his prowess in battle, but by his accomplishments." Drawling out the last word, he gestures to the pair's decrepit surroundings. The archmage longed to put the Rider in his place. What was an army to the Master of Past and Present? How easy it would be to crush the youth before him! But that would be against the plan. No, Raistlin would bide his time, earn their trust, and then, he would strike. For this, all of this, was merely practice.

Still leaning heavily on his staff, Raistlin pauses for breath. He needs his tea, but there is no time to make it. If only Cameron...stop. He begins panting, sweating, his hands shake as he is overcome by yet another fit. "I have...information...that could...change...the war. I need...to speak to...the Varden...leadership," he barely manages to gasp out the final pair of words before the staff clatters to the floor, the archmage forced to bend over and retch. Curse his body. Curse Par-Salian for doing this to him. When he had ascended, then he would pay. Eyes for eyes.

Lu-Tze
The Sweeper bows. The monk readies himself for action. If he has to.

"So sorry for disturbing you. I am a Sweeper, and dust is my enemy. If you'll excuse me, I must be getting on with it. For as it is said, 'I haven't got all day, you know'"

[doliest]

Lord Soth
Soth impassively shrugs before marching into the Tower, intent on finding anyone who might be strong enough to get him back home; so he could get an actual Wizard to help him get Kitaria.
Bilbo
"I'm from The Shire; in the land of Middle Earth. It's one of the largest Hobbit villages in the area. I was heading towards the land of the elves to retire; you know a happy life after years of adventuring, the elves owed me a few favors." He keeps smoking the sub-standard pipe weed, if only to be able to smoke SOMETHING.

[Cracklord]

Lu-Tze
The young man cocked his head, dark eyes extremely perceptive. "Normally Halec does that. I know him, a big, muscly retired soldier, missing an eye, got so many scars you could play a game of naughts and crosses on his face. Who are you?"

Guts
The elf disengages with a flourish, stepping back as the cannon fires. To your surprise, the ball stops an inch before impact, as though it has hit a brick wall, then falls to the ground. Vanir's sneer widens. "Resorting to that already? Humans really are pathetic. Try to overwhelm me with that big hunk of polished iron, and when that doesn't work, cheat. Why am I not surprised."

Raistlin
Eragon looks at you, then at last moves in, as though offering support. "Here, let me help you." He offers, placing a hand on your chest. He mutters something, and you feel a surge, but the coughing goes on. At last he supports you and drags you inside, blabbering on all the while about his favorite subject, himself.
"Accomplishments? I have done far more then you likely realize. I am Shadeslayer, one of the few, I am called Firesword by the Urgals, I slew the Ra'Zac, and I singlehandedly..."
At last, he brings you to an odd room full of herbs. A timeless women is mixing something in a eazel. They talk for a moment, then she approaches you, fixing you with a knowing gaze. "I'll see what i can do."

Bilbo
The man leans closer. "I don't know what you've heard, but the Empire is currently at war with the elves, so it might be a good idea not to mention that." He says with a wink. "You are form another continent where things are different, that much is plain." He sighs. "We have no hobbits here, and I am under orders to report all unusual sightings to my commander. But I do not think you are a threat, so I suppose nothing would be amiss if I let you go..."

Lord Soth
The chambers you were looking for lay very near the top of the keep, which did nothing to improve your mood. The climb, up narrow, twisting stairways and dimly lit, bustling corridors seemed to last for hours. Servants who saw you jumped out of your way, naked terror on their faces. At last, you made it.
The oaken doors swung open, rebounding off the wall with a thunderous bang. Everyone present in the room beyond leapt to their feet, with startled shouts and curses.
The chamber was surprisingly small and cramped, dominated by a broad table covered with a layer of maps, notes, wine goblets and half eaten meals. Two dozen men in black robes backed away or froze, a few cowered, bar one.
At the end of the table was a man in the same black robes as everyone else, The black, unadorned robes revealed the stooped and shattered frame of a wreck of a man, scrawny and malnourished, deliberately so. And yet he stood tall and strong, as though daring the world to try and strike him down. His right arm and left leg were withered and deformed, fleshless and twisted to the side, seeming too small for his body. His face was pockmarked, wasted and gaunt. His eyes, on the other hand, were as intense as nearby stars.
"Yes?" He snapped, seemingly put out by the interruption.

[Fan]

"Cheating? I was merely trying to give you a clean death."

He says smiling in a wicked fashion that exposes his pointed canines. His hand then falls around the leather wrapped hilt of the Dragon Slayer, the cotton bandages around the massive blade unfurling like a massive white storm that spiraled into the air even as Guts lashed forward with the massive blade, aiming to detorsoify (That's a word now. Meaning to separate the torso from the rest of the body.) the arrogant elf with speed that was impossible for a human.

[doliest]

Bilbo
"That far? That would explain why no one fears the name Sauron or the power of Mordor. I'm sure that elves are different here; the elves where I come from might be a bit strange, but they have not united to war against anyone except the Dark Lord of Mordor. Regardless, I'll take this warning to heart good friend. I'll try not to cause any trouble, I merely wish to get back on the road and find an inn to rest my hobbit toes, and a warm meal. Could you recommend a nearby town that isn't under military garrison?"
Lord Soth
His patience wearing incredibly short he practically screams, "I need the most powerful wizard to come with me and prepare a plane-shifting spell! If I don't get one...." Soth lets the threat hang in the air. He was more than ready to take his aggression out on the lot of these wizards if they turned out to be as useless as the last one. Bringing the entire fort down as a show of power might draw the help he'd need, and if not....

[industrious]

Lu-Tze

"I am but a humble Sweeper. Surely one such as yourself would not deign to notice one as lowly as I. But if you are as noble and generous as you are talented in bringing that enormous sword into play, then I am Lu-Tze." The Sweeper bows. "I don't suppose you are the Lord of this place?"

Raistlin

"Do not bother trying to cure me; my curse cannot be undone." Reaching into one of his secret pockets, the wizard draws out a pouch filled with the herbs for the tea used to relieve his cough. "Boil water, and add this. Quickly!" His hourglass eyes flash for a moment.

So far, so good. Interestingly enough, they had not mentioned his eyes, or his skin, or his hair, already turned white. It made for such a good laugh, their expressions of shock. But pity...pity he could not stand.